by D N Meinster
"The filth chooses to die," Jient grumbled. He looked behind his back, as if he knew someone was watching, and then knelt on the ground beside Aros. "A choice I wish I could make. No lie."
Jient touched the arrow's shaft, sending an excruciating twinge through Aros' shoulder that temporarily obscured his vision.
"Do you know how long I have been forced to rhyme?"
Aros swayed and almost fell onto his back, but Jient held his arm out to steady him. What exactly was this Thalian trying to do now? Convert him? That wasn't going to happen. He needed to get up and get on his way. But neither of those options were tenable. He could hardly sit up on his own.
"Three hundred years time," Jient answered his own question. "I want to help you, but I cannot. I am a slave. However, I'd suggest that you follow me if you'd prefer not to rot."
Was he planning on leading him into a trap? That's what this whole kingdom was. A trap. Aros hated Faunli. It'd taken his friends away, along with his own sense of self, and left him at the mercy of a Thalian. But there was no way he'd fall for this one. He couldn't. It was not possible for him to stand up.
Jient rose from his knees and gazed down at Aros. "There is only one way he would let me lift you." He latched onto the shaft sticking out from Aros' arm and pulled him upward.
Aros' screams stirred the birds from their trees and sent the gophers back to their holes. The wail startled caribou and alarmed the insects. But the prevalent buzzing and squawking that followed his howls were not nearly a match for the clamor that had started it all.
Once Aros was standing on his feet, Jient let go of the arrow and backed away. "Remember what I said. I'll try to stay in view." With that, he turned and headed west.
Would Jient lead him toward Doren? To Rikki? Or to his doom? It was an incredible gamble to follow this Thalian, but the only hesitations he felt were his own. The voice was not warning him to take some other path. Leidess was not before him, guiding him to another destination. Jient presented him the only way forward. Without an alternative, what choice did he have?
Aros slid his left foot a few inches, and then picked up his right and took a step. After a deep breath, he repeated the process. He was still hurting, but he endured. He could do this.
After another step, the world around him became slanted. Was he on an incline? Aros moved another foot forward and his surroundings began spinning. He closed his eyes and waited for Faunli to return to normal. When he opened them, everything was in its proper place once more.
Aros took a look down at his infliction. Blood continued to soak through his blue shirt. He doubted the head wound was responsible for the dizziness. There was only a dull ache remaining in his face. No, the blood loss was causing this spell. If it wasn't treated soon...
Aros spotted Jient in the distance and started dragging his feet along with more haste. He had to keep the Thalian in his sights without getting distracted or passing out. He was relying on this servant of Neanthal for aid. It may have been foolish, but there were no alternatives. If Jient was leading him to his death, then it would be no different than dying in the fields. In this instance, there was reason to hope.
Hope. Aros hadn't thought much of hope since Leidess died. There didn't seem to be any left in all of Ghumai. Yet now, in the footsteps of a Thalian, he found some. It was a strange day.
And if even he could find hope, then surely there was some left for Doren and Rikki. He was going to rescue them.
In spite of Aros' accelerated pursuit, Jient seemed to only get farther away. All the while, blood seeped down his left side, drying and sticking to his skin, making the trip much more unbearable. Aros didn't have the strength or the energy for this. But he kept going. Even as Jient began to resemble a speck in the distance, Aros kept after him. He ignored the flies swarming around him and occasionally landing on him. They were not important enough to waste any remaining stamina in swatting away. Let them buzz. They would not be feeding on him today.
Every so often, the trees would start to swirl around him, but his eyes stayed on Jient and eventually the wooziness would subside. He dared not focus anywhere else, or think of anyone but the Thalian straight ahead. His one reason for existing was in front of him. The agony in his side was irrelevant. He couldn't let it stop him, or he may never get moving again.
Aros could feel his eyes water. He couldn't stop the tears sliding down his cheeks. But he ignored them like everything else.
Each step took an increased effort. The rest of his body was weighing him down. He was not going to make it much farther.
And then Jient was gone. Lost behind structures of pink stone. It was a village! Chimneys were leaking smoke, and Fauns were gathered amongst wooden stalls piled high with the variety of produce native to the kingdom. Was this where Jient intended Aros to end up? At least it wasn't Neanthal's Hamlet.
As Aros got closer, he could better make out the fine details etched into each building. They were like stone boxes, though all came in different sizes. The streets were less hodgepodge and more intelligently designed. It was unlike any place he had been to in Faunli, and in some ways reminded him of Kytheras.
But no one acknowledged him as he approached. They plucked their fruits from the wooden tables, traded gossip while they piled the food into their arms, and then wandered back into the village.
Aros couldn't call out to them. His tongue ignored his pleading, and his lips refused to form any words. His throat was too dry to even make a moaning sound. How was he supposed to get aid when he wasn't seen? He was still too far for his footsteps to be heard, or for even a clap to get their attention.
He had to get closer, but he could feel his body shutting down. Aros' legs wouldn't go up or down. He was able to drag them for a bit, until they ceased moving altogether. His arms were stuck at his sides, and his neck was as stiff as the rest of him.
They had to see him. He hadn't come this far to die.
He directed the air through his nose and tried his best to make a squeak. But the soft sound didn't direct a soul to look his way.
Aros blinked at the crowd a few times, before his eyes stayed closed and his body leaned until it was on the verge of falling. Faunli was the worst place he'd ever been, and he had traveled through rattipede-infested sewers. As his body tipped over and he drifted out of consciousness, he wondered if it was the last place he'd ever see.
Chapter Nineteen
Hostage
Doren's wrists were tied together. His legs were bound with layers of rope, knotted in so many places as to make it impossible to undo. His shield had been taken to make it easier to tie his frame around a wooden pole. He hadn't really bothered to struggle against his tethers. He knew that without any assistance, he was stuck.
It wasn't quite dusk yet, but Lady Yveen's raiders were already setting up camp. Velizards were harnessed to wooden pegs stuck in the ground, and fires were at full blaze. They chomped on bits of cooked meat and fruits, and chatted in their undecipherable language as they went on with their meals. Some threw their scraps at the velizards, who hastily ate them up and then whined for more.
Lady Yveen herself stood on watch, apparently trusting her one good eye more than she trusted any two on her men. She circled the camp, taking time only to pet the necks of her velizards before moving along.
No one paid any attention to their hostage. Doren's stomach grumbled as he saw the men eating, but he said nothing. As long as they weren't harassing him, he wasn't going to disturb them.
Doren looked back toward where they had come from. Past the endless fields and bunches of trees was Aros, lying where they had left him. He was out there, with an arrow stuck in his shoulder, probably on his way to the Great Bastion by now. They had taken on Thalians but had succumbed to a resilient gang of Fauns. Was it Doren's fault? Had his mistrust of Aros cost them their ability to collaborate in battle? But Aros was the one who had caused that! There was no way Doren would take responsibility for losing faith in his friend.
> This was the price they paid for intruding in affairs greater than them. Aros was dying. Rikki was missing. And Doren was kidnapped. He wished they could go back and change all of it. If they could leave Aros behind, or even save Leidess from Hatswick, this may have been avoided. If they had traversed Faunli with more stealth, then Lady Yveen may never have noticed them. If the three of them had any idea what the cost of getting between Neanthal and his return would be, maybe they would have made different choices.
But there was no going back. That would be impossible. They had to live with the consequences of everything they had done.
If Doren could have been like Rikki and trusted Aros a tinge more, perhaps he would be in a completely different situation right now. Aros was responsible for his actions, but Doren was just as liable for failing his friend when he needed support most of all. Not only in his mourning, but in the midst of combat.
Doren's head drooped down, and his eyes focused on the patch of dirt at his feet. The trio had been torn asunder. Neanthal remained behind the Door, but events were moving in his favor. Who would gather the Keys now? The Roamers? Hatswick? Sarin?
Aros still had a key! Someone could come along and pluck it from his body. They had made it even easier for Neanthal. They had not only let themselves down, but the Goddess as well.
"Why so glum, Prince?"
Doren lifted his head up and saw Yveen staring down at him. "Gee, I wonder," he said, before raising his bound wrists toward her.
"We can't have you running away," Yveen replied, and she knelt down beside him. "We have no intention of abusing you. I'll bring over some food as soon as my men are done."
"Why?" Doren muttered.
"So you don't starve," Yveen said.
Doren glared at her.
"Oh, I know what you mean," she said with a wave of her hand. "If I was in your situation, I could figure it out. You can't?"
"You left my friend to die," Doren grumbled.
"I only needed his Ligold," Yveen said. "He was otherwise unimportant."
"He carried a key!" Doren cried out.
"Now someone else will," Yveen replied. "It is not my concern."
"When Neanthal comes for your lands, it will be."
"Always someone comes for our lands, be it Luewen, or Kuwain. Or Neanthal. They can try to claim it, or put their names on it. But it will only truly belong to me and my brothers and sisters."
Doren turned away from Yveen. She didn't understand the threat Neanthal posed.
"You see, young Prince, it takes more than strength of arms to keep our lands. It takes money. You are royalty, meaning you are worth a lot to someone in the unseen lands."
"So you intend to barter me for riches?" Doren asked.
"Naturally," Yveen responded. "I only need to discover how to get in contact with the Kytherans. Might you help with that?"
"Go help Aros and I'll consider it," Doren replied.
"Your friend is dead." Yveen grimly stated. "Perhaps you don't realize how savage we can be."
Doren didn't say another word. If his friends couldn't help him, his only other hope was Magenine. And if She wouldn't interfere, then he would suffer; but he would not tell Yveen how to reach his home.
"You believe I am unjust," Yveen stated. "You do not know true injustice until you are a Lord or Lady of Faunli." She rested her knees on the ground and scratched underneath her eyepatch. "There is a tale all young Fauns are told. My father would recite it to me every night. Lord Inkrow was a farmer who had no family except for the velizard his parents had given to him before they died. He loved it more than any human he had ever known. But one day he woke to find his storehouse raided and his velizard gone. Can you guess what he did, Prince?"
Doren had not heard this story before, but the outcome was easy enough to guess. "He sought vengeance?"
"Yes. He traveled miles across Faunli until he had finally tracked the thieves down. And when he found them, he saw his velizard had been butchered for meat. They were in the middle of eating it. Inkrow waited until night, and while the thieves slept, he silently slit each of their throats. And for breakfast the next morning, he devoured their flesh."
Doren's stomach turned and he lost his appetite. "They tell that to children?"
"Oh yes," Yveen said. "And I loved that story. But that's all it was. It's all it was supposed to be." She rubbed her good eye and held a hand to her cheek. "My father died shortly after Luewen became our emperor. I grieved for decks after he passed on to join our ancestors. And in the midst of my grief, someone broke into our home and stole my father's velizard. I knew what I must do. It was like my father had been telling me what to do since I was a child. I left home and chased after the thieves. My despair had transformed to fury, and I was set on doing more than simply retrieving that which had been taken."
Doren didn't interrupt but was astonished by the coincidence.
"After two days of hunting, I found them," Yveen went on. "They had not yet turned the velizard into a snack, but I would not take that chance. I grabbed my mace and started smashing away in a blind rage. I should have been more careful, for these thieves fought back. One of them took out my eye." She tapped on her eyepatch. "I managed to kill two of them, but the third man was a coward. He ran from me before I even had the chance to graze him. I might've let him go, too, but he fled on my father's velizard. I tracked him down after a day, and exactly like Inkrow, I slit his neck while he slept." A terrible grin formed on her face as she recalled her revenge.
Doren was more horrified to be in her company than before. This was not someone to take lightly. "So you righted a wrong. How does kidnapping me do that now?"
"Because when I returned home with my father's velizard, I found our land had been occupied," Yveen sneered. "In my absence, the Emperor's forces had moved in and taken all that was once mine. Taking vengeance on these men was not so easy. I rode off on my father's velizard and rallied all the Lords and Ladies that had been kicked off their lands. We've caused some havoc, sure, but we have not gotten revenge. We need more people. We need better weapons. And we need funds. Do you understand now?"
Doren understood. Somehow he had wandered into the middle of another Faun conflict. This land was apparently filled with them. "If you send word to my father of what you've done, you'll have more than the Emperor's soldiers to worry over. You can't kidnap a prince and expect mercy in return."
Yveen's guffaw was unsettling. "I'm sorry to tell you that I do not fear Kytherans. I've heard enough about them to know that our farmers are better warriors than even their best soldiers. Look how easy it was to snatch you."
"Because our mage was missing," Doren rebuked.
"Mages give you an unfair advantage. It's why Fauns have never been fond of their kind. We've been keeping track of you, though. As soon as your friend disappeared, we had the opportunity we needed. You and your friend fought bravely, but you didn't stand a chance."
"We've taken on worse than you."
"Not Fauns, I imagine."
"Sarin," Doren stated.
Yveen shuddered. "And yet he still lives to terrorize us. Because of you, then. Because of magic."
Doren was losing this argument. Yveen had a way with words, but if she could defeat him in a battle of tongues, then she had no reason to believe he was any better with a weapon. What could he do to change her perspective? He didn't have cannibalistic stories. The story he knew best was less gruesome. Yet maybe it was what he required. "You know, my father used to tell me a story when I was younger, too. It was my favorite. I made him recite it even when he didn't want to. Have you ever heard of Andrant?"
"That name is not familiar to me."
"Andrant was a paladin centuries before Neanthal arrived."
"Paladin?" Yveen asked.
"They were the elite guardians for King Iroh. Every paladin had to be able to lift five times their weight and be trained in combat with both sword and shield. They were better equipped and more brutal. And these were Ky
therans, by the way."
"Y'all must have grown soft over the years," Yveen replied.
Doren grimaced before continuing. "They were better fighters than any men in all of Ghumai. A small battalion of paladins brought an end to the War of the First."
"Don't recall that in my history lessons," Yveen said.
"That's because you don't have the books that are in our library."
Yveen studied him with her eye. "They could be biased."
"What do your books say?" Doren asked.
"King Iroh begged for an end to the war after his son was killed. So a truce was called and new lines were drawn on the maps."
Doren couldn't believe how inaccurate that was. "That's not at all what happened. After the paladins decimated legions of Fauns, they begged for a truce."
"It doesn't sound that different," Yveen yawned.
Doren looked away from her. She continued to dominate the conversation even though he was telling the story. Perhaps he was doing a poor job narrating. Usually, it was his father or some other castle resident who he would plead with to recount it or even act it out. Then again, he never interrupted as much as Yveen did. "It matters because when the war ended, the Emperor of Faunli sought revenge against the paladins. That sounds right, doesn't it?"
Yveen snorted.
"The Emperor remained indignant over his defeat. He plotted another war, but to ensure victory, he knew the paladins must die. So he tasked five of his bravest warriors to sneak into Kytheras and murder his fiercest opponents. One-by-one the paladins turned up dead. King Iroh went hysterical over the losses, as he considered the men his family. But no matter the protections he placed on them, he could not save them. Eventually, only one paladin remained: Andrant.
"Andrant took precautions. He wore his armor to bed and slept with his sword and shield. His paranoia proved vital to his survival, because one night, they came for him. All five men closed in on him as he lay in bed, pretending to sleep. As one of them went in for a speedy kill, his sword and shield rose up from beneath his blankets, and he took them on all by himself. Even though he was a paladin, it was still five-on-one. He could keep them back, but it had all the appearances of a losing battle. Andrant's sword met all of theirs, and his shield blocked as many blows as it could. He even managed to kill one of them. But as his sword pierced one man, another swung down on his wrist. Andrant lost his hand and his sword.
