by Liam Reese
Her thoughts drifted back to what Branisi had said earlier.
How many more half brothers and sisters do I have?
Was this going to be her life from now on? Was she going to have to defend her place here every week? Collise made a mental note to speak to Branisi about it when she came back.
Chapter Eighteen
The morning sun crept over the Corbondrasi capital, chasing the shadows away as Besmir and his small company made their way through the city. The king was accompanied by his wife, Zaynorth, Norvasil and the odd hybrid ambassador Founsalla Pira. They were being escorted through the city by a squadron of Corbondrasi royal guards who made sure they were given a wide berth by the citizens already abroad at this early hour.
Besmir had stepped out of his embassy that morning to be greeted by the two Corbondrasi brothers, Col and Cal Trin. Both were smiling as he trotted over and hugged them. The immense daasnu he had tamed in the desert was also there and the large creature almost leaped at him, nudging him with its massive head and licking his face while growling her happiness at seeing him again.
Arteera approached her own mount, the great beast not quite as enthusiastic as Besmir’s but still greeting her energetically. Besmir glanced at his wife seeing the smile on her face and feeling his chest ease at the sight of it. He smiled himself as the daasnu tried to run her rough tongue up his face again. The Corbondrasi brothers tweeted laughter at the antics of the large cat as it danced at the sight of the Gazluthian king.
Just as he was about to clamber on the back of the big cat, Besmir noticed a small group of people approaching. His heart leaped to see Herofic trailing along behind the Corbondrasi king and queen who was followed by Ru Tarn. Although overjoyed to see him, Besmir could see he was troubled by something and his heart felt almost heavy again.
“Good day to you,” Vi Rhane said to them all.
The Corbondrasi brothers knelt as their king approached, bowing their feathered heads to him and his queen. Besmir nodded his own head and ran his hand down the large cat’s side.
“A fine beast,” Vi Rhane said, nodding at the daasnu.
“She is,” Besmir agreed.
Although he was speaking to the Corbondrasi king, Besmir was trying to make eye contact with Herofic who was almost hiding behind the Corbondrasi and staring down at the ground.
“My guards will escort you from the city and halfway to the border,” the Corbondrasi king said. “Supplies and provisions will meet you there.”
Besmir approached the Corbondrasi king, his hand out ready to shake. Vi Rhane had other ideas, however, and grabbed Besmir in a massive hug, clapping his back with his feathered hand.
“Thank you,” Besmir said. “For everything.”
“You are most welcome, brother,” Vi Rhane muttered in his ear. “For the care you have shown to my wife’s niece if for nothing else,” he said, releasing Besmir.
Besmir glanced at Ru Tarn who stood behind the queen, hands clasped demurely before her as she watched the two kings together. She looked almost embarrassed to be there, Besmir thought, as if she were out of place and he frowned at her, glancing at Herofic who still would not meet his eyes.
“What’s going on?” he asked.
Herofic looked up then, the skin on his forehead red and peeling, scabs and fresh, pink skin on his cheeks. His eyes were wet, as if on the verge of crying and a sudden fear chilled Besmir’s core when he considered what might be wrong.
“Herofic?” He asked. “Really, what’s wrong?”
“I will not be able to come, lad,” Herofic mumbled in a subdued voice. “I want to but...”
“Herofic’s injuries are being too severe for traveling,” Ru Tarn said.
“You’ll get better though?” Besmir asked. “There’s nothing...permanent?”
“No,” Herofic said. “I mean yes, I will recover fully. I just feel I’m letting you down by not being able to go with you.”
“This is the best place for you to be,” Besmir said. “Get rested, get well and get ready to see Joranas when we bring him back here.”
“I will, lad,” Herofic said gruffly. “I will.”
Herofic made his way slowly over to Zaynorth and grabbed him in a big hug, whispering something to the old man that made him smile and look shocked at the same time. Desperate to be on his way Besmir didn’t pry for whatever the information might be, knowing he would probably find out later on.
“We should ride,” he had said and the party had set off.
Now they had reached the outskirts of the city, the midday sun burning hotly down on their heads as they rode. Besmir adjusted the white headscarf he wore, longing to tear the boiling thing off but remembering what had happened to Herofic.
Oh, to feel the wind in my hair.
Once free of the confines of the city, the royal guard picked up the pace, leading the small party north along the bank of the river. They passed a few wagons and caravans traveling in the opposite direction, drivers and teamsters giving way to the approaching guards happily, raising hands in greeting as they passed.
They camped the first night by the side of the road in a field of grasses and wildflowers that had spread from the waters brought by the river. Besmir let his daasnu loose to hunt and she darted off into the dusk, nose to the ground for any sign of quarry. The damper air near the river held more heat allowing them to camp without tents and Besmir felt grateful for the respite from the heat.
“What makes you believe the creature will return, sire?” Pira asked as they sat eating a small meal of honey cakes and fruit.
“Didn’t you see her reaction when I came out of the embassy?” Besmir asked. “She’s as loyal as a dog, she’ll be back as soon as she’s fed.”
Pira shrugged his thin shoulders as if it made no difference to him and fell silent for a few moments.
“May I ask what it’s like where Mwondi took you?” he asked.
Zaynorth and Arteera leaned in as Besmir sighed and began to speak.
“My father told me it’s another world,” he started, “but it’s nothing like this.” He swept his arm around the landscape. “It’s barren. Bare and gray. The ground’s covered in this sand that’s like walking over broken glass and the wind’s like a constant acid that’s blowing in your face no matter which direction you’re facing.” Besmir paused thinking. “Overhead, the sky’s constantly dark, no stars and no daylight. The things that live there, the things Porantillia birthed to try and come here, try and strip the life from anything that sets foot anywhere near them. It’s a hostile and truly horrific place.”
“Worse than Waraval?” Pira asked with a completely straight face.
“Even worse than that,” Besmir grunted with a laugh.
After a brief meal Besmir lay beneath his bedroll listening to the sounds of Boranash around him. Insects chatted and chirped at each other while birds flew in giant patterns overhead all twisting and turning at the same time. From a distant upthrust of rock a cloud of dark, winged creatures emerged, screeching and moaning as they began their nightly hunt for food. Grateful for the ring of Corbondrasi soldiers around him Besmir let his eyes drift closed.
Movement beside him brought him back from the edge of sleep and his eyes snapped open to find Arteera arranging her blankets beside his. She pulled herself close, wrapping an arm across his chest. Besmir rolled to face her, studying her features in the firelight.
Still as beautiful as she was when I met her.
His eyes traced the lines of her face, her delicate nose and defined cheekbones, the full lips and long, dark eyelashes. Arteera smiled almost shyly under his scrutiny and leaned in to kiss him.
“Thank you my husband,” she whispered.
Besmir frowned.
“What for?”
“For everything you’ve done to try and get our son back,” she whispered. “For all you’re still doing to find my baby.” Her voice turned hoarse and she sniffed in a deep breath. “There’s nothing I can do to help...”
“You help by supporting me,” Besmir said cutting her off. “After everything we’ve been through, you’re still here, at my side. You don’t question anything I do, trusting me to get him back and that means more than anything you might think you should be doing.” Besmir took her chin in his fingers, forcing her to meet his gaze when she looked away. “There would be no point to anything if I didn’t have you.”
He watched as she blushed in the dim light from the fire, her face coloring in a way that made his chest ache warmly.
“You have friends and Gazluth,” she murmured.
“Worthless without you,” Besmir said pulling her against him.
“Riches beyond that of most,” she added.
“You’re my most valuable treasure,” Besmir said with a grin.
His wife smiled back before tucking her head beneath his chin and sighing. Besmir let the warmth from her body lull him to sleep.
No matter how hard he tried, Joranas found he could not recall his mother’s face. He remembered the spicy perfume that always hovered around her, the sound of her voice when she was gently chiding him for ripping his clothes, but his mind refused to recall what her face looked like.
Tears blurred the bright world around him, the dark lines of the buildings around him wavering as the tightness in his chest grew.
“More water,” Whint said as he appeared from behind a building.
Joranas sniffed, wiping his eyes and swallowing the lump in his throat. He watched as the dark skinned man casually butchered some poor creature they were going to feast on. He watched the play of light on the muscles that twitched and bulged beneath his skin as he worked, wondering again where he had come from.
“I can’t remember what my mother looks like,” Joranas mumbled as Whint spilled the creature’s intestines to the ground.
The big man paused, his dark eyes searching the cobblestones for inspiration.
“Is she pretty?” He asked.
Joranas nodded.
“What color is her hair?”
“Black like mine,” Joranas answered. “It catches the light, shining with blue and red patches,” he said absently. “And it’s long, almost halfway down her back.”
“What are her eyes like?” Whint asked as he stripped the skin from the animal’s carcass.
“They look like deer’s eyes,” Joranas said, his heart beating a little faster. “Big and brown and full of love when she looks at me.”
“What about her mouth?”
Joranas frowned, thinking hard.
“It’s small,” he said in a halting voice. “But when she smiles it makes me feel happy and you can see her teeth.”
Joranas felt a smile cross his own face as the image of his mother’s smile came to him.
Whint paused, his hands coated in drying blood, and looked at Joranas.
“I think you can remember her,” he said almost sadly.
Joranas sniffed again as he realized he could remember her. His father, too, and Zaynorth, Keluse, and Ranyeen. Anyone who was special or important to him leaped almost instantly into his mind and he jumped up, running over to hug Whint.
“Thank you,” he sobbed.
“Thank you,” Whint repeated. “What for?”
Joranas looked up, realizing Whint had no idea what he had done and also coming to understand he was not hugging him in return, just standing beneath the hot sun with the remains of a dead creature in his right hand.
“You helped me remember my family,” he said. “Can you remember any of yours?”
“I do not think I have a family,” Whint said.
“You must have a mother and father,” Joranas insisted. “Try and remember anything you can.”
He had no idea why it was so important to him that Whint remember where he was from or who his loved ones were but it seemed vital.
To make him human.
Whint stared up into the sun, screwing his face up in thought while Joranas stepped back. The dark skinned man stayed like that for minutes before relaxing his face and looking back at Joranas.
“I cannot remember anyone,” he said in a sad voice. “And I can no longer hear the voice,” he added.
Joranas frowned.
“W-what voice?” He asked nervously.
“The one that told me things,” Whint said cryptically.
Joranas realized from the way he spoke that Whint believed he had a similar voice guiding him as well.
“I don’t understand,” Joranas told him.
“If there was something I needed to know, the voice told me. If there was something I did not understand, the voice explained it to me,” Whint said. “But now it has gone,” he added.
Joranas looked at his distraught face and felt the need to help him well up.
“I’ll help you,” he said. “I can explain things and show you how to do things.”
Whint beamed, his white teeth gleaming as he turned his face towards Joranas.
“I’ll help you,” he repeated.
Besmir woke to find the side of his face was damp and hot. He opened his eyes to discover a group of people, including Zaynorth and his wife, staring down at him with ridiculous grins plastered across their faces.
“It must be love,” Zaynorth said, turning to Arteera.
His wife chuffed a laugh, her eyes full of mirth as she looked at him.
“Looks that way,” she said, biting her lip to keep the laughter in.
Besmir heard as well as felt something hot puff against the side of his face and turned to see the large, blunt face of the large daasnu asleep beside him. The massive cat had laid beside him and fallen asleep with her face next to his, breathing wetly against him. He looked back at the group, now joined by Cal Trin who was also smirking and made a rude gesture.
Founsalla Pira joined the line of onlookers, his face a carefully crafted expressionless mask.
“Good morning, sire,” he said. “Did you both sleep well?”
Besmir sat up, ignoring the laughter the comment got and wiped the side of his face where the great cat had soaked him.
“I’m the king, you know,” he said in a grumpy voice. “You shouldn’t be laughing at me.”
Besmir smiled as Arteera started laughing harder, the sight a rare blessing these days.
“It’s so sweet the way she is with you,” Arteera muttered, stroking the great cat’s head and ears. “After you rescued her from that nasty man.”
Besmir rolled his eyes as she spoke in a childish voice to the daasnu.
“You should name her something,” she added.
“What do you suggest?” Besmir asked.
“Pusskins?” Pira spouted dryly and immediately. “Your majesty,” he added with a mocking little bow.
Besmir squinted at the odd Corbondrasi-Gazluthian hybrid with a growing sense of kinship. He had read numerous reports and missives from Pira since becoming king but none of them had given any sign of this wry sense of humor. Founsalla Pira didn’t seem interested in Besmir’s status in the least and the king liked his style.
Besmir stood, watching as the daasnu rolled to her feet beside him and laughed at the silly name Pira had come up with.
“Remember when Norvasil called his ox Zaynorth?” Besmir said with a chuckle.
Even the old mage laughed.
“Simpler times,” Zaynorth said.
“What shall I call you then?” Besmir asked the great cat as it nuzzled his stomach wanting to be stroked. “When I was a boy, the Duke that found me had a horse called Teghime, an old Gravistardian word for faithful. That sounds about right to me,” he said. “Teghime.”
The leader of the royal guards approached them and spoke in his native language.
“The good captain believes it’s time we continue our journey,” Pira translated.
Besmir and the others packed the few belongings they had and clambered aboard their massive mounts, the remainder mounting the fresh horses Vi Rhane had supplied.
They followed the
path of the river northwards until mid afternoon, the waters running ever clearer the further they rode. The skittish horses were not particularly happy with the daasnu behind them so Besmir, Arteera and Cal Trin rode at the head of the column, flanked by guards.
As this was one of the main routes through Boranash they passed large caravans heading for the capital laden with goods and wares, animals and foodstuffs. One wagon was filled with spices, the aroma greeting them on the wind before they were in earshot of the driver.
“Why are there so many guards?” Arteera asked, counting the grim looking, armed Corbondrasi around the wagon.
“Many of the spices are more expensive than gold, majesty,” Pira explained. “Certain ones take a lifetime to grow and harvest.”
Besmir’s eyes picked out a line of hills to the northwest, gentle mounds to begin with but growing into fractured, jagged squat mountains in the distance. He sighed when the captain indicated they should turn away from the river and start for the hills.
As he rode, Besmir considered where Porantillia could be, how she had escaped with Keluse, if indeed she had, and what she had planned for his friend. Also playing in his thoughts was the mention Porantillia had made to Zaynorth that his son was in the care of a demon. He had experienced some of Porantillia’s creations personally and knew none of them were capable of caring for a child. Besmir pursed his lips and rode on.
Chapter Nineteen
Porantillia felt confusion shiver through her mind.
What is wrong with me?
Since making the leap into the woman, Porantillia had been experiencing strange thoughts and feelings that were not her own. She understood they must be coming from the body’s original owner but not how. She had leaped from Besmir when the illusion mage had somehow managed to make her reveal some of her plans.
Escaping the palace had been simple. Porantillia had made her way to the river that ran through the middle of the city, picking through the woman’s memories to help her. Once there, she had dived into the water, swimming against the current with the woman’s lithe, strong body a much better host for Porantillia.
