Darius smiled wickedly. He seemed to be enjoying the stream of complaints that Dudley had about traveling in Kroshen. Though the two of them had an unshakable bond, very much like Lucius and Siegfried, Darius found pleasure in goading his superior officer when the opportunity arose.
"It's that light skin of yours. It cannot block out the sun like us Talij. But there's good news," Darius said.
Dudley raised an eyebrow. "Oh? And what's that?"
"Your skin has taken on a much redder complexion, so you look less like a pale banshee and more like a hearty tomato," Darius said, unable to suppress a smile.
"Very hilarious," Dudley replied.
Their break from riding in the sun did not last long. Even though Dudley had grown tired of the desert, he insisted they make it another forty miles before stopping for the night. Time was quickly running out for the Drachengarde. If they wanted to make it to Ghadarya before the month's end, they would need to find this Al-Abya before the week was over.
When Lucius climbed into the saddle once more, he noticed movement in his peripheral vision. He peered across the gully toward a collection of bluffs several miles away where he saw a solitary rider clothed in black. After a moment, the horse and rider disappeared behind a rock outcrop.
"Siegfried, did you see—"
"Yes, I did," Siegfried said. "He's been there ever since we stopped here."
"What do you make of it?" Dudley asked.
"My guess would be that he is a scout. But it's impossible to know whether he's with a war band or bandits," Siegfried replied.
"What do you think, Darius?" Lucius asked. He figured if anyone would know the significance of a rider clad in black watching them, it would be the man who formerly lived here.
"It's difficult to say. It might just be a nomad looking for a spring. Or it could be, as Siegfried suggests, bandits or warriors itching for a fight. Many people in this land dress in black when traversing the desert. It's a symbolic thing. Black is the color of death and the desert is where many things die," Darius explained.
"Well, I'm not dying here if I can help it." Dudley added as he mounted his horse. "Let's move out and keep a keen eye on any more watchers. Liam, lead the way and we'll bring up the rear. Shout if you see anymore interlopers ahead," Dudley ordered.
Liam nodded and took up the reins of his horse. The others followed in a two column arrangement. They made it for several miles before the rider reappeared on the bluffs. Ignoring his presence, the Drachengarde continued north until the bluffs became small hills the horizon. As the afternoon wore on, they saw no further sign of scouts or travelers in the desert. The sun descended in the sky and a sense of ease settled among them.
Until Lucius saw the dust cloud.
About a mile to the east, a dark cloud appeared above the horizon line. He wondered if it was one of the sandstorms Darius had warned them about days ago. But sandstorms would be much larger than this cloud, he thought. When he pointed out the cloud to Siegfried, the elf squinted his eyes to get a better look.
Lucius expected his reply to be something along the lines of "it's just a dust cloud, nothing to worry about" or "it's a mirage, your eyes are exhausted from heat." Instead the elf's true answer was more alarming.
"It's a group of riders," Siegfried said, anxiety audible in his voice. "I'd say about fifty of them. We need to move!"
"They're coming at us fast! Head to the rock pillars," Dudley said, waving them toward the west.
A collection of outcrops and pillars nestled closely together seem to provide a suitable place for cover. Lucius wheeled Penna to his left and followed the others toward the rocks. He nudged her barrel hard with his knees and felt the boost of speed as Penna broke into a full gallop. Occasionally, he'd turn to look behind him. The riders already cleared a distance of several miles and he could see their black robes and spears.
Liam, who was previously in the lead, lagged behind them now. His horse was an older chestnut unaccustomed to these kinds of sprints. Most of the Drachengarde's steeds trained for combat rather than short distance racing. The heat and exhaustion also contributed to the slowness of the horses. Penna pounded the dry dirt beneath her with as much energy as she could muster. But Lucius could hear the horse's ragged breath with each stride and felt her speed dwindling by the second.
"We're not going to make it!" Liam exclaimed.
"We have to get there. It's our only chance to get an advantage — there's fifty of them for goodness' sake," Dudley yelled.
But Lucius feared Liam might be right. The Kroshen horses that their pursuers rode were far more suited to this kind of thing. They were born in the dusty, hot terrain and in less than a minute, they would overtake them.
Lucius nudged Penna again, hoping to spur the horse to a last ditch effort toward the pillars. Penna complied, and she surged forward ahead of the rest of the party. Beside him, Siegfried unslung his bow and nocked an arrow. He released a shot, but it flew too far left of its target, landing dully on the sand. As he was preparing for another strike, Darius yelled out beside them.
"It's no use! We're surrounded," Darius cried.
At first, Lucius was confused by the statement. But then his eyes focused on the pillars ahead. There among the rocky spires, another group of riders emerged from the shadows. This was a staged ambush. These desert dwellers had probably done this many times before to weary travelers. The Drachengarde reined in several yards from the pillars and their pursuers slowed their pace.
"What now?" Lucius asked.
Dudley exchanged a glance with Darius, who shook his head bitterly.
"Now, we hope that they don't kill us," the captain said.
The nomads encircled their group and yelled at them to dismount their horses. Darius acted as a translator and relayed their commands. The nomads wore masks over their faces which only revealed their eyes and the dark skin of their cheeks and noses.
One of the nomads was yelling at them now and pointing at their swords.
"He wants us to drop our weapons on the ground," Darius said. The Talij warrior unbuckled his belt and let the sword fall to the ground.
The rest of them followed suit. It pained Lucius to surrender the Requiem sword to these thieves of the desert, but he didn't see any other alternative. A nomad walked between them, gathering all their swords and bows. The same nomad who was yelling before—presumably the leader—told them to follow his group. Darius said something in their language and one of the men backhanded him. The move caused Dudley to step forward in a defensive manner, but the nomad leader pointed his sword at his chest.
"What did you say to them?" Dudley asked Darius.
"I told him we didn't want to leave our horses here. Apparently that was not an acceptable response to his request," Darius replied. He spat blood from his mouth on the sand.
"What request?" Lucius asked.
"He's ordering us to walk to the camp which is several miles from here. Apparently, Al-Abya is waiting for us," Darius said to everyone's surprise.
The nomad leader yelled once more and waved them forward. Several of the bandits shoved them and yelled the same order to march forward. Lucius looked back at Penna, who was being cared for by the remaining nomads along with the rest of their horses. He lingered for a moment then received another shove from a muscled nomad who ordered him to move along.
The walk to the nomads’ camp was miserable. If riding through this arid, hot country wasn’t hard enough, having to walk for miles in it was positively unbearable. Sweat drenched every inch of Lucius's body and he felt as though he were swimming in his boots rather than walking in them. Occasional gusts of searing wind pelted his face with sand and blinded him. To add to the discomfort, he often lost his balance on the uneven dunes, further exacerbated by the nomad prodding him with the butt of a spear.
Siegfried, on the other hand, seemed stoic throughout the entire affair—exuding calm and quiet confidence as they neared their destination. Lucius wondered if the elf had sho
wn this level of tranquility during his captivity in Arkadeus. And then he remembered how Siegfried prayed to Yéwa when the situation had become bleak inside the Draknoir fortress.
“Yesu, please deliver us from whatever evil these men intend for us,” Lucius muttered. The nomad behind him shoved him hard again, probably annoyed he had spoken.
After what seemed like an eternity, the shambling group of Drachengarde and their nomad captors finally reached the camp—except it wasn’t at all what Lucius expected. They were in some kind of ancient ruins where the nomads set up canvas tents interspersed around a pyramid-like structure. Square blocks served as the outer edifice of the large pyramid. Foreign inscriptions were visible on the stones, but most of the symbols eroded away from years of exposure in the unforgiving elements. The apex of the pyramid held the shattered remains of appeared to be a sphere. The construction looked vaguely familiar to Lucius, but he couldn't recall where he'd seen it. They approached the center of the camp where women and children emerged from their tents, watching the newcomers with both curiosity and apprehension.
“Sit!” The nomad leader yelled in the standard tongue, pointing a finger at the ground. “Al-Abya will speak to you.”
Lucius and the others complied, relieved to be off their feet after the long trek. The nomad leader called out to one of his subordinates and they both walked away toward an entrance carved on the side of the weathered pyramid. Half a dozen nomads guarded the seven seated prisoners while another group rummaged through their sacks and supplies. One of the nomads uncovered the fire strikers in Darius’ bag and examined the spiked balls curiously.
“Careful with those,” Darius warned. A guard walked over to him and looked ready to strike him with his spear, but Darius said something in Talij that stopped the guard. The man whirled around and ordered the man with the fire strikers to place them back in the bag carefully.
“Thanks for preventing our deaths from stupidity,” Dudley whispered.
“Anytime, Captain,” Darius replied.
A few minutes later, the nomad leader, his companion, and another man emerged from the pyramid. The man wore a keffiyeh and mask like the others, but his mask was red not black. He also wasn’t wearing the black full-length robes the nomads wore. Instead, he wore a brown leather jerkin over chainmail, steel bracers on his arms, and tan breeches. Presumably, this man was Al-Abya, the warlord who they’d been searching for. The man walked up to the seated Drachengarde and stared at them for a moment. His dark eyes furrowed under the shadow of the keffiyeh.
“Aldronians,” Al-Abya said scornfully. Curiously, Lucius couldn’t detect the heavy Kroshen accent when he said the word. Both Darius and Nestor possessed it when they spoke, but not Al-Abya. “The armor and the weapons, I recognize the designs,” Al-Abya continued, not addressing any of them in particular. “You are the Drachengarde.”
The mention of who they were brought a flurry of discussion among the nomads and Al-Abya quickly silenced them by raising a hand.
“Tell me, how did you know I was here?” Al-Abya asked.
Darius and Dudley exchanged glances. With a nod from Dudley, Darius addressed the question. “We didn’t know you’d be here at all. Our understanding was that you and your war band would be further to the interior of Kroshen,” he said.
Al-Abya glared at Darius, clearly unsatisfied by the answer. “You’re lying. You are spies sent by the Draknoir!”
The accusation surprised Lucius and the rest of them. He opened his mouth to deny the ridiculous claim, but his words stopped short when a subordinate called out to Al-Abya. It was one of the men rifling through their supplies. He raised up a hand holding a familiar object. The royal seal of the House of Nostra. Lucius’ temper flared, and he stood up impulsively to take the only possession given to him by his parents. He was quickly knocked to the ground by one of the guards. Siegfried lunged forward to help him, but another nomad moved his spear to block him.
“That belongs to me! You can’t just take it,” Lucius cried, easing himself up onto his knees. The hit he received caused a horrible ringing in his ears. Pain spread from the base of his neck to his entire head.
Al-Abya looked at him for a moment, then waved his subordinate forward. “Bring it here,” he said.
The nomad leader took the seal and inspected it. His eyes widened. Immediately, he tore off the keffiyeh and mask, revealing the face of an older man with jet black hair peppered with gray. He was not a Talij as Lucius had suspected. Al-Abya kneeled down to Lucius’ level, his face contorted in a fearsome scowl.
“Where did you get this?” He grabbed Lucius by the scruff of his collar and shook him. “Tell me!”
“It was my mother’s. She gave it to me,” Lucius said, a tone of defiance in his voice.
The answer surprised Al-Abya. He let go of him and studied him closely for a moment. A pained expression passed over his face. “Oh dear Yéwa... Lucius, is it really you?”
Lucius frowned, confused that this erratic warlord knew his name. “How do you my name?”
“Lucius Nostra. All this time, I thought you were dead. It’s me... I’m your father—Simeon Nostra.”
Chapter 10
The task of gathering all the talo ferns took longer than Violet expected. She had stayed in the cottage for two days since Alistair and the dwarves arrived. Her old room was now inhabited by numerous fairies and though they were very polite roommates, their pulsing light did not help her sleep very well. As she finished her meager breakfast of porridge and hard biscuit, she exited the cottage to check how Morton and the others were coming along with packing the plants.
Outside, the sun beamed in the sky and chased away the previous days of overcast clouds. Songbirds warbled in the trees and sung their springtime melodies for all creatures to enjoy. Caldwell tied a bundle of sacks holding numerous ferns to one of the pack mules. They only brought two mules to hold the extra ferns, so some of the other horses had to bear the burden including Homer. Further away, Alistair was holding a council with Balfour and the senior dwarf officers. The dwarves mostly roamed about the grounds surrounding the cottage, many looked bored and impatient to move on to their next task. The druid seemed to be exhorting their leader to wait and remain calm, but Balfour was hardly the person to follow those instructions.
"Confound it, Alistair! We've been twiddling our thumbs in this place for three days. My people are itching to see battle and show those Draknoir who reigns supreme in this land! When are we moving out?" Balfour demanded.
Alistair raised a hand in a calming gesture. "Balfour, we've been through this. All the pieces are not yet in place. If we want to have a successful campaign, we need more troops. I don't discount the bravery and strength of the dwarves. However, we are not simply dealing with Draknoir. There are dragons — and the worst dragon of all, Kraegyn, to consider. Trust me, old friend. You will get your opportunity to bash skulls, as you put it," Alistair said in an even tone.
Balfour grunted. "Fine. But I will not wait much longer, Al."
The dwarf king spun on his foot and his compatriots followed him as they walked back to the troops and relayed the news.
"He doesn't seem very pleased," Violet said to the druid as he walked toward her.
Alistair rolled his eyes. "He's never pleased, my lady. Balfour's a stubborn, rude dwarf. But he's loyal and has a big heart for his people. Not unlike your fiancé"
She smiled at the comparison. "You don't know how right you are. I am impatient to get back as well. Not only to see him, but also bring this cure to the hundreds who are suffering," she said.
"Yes, I had a thought about that," Alistair said vaguely. "The journey will take you—what? 4 to 5 days if you ride quickly?"
"That's what Morton believes. But we're burdened with all these sacks now. Poor Homer will have to take longer rests in between. I fear it may take the better part of a week or more," Violet mused.
Alistair nodded. "What if I told you there is a faster way to reach Aldron? An unco
nventional way."
The statement definitely piqued her curiosity. "I would be eager to hear it."
"There is a gate the dwarves use to travel between places in Azuleah. Long distances that would normally take them months to reach take minutes or less. We traveled through such a gate to Sylvania. They are known as Elder Gates — ancient gateways powered by magical runes."
Violet had never heard of such a thing, but didn't doubt the druid. Though she was wary of traveling through a magical gateway, the prospect of reaching Aldron in even half the time was tempting. She voiced her fears about the dangers of such travel, but Alistair was quick to dismiss them.
"I assure you it is a perfectly safe way to travel. The horses might be a bit skittish about it, but I doubt there would be any casualties in the process. Besides, we hardly have much choice in the matter," Alistair said.
Violet raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"
"War is coming to Aldron very soon. King Silas is already making preparations as you know. As the future queen of Aldron, you will need to be at his side and provide whatever assistance you can. Wartime is catastrophic to those in power. It beats upon their hearts and minds as they labor over strategic decisions and the needs of the people. This is why the support of those who love them most greatly aid kings in battle. Furthermore, curing the peasantry of this disease will be a boon to the kingdom."
Violet nodded. "Yes, I agree. We'll need every able-bodied man and woman in this fight. I'm sure the nobles don't think so, but in my heart, I believe a unified Aldron is stronger than a divided one."
"You are already displaying the qualities of a fine monarch." Alistair smiled. "Now let us go to Sylvania and find the gate."
Violet instructed Morton and Caldwell about their new travel arrangement. The lieutenant and the doctor both had severe doubts about the Elder Gate. Caldwell was especially skeptical about their safety and eagerly voiced his dissent. After a long chat with her mentor, Violet was convinced him to at least come to the gate in Sylvania. After making the final preparations with the group, Violet turned to Klik, Lya, and Syl.
Keep of Dragons (The Azuleah Trilogy Book 3) Page 13
