Fable: Edge of the World

by Christie Golden

  He worked his way north, reburying the ancient city, sending its unnatural inhabitants back to another few centuries of slumber until the presence of living things once again roused their envy. He followed his embattled army, closing the distance until at last the only hollow men that remained were those on the surface. He unslung his rifle and joined in the fray, dropping the foe with shot after perfect shot, reloading so quickly his hands were a blur. Once his men realized they did not need to fear wave after wave of hollow men, they made short work of the mere few dozen that remained.

  Silence fell, punctuated by one or two more random shots as the last stragglers of The Place From Which No Living Thing Returns were destroyed. Then the cheering started. The king took Winter’s reins from a weary but smiling Kalin and began to ride among the troops, congratulating them and calling their attention back to him.

  “Today,” he said, “we put an end to a legend which has struck fear into the hearts of the Samarkandians for centuries. I grieve for the terror that the inhabitants of Asur-keh-la must have felt when their city was swallowed by the sand. But we have faced hollow men before, and may well do so again. Unnatural they may be, and well might we call them cursed after such tragic deaths. But invincible, they are not. This is no longer a place from which no living thing returns. Not for the army of Albion!”

  “For Albion! For Albion!” came the cheer. The king held up his hand for silence, then, smiling at Shan, he shouted, “For Samarkand!”

  “For Samarkand! For Samarkand!”

  Shalia threw her arms around Ben and kissed him.

  Chapter Twelve

  Page met Timmins as they both entered Bowerstone Palace. Rex, who had once again fetched Page, wagged his tail and licked Timmins’s hand as the captain of the guards petted him.

  “Good dog,” said Timmins, his normally reserved mien breaking into an affectionate smile. “Hello, Page. Do you know what all this is about? We don’t usually meet with the queen this day of the week—for either a conference or training.”

  “I’ve no idea, I was hoping you might.” Page was very fond of Laylah, but she had been right in the middle of meeting with her own people when Rex had scratched at the door, demanding admittance. She was beginning to resent being—well, “fetched” by a dog at Her Majesty’s whim. But then again, Laylah was the queen of Albion. Page supposed she could fetch whomever she jolly well pleased.

  “Not a clue,” said Timmins. “I am sure we’ll find out.”

  Barrows greeted them politely. “Follow me, please,” he said. “They are waiting for you in the War Room.”

  Timmins and Page exchanged confused glances. They? Who were “they?” Page wondered if for some reason the queen had received a messenger from another part of the kingdom, and perhaps this was the reason for the unusual summons. Was the darkness already threatening Albion? Worry gnawed at her, and she quickened her pace.

  Barrows opened the door and Page and Timmins stepped inside. Laylah was there, looking uneasy and fiddling with her hands. Page’s concern increased. “Majesty, we came as soon as possible. What’s wrong?”

  “Actually,” said a horribly familiar, self-satisfied voice, “everything could not be more right.” Page whirled, her fists clenched.

  “You!” Page snarled.

  Reaver smirked and bowed so low it was a slap in the face, his hat sweeping the floor. “And a pleasure it is to see you again too, my dear Page. Ah, Captain Timmins. You’re looking even more cross than usual.”

  “What are you doing here, Reaver?” snapped Timmins. His hand clutched his walking stick which, Page knew, sheathed an extremely sharp sword.

  “I asked him here,” came the completely unexpected answer from Laylah. Page turned and stared at her friend.

  “I must be going mad,” Page said, biting off the words. “I thought you said you asked him here.”

  “I did,” said Laylah. She looked unsure of herself, and therefore spoke more firmly than usual.

  “Laylah, may I have a word with you?” said Page. She stepped forward and started to take Laylah’s arm and steer her into a quiet corner.

  “I think,” drawled Reaver, “that you should perhaps not take quite so familiar an attitude with your monarch.”

  Timmins snorted. “Since when do you give any real respect to anyone, even a queen?”

  “Since Her Royal Majesty graciously welcomed me into her inner circle of advisors,” Reaver said, and the corners of his lips curled tightly at Timmins’s expression. “Tut, tut. Both of you are severely lacking in manners.”

  Page’s heart turned to ice in her chest. She turned to Laylah, incredulous. “Please,” she said quietly, “please tell me he’s full of—”

  “Ah, ah, watch your tongue, dear Page! Just because one comes from the gutters doesn’t mean one must speak with a sewer mouth,” interrupted Reaver.

  “Come with me, Page. Timmins.” Laylah did not wait to see if they followed, but moved to a corner. Barrows moved to Reaver and, as if in a dream, Page followed, hearing the butler ask the single-most-despicable person in the world if he would like milk or lemon with his tea.

  “I know you two have both had problems with Reaver in the past,” Laylah began.

  “Problems?” Timmins almost yelped the word. Laylah gave him an angry glance. “The word doesn’t even begin to describe the run-ins we’ve had with this—this—”

  “You know, it hadn’t occurred to me until just now, but perhaps Reaver is right. You are lacking in manners, Captain. Mr. Reaver approached me in the gardens yesterday. I had heard the stories you, Mr. Finn, and my husband had told me about him, of course, and I was distressed to see him.”

  “You shouldn’t have even spoken to him,” Page said hotly. She wasn’t looking at her friend. She didn’t dare. She had the terrible feeling if she took her eyes off Reaver for even a moment, something disastrous would happen.

  “And you, Page,” said Laylah. “Look at me when I am speaking to you!”

  Page dragged her eyes back to Laylah but couldn’t help clenching her jaw. Every instinct, and every experience she’d ever had with the rat, screamed at her that Reaver’s presence here was a bad idea.

  “He pointed out that he, too, was a Hero, and a companion of the late king. He has experience and knowledge and economic assets of his own he has offered to contribute.”

  Timmins snorted. “If Reaver offers to help, it is only to help Reaver.”

  “Precisely,” said Laylah, startling them both. “He made no bones about the fact that he wished to further his own self-interest. You may not like him—nor, frankly, do I—but he does have something to offer, and for now at least, a stable, prosperous, safe kingdom benefits him just as much as it does us.” Her expression gentled somewhat, and she squeezed Page’s arm. “His ego is enormous, and he made no attempt to hide it. Trust me, my friend, if he had come to me telling me he wished to do what was best for Albion for Albion’s sake, I would not have believed him. I may not be as worldly as either of you, but I’m not a fool.”

  Page and Timmins looked at one another. Though the thought rankled, Page had to admit, it made sense. Reaver would never be called altruistic, but where his desires dovetailed with theirs, he could be a valuable asset.

  “We don’t need him,” Timmins said bluntly. “We are currently peaceful and prosperous.”

  “My sources have reported no signs of unrest or unusual hardship,” Page added. “I understand your reasoning, Your Majesty, but I see no reason to take the risk.”

  Laylah’s lips pressed together, and Page realized with a horrible jolt that she had said exactly the wrong thing. “Risk? Do you truly think I would put my husband’s kingdom at risk?”

  “Of course not, Your Majesty. I’m just saying what Captain Timmins says—we don’t need him. You’re managing the kingdom just fine on your own! Any help this … person … offers will come at a price, believe me!”

  “Captain Timmins doubts my ability to defend myself. I understood that
. But you, Page—you doubt my ability to think for myself!”

  “Majesty, you know that’s not true! What I’m trying to tell you—”

  “Trying to tell me? Because I am too simple to comprehend?”

  Page gave Reaver a hate-filled stare. Infuriatingly, he merely lifted his cup of tea in mock salute. She stalked over to him and shoved her face up to his. “I don’t know what your game is, Reaver, but I know you’re up to something.”

  “The one thing you’ve never quite been able to get through your admittedly lovely head, dear Page, is that some of my ideas were actually good ones. If the king had listened solely to you close to a decade ago past, I doubt that any one of us would be alive to be having this present conversation. Well,” he amended, “myself, perhaps.”

  Page flushed with fury. The worst thing about it was—Reaver was right, damn him. The kingdom had needed money in order to arm itself to defeat the darkness. Page had been so passionate about not letting the king descend to Reaver’s level that she locked horns with the scum every time—even when his ideas, if not moral or admirable, had brutal practicality to them.

  “Aha!” Reaver exclaimed at her expression, lifting a hand to his cravat-covered heart. “Dare I say that Page agrees with me? Let us trumpet the astounding news from the highest tower, for this truly is a day when we shall find pork in the treetops.”

  “Silence, all of you!”

  Stunned by the outburst from the normally soft-spoken woman, everyone fell silent. Laylah stood before them, her fists clenched, her jaw set, her eyes snapping anger. “Reaver—it is no secret that you are in this for yourself, and aiding the kingdom is merely a happy side effect.”

  Reaver bowed.

  “Timmins—I didn’t expect you to approve. But I did expect you to at least honor my title as your queen. You have no right or authority to dismiss Reaver should I choose to ask his advice. And Page …”

  Page’s heart shrank within her at the hurt in Laylah’s eyes. “I know you detest Reaver. I know you clash at every opportunity. How, then, could you think I would be taken in by him?”

  “I didn’t—” Page began, knowing even as she spoke that on some level, she had believed just such a thing.

  “I said, silence!” Laylah lifted her hand imperiously, and for the first time since Page had known her, truly looked like a confident queen. “You are dismissed for now, Page. And you, Captain Timmins. I will not demote you from the positions my husband established for you. You will continue to serve as members of my council of advisors. But you will serve only as I require you.”

  Page had not had an easy life. She had grown up on the streets of the slums of Bowerstone, her only escape the rare luxury of reading. Poverty and brutality had not crushed her idealism, but it had made her keep her heart safer than anything that could be protected by a lock and key. Thrice she had dared grant entrance to her heart on any level: to His Majesty the King of Albion, as a true and loyal servant, to Ben Finn, as a companion and occasionally romantic friend, and to this girl, so lost and alone had she seemed in this brave new world of Albion. And now, Page felt the punishment of such relaxing of her heart’s guardianship. She felt as if she had been kicked in the chest by a horse. Haltingly, she took a step forward, hand outstretched, trying to mend the damage.

  “Laylah—”

  “Your Majesty!” Laylah snapped. “Go, before I am forced to have you escorted out!”

  Page didn’t cry. She just didn’t. So clearly she must have gotten some dust in her eyes as she turned and quickly left the august presence of Her Most Royal Majesty, Queen Laylah of Albion.

  Laylah watched them go. Suddenly she surged forward, hand outstretched, lips forming around Page’s name.

  “I must say, I didn’t expect you to have the backbone to properly chastise those upstarts,” said Reaver.

  Laylah halted in midstride, and let her hand fall. “It gave me no pleasure.”

  “I’m certain it did not,” said Reaver. “As your husband discovered, ruling a kingdom properly does require that, from time to time, one must do unpleasant things. It’s lovely to be popular, but it’s better to be safe and wealthy. Then you can purchase popularity.”

  The queen turned to face him slowly. “You could not pay me enough to like you, Mr. Reaver.”

  He lifted a gloved hand in an appalled gesture. “Goodness, no! Not in coin, anyway. But I do have the ability to get you something you want, Your Majesty. A safe kingdom. And I think if I can assist you in obtaining that, you’ll like me rather much.”

  Laylah swallowed hard, her eyes flitting back to the door through which Timmins and Page had exited. Right now, she hated Reaver more than she could ever imagine hating anyone.

  Because he was right.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The days passed, long, hot, and astonishingly free from incident. The army had caught up with the main road again, and while everyone was on the alert as they traveled it, nothing untoward occurred. There were no attacks by sand furies, or hollow men, or shadows, but neither were there any convenient oases or friendly, wandering nomads. And thus that most boring of emergencies, dwindling rations, became the most serious threat.

  “Well,” Ben said as they roasted a sheep on a spit one night, “we’d best enjoy this. It’s the last of the mutton.”

  “We still have plenty of basic rations,” the king said, though privately he, too, would miss the fresh-roasted meat. And the sheep’s milk. “How are the water levels holding up?”

  “On the low side,” Ben replied, taking another bite. “We’re also out of the fresh fruits that provide additional moisture.”

  “Shan, Shalia, where’s our next best place to find food and water?”

  The two native Samarkandians spread the map out in front of them, and Shan repositioned a lantern so they could all see it more clearly. “I have not ventured beyond the sand-fury block in three years,” Shalia warned them.

  “And I have not been in this part of my country since I was very young,” Shan put in.

  “Terrific guides,” Ben said, but a smile softened any edge the gibe might have had.

  “We are fortunate to have any,” the king reminded them all, “let alone two such courageous ones. Please—your best guess is going to be better than mine.”

  “I spoke earlier of the Cave of a Thousand Guardians, Your Majesty,” Shan began. “It is a few days’ east. This road here will veer off the Great Trade Road for several miles, and the cave is nestled at the base of the mountains.”

  “And there will be food and water in the cave?” Kalin asked.

  “Water, yes,” said Shan. “There is an underground spring that never goes dry. But more than that—it is believed to be a sacred place. It is called the Cave of a Thousand Guardians because of the beautiful statuary that was erected there long ago. It is said that each guardian statue represents a Hero from our country, and that their spirits still guide and protect those who enter the cave with respect in their hearts.”

  “And where were the Guardians when the darkness came into our land, Shan?” The king was surprised at the depth of bitterness in Shalia’s voice. Then again, considering she had been forced to trick unwary travelers, rob them, and hand them over to sand furies if she was to survive, he supposed he shouldn’t be so surprised after all.

  “What did you expect, that they would come to life and rush to our aid?” Shan said. “It is a chamber of peace, yes, but evil can even enter such places. But there is water there, and it offers us a cool and well-defensible campsite before we press on to Zahadar.”

  “Your Majesty, I offer another suggestion. If we stay on the Great Trade Road past the turnoff Shan suggested, there is an area a bit farther on that will definitely provide water, if not food. Plenty of it, fresh … and cold.”

  “Ah!” said Kalin. “You speak of a kannat—a series of underground wells connected by a channel. We have such things in Aurora.”

  “Yes.” Shalia nodded. “So which will it be, You
r Majesty?”

  The decision was not as clear-cut as either Shan or Shalia made it seem. The underground well system—the kannat, Kalin had called it—would indeed be the most direct route and the one most likely to still have water. But given his own history and that of his father, the king knew that so-called “sacred places” were, if not always truly holy, oftentimes wise places to visit. The faithful of ages past sometimes left behind tools or relics, precious items that deserved to be used again by ones who understood them.

  But he had to think of his army first this time, not himself. Water was precious in this land, and that made it a target for the darkness. He thought of the lake crawling with sirens, and made his choice. If they kept up a steady pace, they would be able to reach the kannat by nightfall, and a place with water would be a very fine place to camp.

  “Shan, I respect your desire to visit the Cave of a Thousand Guardians. But if it’s water we’re after, an underground spring is less likely to be contaminated than a single and rather famous body of water. We’ll head for the kannat.”

  “As Your Majesty wishes,” Shan said, but it was obvious he was unhappy with the choice. The king hoped he had not made a dreadful mistake.

  The king walked among the army, encouraging them to press on with the promise of rest and fresh, cool water at the end of the journey. It was an inspirational thought, and even the beasts seemed to understand that there was a good reason for putting in extra effort.