by Swanson, Jay
She reached out to touch his face, finding it cold and clammy under her calloused fingers. He winced as if in pain, then looked into her eyes. The intensity was still there. The deep, passionate man lived on within this shell. She could see that in an instant.
“I've seen him, Rain.” His hand found hers on his cheek as she studied his face. “I know he's escaping. I know that's why you've come.”
Her mind snapped back to her message, but it seemed as though she had been preceded. “You know?”
“Yes,” he said as his strength seemed to give out momentarily. Blassen was at his elbow in an instant, steadying his King as he lowered him to the steps to sit. “He has help from the outside. It would appear he has found new friends, and we are helpless to stop them.”
“No, brother.” She lowered herself until she was at eye level with him again. “We have friends too, ones who are more powerful than we could have hoped for.”
“That is good news indeed.” Rendin smiled kindly, but his heart was not behind it. “But I fear your friends will prove too little, too late.”
“Can you dispatch soldiers to the mountain to help him?”
Rendin sighed as he picked the silver circlet off his head and placed it on his lap. He rubbed the line in his forehead with one hand as the emeralds on his crown dimly caught the passing torchlight. “We have no army that can stand against the Relequim alone, Rain.”
She felt her hope die to hear the words, because coming from Rendin, she knew they were true.
“At least not at the Tomb. He won't be constrained by the mountains. There's no way to force engagement, and even if there were, who knows what damage he would wreak?” He sighed again as their eyes met. “The Magi are gone, Rain; I can feel it now. I never thought I would carry father's legacy where his magic was concerned, but at the very least I know them to be gone.”
She could only nod in silence as she watched her brother break before her. She knew it to be true as well; it was everything she had been told.
“The Brethren may return, but who's to say they can perform without the help of the Magi? And we haven't armies to stand as we once did.”
“But he certainly can't have much of an army either, Rendin.” Her tone wasn't nearly as encouraging as she had intended it to be.
“He doesn't need much of one, little sister. He only needs enough to tie us up, to hold us off. He's working on something, some weapon or witchcraft. I don't know what it is, but I have seen it in my dreams.” His face drew taut as his eyes reached up to meet her own. “I have seen it in my dreams, Rain. We need to move quickly. We need to find the heart of what he's doing and strike at it now... or we're lost.”
THREE
THE GROUND IS COLD THIS MORNING, CID THOUGHT AS HIS EYES CRACKED OPEN TO THE DAWN. Damned cold.
It wasn't just the ground that was cold; everything on the desert plane was frigid. It wasn't a proper desert with billowing sand and burning sun. This was high desert, with low shrubs that could subsist off of raw steel and rabbits that could survive off of the god-forsaken shrubs. He sat up slowly, the rock at his back leaving an undeniable mark on his posture.
If only I had stayed home...
But staying home had never been an option, and he had known it all along. Wishing for the past to change was nothing new for Cid, though when he caught himself at it he would immediately quit. There was a lot to wish undone, and many words unsaid. But this was to be his last mission, and after it was through, he could rest. He could finally rest.
The refugees' camp spread alarmingly far. There was no way to run these people any harder and no hope of making much progress. The last few days had led them from the semi-tropical lowlands onto these high plains where the wind ravaged them day and night. The broad expanse was the last natural barrier to cross before reaching what the Greatbow had called the Bastard's Ring. Cid worried there wouldn't be anyone left to protect should they reach it. He figured they were losing hundreds of people every day to exposure alone.
And the raiding on the rim of the travelers' movements was getting worse. There had been few incidents before his arrival, but shortly after joining up with them, things had begun to pick up. Woads in particular preyed on the weak, the stragglers, and occasionally would appear at the center of a fringe group almost as if they had materialized from thin air. Their dark, furry bodies were easy to spot here on the wavy plain, but sometimes the sheer panic caused by seeing them was worse than the actual damage of coming in contact.
He was thankful that there didn't seem to be many of them. The black monsters seemed to be targeting the outriders as they kept an eye on the fugitives' surroundings, and, to Cid, that was the worst of it. The scouts were understandably shaken. Their resolve to keep a lookout was being dismantled by the attacks, and soon they would be blind if he couldn't get them to ride farther out.
Thankfully his worst fears had yet to realize themselves. So long as those bloody hoppers keep their distance, we'll be a'right.
But they were two days' march from the Bastard's Ring. Two days on healthy feet with young backs. At their current pace it would take them another week. Every minute they spent from this point on was a minute he expected to see spears and axes bounding over the horizon. When that happened, there would be nothing he could do to save these people.
His bones groaned in protest against his efforts to stand, but he ignored them. He was too old to be sleeping on the ground any more, he knew, but too pressed for time to listen to his body either. It was his heart that gave him the most trouble. The fact that he had allowed Ardin to leave his care and had wound up trying to lead this ragged bunch of refugees towards safety was increasingly hard to swallow. He couldn't help but struggle with the guilt of letting his final charge out of his sight. The knowledge that he was best serving the cause right here was heavily outweighed by the ghosts of his past. The ghosts of those he had already failed. He only hoped that Ardin hadn't joined them in their haunt.
Cid surveyed the makeshift camp. A few tents had been thrown up hastily the evening before, but most of the travelers had forsaken setting up any of their usual amenities. Time was not a friend to their flight, and frivolities beyond fires were frowned upon as fetters. To be prepared for an attack in the night required mobility. Flight for those who had set camp would be tantamount to abandoning their few remaining possessions. At least for those few who had any possessions left of which to speak. And so they slept in the open on the ground next to fires that burned low in the predawn haze.
The hills in the distant south stood darkly against the brightening sky. To the Truans among them they were known as mountains, but the Westerners considered them little more than high, rocky hills. They offered Cid a great temptation: to find high ground and hide, to dig in and wait for the enemy to pass or approach. That was what he wanted most right now, but he had no way of knowing what waited in those hills, and there were too many people with him to make hiding viable in any stretch of the imagination.
Roughly ten thousand remained, only eight hundred of whom were trained soldiers. Of those eight hundred, he figured, only half were capable of standing against an attack in their current state. Four hundred ill-fed, travel-weary men to guard ten thousand.
The Greatbow, at least, was proving to be an able leader. For all of his bluster and obvious desire for a fight, he kept the surviving fugitives together with as much skill as an old sheepdog. Most impressive, however, was his ability to maintain morale. The Greatbow himself had a deep, rumbling laugh that seemed to draw men to him like drunks to a keg. And much like beer, his presence could wipe away their worries, if only for a while.
It was the jovial warrior whose desire was to make for the Bastard's Ring, a circle of broad hills that had once been fortified by Truan princes and now lay in ruins. Close to the sea, it was their best chance of fortifying a perimeter while simultaneously hoping for rescue from the sea. But Cid was no longer certain they could make it in time, not if the distance the Greatbow's sco
uts gave him was accurate.
He picked up his armor, massive shoulder guards connected by thick straps to both chest and back plates. The material was a weave of leather and some synthetic fiber that the Magi had created a generation ago. He was reluctant to ever take it off here, but sleeping with the stuff on was nearly impossible. It slid on easily enough, and soon he was strapped in tightly. He adjusted his belt, hefted his thick sword, and made for the fire the Greatbow had made the night before.
The large man was squatting low when Cid found him, facing the low coals that no longer cast any light despite their emanating warmth. His dark eyes didn't see much any more, the cloudy pools in their centers growing with age, but he was still supposedly a dead shot with the giant bow that gave him his nickname. The camp was beginning to stir, but aside from the guards and outriders, few were yet awake.
“We've got lots o' ground to cover today, then, don't we?” Cid knelt across the ring of blackened earth from his new ally.
“Did you know that this was the last of our firewood?” The Greatbow didn't raise his eyes from the coals as his voice kept its distance. “There isn't much to burn up here, and though it will get hot enough today to make us want to strip naked, tonight there won't be any warmth to stand against the return of the chill.”
“Aye.” The Fisherman nodded as he picked up a cold shard of blackened wood. He twisted it in his fingers, the deep brown of his leather gloves stained even darker by the grains of soot. “The Ring is near a forest though, ain't it?”
“Yes.” The Greatbow finally broke his staring contest with the coals he could scarcely see; his dim eyes rose to meet Cid's. “But I'm afraid we'll never get that far.”
While relieved to hear the sanity of the man's words, Cid's heart sank to hear the hope lost in his tone. “What would you make for instead? Where should we be goin'?”
“We can maintain our course, Cid.” The Greatbow's voice dropped into a hoarse whisper. Each word turned to mist and vanished in the cool breeze as his brow hardened. “But we must leave these Truan bastards behind.”
Cid rocked back on his heels so hard he nearly toppled backwards. “What?”
“We cannot move quickly enough, Cid,” he hissed as he stood. “Not with all of these broken wretches trailing along at half the pace they ought. We barely have enough men to defend one bastion of the Bastard's Ring, let alone encircle the entire compound. And it would take all five of those bastions to protect this many fools.”
“What are you suggestin'? That we leave all these people to die?” Cid could feel a deep-seated anger rising in his chest. He had not expected this, and it made him fear the source of the change.
The Greatbow swallowed hard before he answered, and in some small way Cid felt the man deserved credit for his hesitation. No matter how treacherous the resulting decision.
“That's exactly what I'm suggesting.”
“You can't be serious.”
“I am.” The cold stare behind those frosted eyes matched the morning's chill, and Cid could see he was not wavering in his conviction. The Greatbow stood tall and looked out over the landscape. “There's no sense in all of us dying. Your friend, Donovan, you said he was coming.”
“I said I hoped he was coming.”
“Well that hope is more than we have with this lot.” The way he gestured at the camp around them made Cid's hackles rise. “I'm taking my men, today, and we're making for the Ring. It should only require a matter of hours by horse.”
“Your men fought and died to save these people!” Cid could barely keep from yelling. He stood and jabbed a finger in the chest of the other man. “Ye can't just abandon 'em!”
The Greatbow looked down at Cid's finger before his dull eyes returned to Cid's glare, rimmed in resolution. “My men did die for these Truan traitors, yes. That, it turns out, was a fool's mistake, one I don't intend to compound through repetition.” He brushed Cid's hand aside calmly as he maintained his stare. “If we stay, we die. If we leave, we might live. I'd rather the chance over the certainty.”
And with that he brushed past, leaving Cid speechless in his wake. Good God, he thought as he turned to watch the Greatbow rouse his remaining men. What am I supposed to do now?
A squad of outriders made their way slowly through the sleeping masses to intercept the Greatbow. They were returning from the east. Scoutin' the way out, Cid realized. He's planned this... he's really goin' to leave 'em all here.
“GREATBOW!” He shouted at the top of his lungs, rousing the nearby sleepers from their slumber. The warrior stopped. “Ye can't do this!” Cid turned in place, hoping that leaving a conscious mass would be more difficult than slipping away in the night. “Get yer arses up! We're movin' out, now!”
There was something jutting out of the Greatbow's discarded pack. Something pointed. His horn. Cid reached down and pulled out the horn that he had heard blown so many times before to recall the outriders. He raised it to his lips, hoping to wake the entire camp, to block the Greatbow in a sea of moving bodies.
Cid took a deep breath, but before he could blow on the horn, lights exploded in his eyes. Warm flecks of his own blood splattered the side of his face as his left shoulder was carried forward by an impact in the same instant. He spun, landing on his right side. He tried to catch his breath but it evaded him with every pull. He looked down to find a pointed shard of metal glinting through viscous red. The arrow had strips of leather and flesh sticking to its thick black shaft. His blood streamed out along it and down his armor.
He had been shot before, but it had been a long time.
The Greatbow stepped into his field of view. No one moved around them. Awake or asleep, heads were staying down. The tall warrior came at him slowly from an odd angle, his massive black bow held at the ready. Another thick black arrow was already notched to the string. It was his armor and the arrow propping him up, Cid realized; the world hadn't really tilted.
The Greatbow raised his arms, guiding the arrow back along the grip of the bow as he aimed it at Cid's chest. “You should have come along.”
FOUR
ARDIN TOOK A STEP BACK FROM THE SHADOW KING. Then another. How is this possible? He looked around again. Everything seemed in place, but the world was gray. Shadowy patches of fog lingered over every surface, trapped in tiny prisons of their own.
“I'm glad you finally came through.” The Shadow King began walking forward. They were only thirty feet apart at most. “Silvers was too easy in the end. Somehow, I found it dissatisfying.”
And then the Shade launched himself high in the air. As he closed the distance the shadows around them seemed to draw closer. Ardin brought his sword out of its sheath in a hurried motion. The tip of the blade caught slightly, draining the parry of its power. It was all he could do to deflect the Shade's downward strike and jump back.
“This isn't possible.”
“You're on my plane, boy. In my mind.” The Shade smiled. “The last remnants of your soul are extinguished here. Now.”
He spun, bringing his legendary sword down hard. Ardin swept his own up in time to catch it, his blade notching on contact. The metal ground as their muscles tensed. The wounds the Shadow King had carried minutes before were gone, none of them anywhere to be seen, but Ardin's remained. He felt them burn even more against the strain.
“You almost had me.” The Shadow King's confidence turned malicious as he laughed in Ardin's face. “You almost had me. I've been after your power since before it was yours. I can't believe I didn't put it all together back at the Cave.”
The Shadow King forced his weight into Ardin, then pulled back quickly. He kicked, landing a solid blow to the ribs. Ardin crumpled over slightly as he pulled back. The Shade was there, slicing down into Ardin's shoulder.
Ardin screamed. There was nothing else he could do. Ardin twisted away, the flesh sucking at the blade so that it came away a mess. He recoiled and rolled onto his back. He kicked up and brought his sword around in time to deflect another s
lash. But another kick followed and caught him in his ruined shoulder.
A flash of pain drew the cry unbidden. Ardin fell to the side, inches from the edge of the bridge. Inches from the abyss.
The Shadow King laughed again quietly to himself. “I'd make quick work of you if you'd let me. Your girl went easy enough.” The sword swept through the air, trailing mists as it cut the thin fog that encompassed them. Ardin ducked his head. The whistling steel flew past, ringing off the bridge with a crack. “Silvers didn't even put up much of a fight when I took over his body, and he was a legitimate member of Khrone's.”
Ardin rolled back again, on his feet in an instant and backpedaling to gain space. He needed space. He needed time.
“Don't drag this out, boy.” The Shadow King followed intently. “I'm through with your bullshit.”
Impatience. The word slid into Ardin's mind like the key to a lock. Why is he so impatient?
The enchanted steel whistled yet again as the Shadow King leaped to the attack. He spun, cape spreading in a flower of strength, putting all of his energy into the strike. Ardin brought his own sword up with his good hand, his right rendered useless by his wounds. His block was knocked aside by the Shade. Caspian's sword clanged on the bridge as it flew from his hand and skidded to the edge of the bridge.
It stopped with a third of the blade over the abyss.
Ardin spun out of haste, dodging the thrust that would have skewered him in the middle. He half fell as much as he dove, reaching for the blade. But the Shade was there. He jumped, then landed between Ardin and his weapon.
Ardin looked up at his enemy. The smile on the Shade's face drove ice through his chest. Then the Shadow King kicked Ardin's sword back over the edge.
The blade glimmered beautifully as it spun and twisted into the mists below. Every twist and flash of the steel was replicated in force in Ardin's stomach. This can't be happening.
