by Tim Mathias
They ate only one meal that day. The Dramandi had killed two deer, though Zayd heard mutterings of a third they had missed. He smiled at this. His men would not have missed. It would have been three arrows for three animals. His right hand twitched at the thought. Before the wound he could have taken down three elk himself, and none of them would have had time to react before it was too late. But that was before.
Sera summoned him as the sun arced towards the horizon, sending their shadows sprawling even as they sat, making them tall as trees. She was sitting on the ground with her grinning right hand, Cohvass, sitting predictably beside her. The diminishing sunlight shone noticeably off of the grey streaks in her hair, and her posture was straight and stiff, as though she thought the wilderness itself was her throne. It was perhaps her only choice at one; there would soon be no settlement, village, or city that the Empire had not claimed. The survivors could make thrones of anything in their minds. A grin tugged at the corner of Zayd’s mouth at the thought, but he subdued it.
“Did you have enough to eat?” she asked. This was not a question he expected.
“It was more than I thought we would get.”
“I don’t want you starved. If you are to do what I am going to ask of you, it will be to both of our detriment if you don’t have the strength to do it.”
“Well then, you’ll have to tell me what it is we’re doing so that I know whether or not I’ve the strength for it. Though I think I already know what you will ask.”
She looked amused. “Is that so?”
“You want something from one of the carriages. Some artifact of yours. Something invaluable to you, though perhaps not to the Empire.”
She pursed her lips.
“It was obvious,” Zayd continued, “since your first attack against us was so desperate.”
“How was it desperate?” Cohvass interjected. The sinews of his neck tensed as he spoke, and his fists tightened. Did he ever relent? Zayd thought not. He was always looking for conflict, or finding it in everything regardless. This was a warrior destined to die in battle.
“You did not have the strength to defeat us outright. It was a feint. Bold.” Zayd stared at Cohvass as he spoke. “And foolish.”
Sera immediately put a hand on Cohvass’s shoulder. “Calm.” She turned to Zayd. “I find it intriguing you can judge one situation as foolish, and merely by doing so, you poke at the wild animal that you are chained to. Even after it has killed one of your sword-kin. Now… would you judge that to be foolish?” She clasped her hands gently together and did not wait for Zayd’s answer. “It is something taken from our sacred temple. The Raan Dura. The Eye of Aulvennic.”
“There was much taken from Yasri. How will I find it?”
“There is a chest made from iron and gold. The Raan Dura is inside.”
“I remember seeing it,” Zayd nodded. “Is it locked?”
Sera looked confused by the question. “You should not need to look upon it.”
“I won’t be able to carry the chest.”
Cohvass leaned forward again. “You will not profane it by holding it.”
Sera put her hand on him again, and with the subtlest of motions with her eyes made the brute stand and storm off. “We have suffered enough defeat. I don’t think he will allow himself to suffer any more.”
“My people used to have holy relics of our own,” Zayd said. “The Broken Bow from the King Hunter. He taught the first of us how to hunt, how to live in harmony. Tauth was a beautiful place. Our forests were immeasurable places. Not unlike this. Our trees, though, were wider. Not as tall as these ones.” Zayd looked up at the impossibly high canopy. “I know how important it is to you.”
“Maybe you have an idea… Zayd.” She nearly winced at saying his name. He was not sure if she had difficulty pronouncing it, or if she had that much bitterness towards him. “The Raan Dura was given to my people by the Guiding Star himself. A gift directly from our god… Yasri, our greatest city, was founded upon its discovery. Aulvennic willed that his people would live in this land for all of time. Now my people have lost Yasri, and we have even lost our holy birthright to this land. Without it, there is nothing. We have nothing. Tell me, what happened to your Broken Bow?”
“You know what happened to it,” Zayd said. “They took it.”
“Your people decided to serve. My people will not serve. If we do not have this, then…” Sera was weighing what she was about to say. “There will be nothing left for us to live for.” The admission pained her to utter it.
“And you think of asking your enemy to help you survive?”
Sera flashed a bitter smile. “I am not a fool. We’ll never have this land back. We’ll never again call it our own. Just as you won’t yours. But I will not, after everything, live out my last days without hope. There could be no punishment worse than witnessing my people die slowly, not like some tree hacked down by axes, but like one that watches itself dying of thirst. I know… I know I could not have asked this of a Ryferian.”
“I am Ryferian.”
“You know what I mean. A nasci. A Trueborn. You have more in common with me than you do with them.”
“Is that so?”
Sera nodded. “We will be done with each other soon enough, though. With them, you will always be a slave.”
“My service is nearly done,” Zayd said. “If I live long enough.”
“How could I expect your aid in this if there was nothing for you in return but death? Retrieve the Raan Dura, and I will set you free. You and your sword-kin.”
Zayd did not trust her at all, but had no choice. She may keep her word. She may not. He did believe, though, that if he did not play the part she asked, he and his men would die.
“How many of my men will accompany me?” Zayd asked.
“Should any? One of you is hard to detect. More of you… not as hard.”
“Still hard,” Zayd said, knowing she would remember the nights in Yasri where the Tauthri would burst out of the calm. “Easier to fail with only one set of eyes. Even eyes that see in the darkness.”
Sera nodded. “Some gifts cannot be taken away.” She tapped her fingers as she thought. “One other. You may have one other. And Cohvass, too.”
“What? Why?”
“How else can I trust that you will do as you must?”
“They’ll see us or hear us. They’ll hear him. We can do this, but he cannot. What do you think they will do if they discover us sneaking about? Do you think we will have another chance? That you can just try again and their guard will not be raised?”
Sera looked at him evenly as he spoke, allowed him to finish, and said only, “Cohvass, too.”
“This is unwise…. As long as he obeys orders.”
“He’ll obey mine.”
“Will you not sway on this? I do not wish to fail, but I fear that we will if he is with us.”
“There is no compromise between enemies. Only victory and defeat.”
Zayd knew he would remember this when the time came.
“He can carry the iron chest easily,” Sera added. “And if you need to fight your way out, you’ll be glad to have him with you.”
Approaching the Ryferian camp in the dark reminded Zayd of home, only the foreign trees and unknown setting made him feel like he was in a dream that warped and twisted his surroundings. One knee on the ground, he steadied himself against a large tree trunk with both hands. Tascell was to his left, doing the same. Cohvass was behind him like some hulking shadow.
That there were no Tauthri sentries around the camp scratched at and uncovered another long-buried memory and the feeling of longing that went with it. No Tauthri sentries and no giant meant there were only Trueborn. Powerless to spy what lurked in the dark. That was where Zayd would be. Perhaps it would be easier than he thought – one bright spot of luck to stand out among the misfortune that had been plaguing them.
They heard faint voices, but most of the soldiers seemed to be asleep. Or passed ou
t drunk, Zayd thought. He expected Praene and the Knights of the Ninth to be the ones awake as they had been, before he and Barrett had been discovered. He wondered what happened to the soldiers of the Eighth Regiment. He could not guess based on the number of tents, but he remembered the noise that was at his back when they fled. He guessed the Eighth had been all but slaughtered. By Xidius’ grace, he hoped their deaths were cleaner than Turald’s.
He nodded to Tascell and they began to advance, knees bent and silent. He would have liked for at least one of them to have a bow. Not that he would have used it. Only if it kept him from being discovered. He would have liked for Daruthin to be with him. Smaller and quieter than Tascell, Zayd also trusted him more. But that was apparent to Sera when he intervened to save Daruthin’s life. Keeping him captive with the others was just more assurance that Zayd would not try to sabotage the task. He wouldn’t, whether Daruthin was with him or not. He wasn’t stealing from the Empire. He was stealing from thieves.
The light of their fires cast long shadows as soldiers walked past, signalling a careless mind of a careless sentry. It would be a wonder if they made it to their destination, wherever that was, with such a lack of discipline.
The encampment was on high ground – that much they at least got right – and the approach to it was steep on all sides. They stepped cautiously, sure to avoid any misstep. The ground was firm but there were branches, stones, and bushes that were in their way, ready to tell the Ryferian sentries that they were not alone – if they were listening.
As they got closer, they saw the sharp silhouettes of palisades. Hastily constructed, Zayd could tell, but a troublesome obstacle nonetheless. They shifted their approach to the right towards the rear of the camp. The drifting voices became more distant. Zayd stopped, and Tascell and Cohvass stopped too. Would Praene keep his precious charge at the opposite end of the camp? It was greed that caused him to defect, and it would be greed that would make him keep the fortune close to him.
“Where are we going?” Cohvass asked. “Make your mind up.”
“I think they’ll be keeping the loot closer to the front. Praene would want to keep it within sight,” Zayd said.
“The Raan Dura isn’t loot,” Cohvass murmured.
“What is he saying?” Tascell asked.
“I’m sure you can guess.” Zayd said.
“Where will we make our approach?” he asked.
“I think the carriages will be at the fore.”
“There will be sentries there, no doubt.”
“There will be sentries at every end of the camp. They may not have a shred of honour, but we can trust they still have a shred of foresight. We should enter by the palisades. They assume that spot to be protected. No need to keep watch over it.” Zayd explained the same to Cohvass and they began moving again.
The sharpened sticks jutted out over the spot where the flat ground began to decline into the slope. The three of them were on all fours. Zayd looked through the spears and, when he was sure it was safe, took hold of the one on the right end, wrestled it until it was loose and then pulled it free. Without a word, Cohvass took it from him and drove the sharp end into the ground at Zayd’s foot, keeping the spear from rolling down the hill and announcing their arrival. It also gave Zayd a step to use to get up to level ground more easily. Tascell followed second, and Cohvass last.
Praene, or whoever was actually in command, had not ensured that there was open ground between the defensive line and the rows of tents. There was next to no open ground for Zayd to cross, hardly any opportunity for someone to catch the intruders while exposed. They were among the rows in a few strides. Another boon for him, Zayd thought. Had he more time to reflect, perhaps he would have wondered if Xidius was offering him some invisible guiding hand, or skewing things in his favour.
Tascell motioned to Zayd that a sentry was to their right… fifteen strides… standing still. Cohvass gave them an angered, confused look, but Zayd simply motioned to the left, to the front of the column. That is where the carriages would be.
They moved up without making a sound, staying in between the two rows of tents closest to the edge of the camp. Finally they arrived at the end, where there was open ground between where they hid and the next closest tent, which looked to be Praene’s. Zayd stood just enough to look over the top of the tent and saw the line of carriages. He counted six carriages, and second to the front of the line was the one carrying the monolith. On the carriage behind that Zayd could see the iron and gold chest.
A full laugh erupted from nearby. There was a fire lit in front of Praene’s tent, creating an oddly familiar feeling in Zayd, as though he was reliving the plan that he and Barrett devised. Things would be different this time, though. He would not allow any man to take him by surprise.
Zayd was pulled back to the ground and saw Tascell, alarmed, looking at Cohvass. But the Dramandi was pointing at a figure walking around the command tent towards them. It was Devon Rindus. What light seeped through the command tent reflected off his bald head, and Zayd would have recognized the portly stature of the man even if he could not see in the dark. The knight strode to the edge of the plateau and stopped a few short strides from where Zayd, Tascell, and Cohvass were kneeling, completely motionless. Rindus had only to look to his left and he would have seen them. Then they heard the sound, and Rindus exhaled.
“Rindus! Where have you gone?” someone called out.
“Be quiet, you damned oaf,” the knight grumbled. “I’m taking a piss.” Drunken laughter was the response. Rindus was humming as he relieved himself, and without saying a word, Cohvass stood and walked over to the knight as if he was waiting for him to finish. There was no attempt to conceal himself as he approached. Rindus turned, looked at Cohvass and furrowed his brow as he tried to understand what he was seeing. And in a moment he understood. Zayd saw his eyes widen, and as the knight inhaled, Cohvass clamped both hands around the knight’s throat and wrestled him to the ground.
Tascell looked at Zayd. “What is he thinking?” he whispered.
Rindus had already stopped struggling. Cohvass looked at them, his hands still around his victim’s throat, and he smiled at them. A childish smile, like an infant recognizing a loved one. Zayd and Tascell hurried over to him.
“Do you know what you’ve done?” Zayd asked, his voice barely audible. What was this fool thinking? Praene would find the body, see that Rindus had been strangled, and would know that there was an enemy close by. He would come looking for them. But Cohvass only smiled wider still before he finally spoke.
In Zayd’s tongue.
“We thought our kind had been wiped out. It is… pleasing to know part of us lives.”
“How can you speak our tongue?” Tascell asked.
Zayd motioned for silence. They were still within earshot of the enemy, and even if they were drunk, they could still hear.
“Every river goes to the ocean from which all this owe their origin,” Cohvass stood slowly and looked around as if he did not know where he was. “Crude. We will be whole again. Have you returned to serve?”
Zayd went to cover Cohvass’s mouth with his hand, but the Dramandi slowly grasped Zayd’s wrist and pulled it away, easily overpowering him. He looked at Zayd with amusement. What had happened to the anger?
“Rindus!” a voice called. Familiar. “Rindus, we all know you can’t hold that much wine!” It was Praene.
“We know you did not find it. It matters not. We have the other key. It is across the ocean in a great city. We are there with it. Velskotahn is there.”
“Who are you talking to, you fat fool?”
Cohvass pulled Zayd closer, and Tascell tried to wedge himself between them to free Zayd from the grasp, but it was no use. “Take the portal to Velskotahn. Across the ocean. Unite the keys and release us.”
Shadows stirred from the side of the tent, and Zayd could hear someone approach.
“Let me go!” Zayd whispered. Cohvass did, and walked towards the approa
ching shadow, still possessed of some unnatural calm.
“By all of the night gods,” Tascell said, “what are we going to do?”
“What we came here to do.”
Cohvass turned the corner of the command tent. There was confused cursing, then shouting. Zayd sprinted towards the carriage that held the iron chest and, planting one foot on top of the rear wheel, leapt on top of it. He ran his fingers along the sides until the found the grooves which released the lock, as Sera had told him. When Zayd looked up there was a knight laying on the ground, dead or unconscious, and Cohvass was stepping towards a circle of them, their weapons drawn. The end of a sword was protruding through his lower back, and Zayd watched the Dramandi pull the blade free of his own flesh and advance against the Ryferian knights, unfazed, one steady step after another. The Ryferian knights looked upon him with terror, unsure if they should attack or flee.
One sword struck another and the sound piercing the night stirred Zayd into action. He found the releases, pressed them both in, and lifted the lid and looked into the chest.
Empty.
He stuck his hand inside and felt the bottom of the chest to make sure his eyes were not being deceived.
“Vahr,” Tascell said, standing beside the carriage, “where is it?”
“It’s not here. Damn them, it’s not here!” He flung the chest down and looked frantically for another one. Tascell climbed atop the carriage and did the same. They could hear a tide of voices awakening as Praene’s knights began to call for help. Zayd glanced up to see Cohvass covered in his own blood but still swinging his sword at the knights.
“We’re out of time,” Tascell said as he flipped open the lid on another container. “Did she tell you what the damned thing looked like?”
