by Tim Mathias
“And we do remember. When I return home, we will honour our dead. Perhaps not in the way we used to, but in a new way. I’m sure you have many heroes, many brave dead. Many more than we. It would be a tragedy for their pain and heartbreak and bloodshed to be as though it never was. No one will remember your heroes. Once the soldiers that fought here get old and die, it will be as though all the centuries your people spent striving will not have happened. People will look upon this land, and they may think, there used to be something here, but that is where it will end. Do not let it be so, Sera. Even a fragment can bear the heart of the whole.”
They rode for an indeterminable time with only the sound of the carriage wheels and the creaking of its wood intruding upon the perfect silence of the night.
“Stop,” Sera finally said. Zayd almost did not hear her. “Stop here.” Zayd pulled back on the reins. He could see nothing nearby that was of concern. Only a break in the canopy of the trees. The light of the moon and stars was bathing the forest floor and the trees surrounding it in a peaceful white-blue aura. Sera jumped down from the carriage and made her way to the clearing, looking up to the sky. She stood there amid the soft glow and turned slowly, always looking up, before she returned to Zayd.
“North,” she said. “Veer north.”
“What is it?”
“There is a gorge. Deep, fast-moving water. We won’t need to bury this cursed thing. We can drown it.”
It was close to dawn by the time Walrend could take a full account of the damage done to the fort. One of the storehouses had been utterly destroyed after the fire had spread to it from the weapon master’s workshop. One watchtower had been moderately damaged, enough to warrant repairs before being put to use again, and another had been burned beyond any notion of salvation. Sections of the walls were blackened but, according to his men, still structurally sound.
“Small blessings,” Walrend muttered to himself as he walked with a giant’s strides back to his quarters. The Tauthri sentry named Daruthin was there waiting for him, standing at attention. The slim warrior saluted. Walrend waved a hand, dismissing it.
“Tell me again, every detail,” Walrend said as he retrieved the manifest of the recent supply shipment. He needed to take account of what had been lost. He needed to determine if their food supplies would hold them until their next shipment, or if he needed to have it rationed. He needed to know.
Daruthin cleared his throat. “We didn’t see their approach, and were not aware they were there until the fires had already started. Only then did they emerge from the cover of the forest.”
“And they got inside our walls and opened the gate without any of you noticing? How is that so? So far we have not found any breaches in the walls or tunnels dug underneath. Therefore they must have climbed the walls. Climbed up the walls, and not one of you noticed.”
Daruthin hung his head.
“And they located and freed our prisoners with what appears to me to be remarkable efficiency,” Walrend said. “How did they know where the prisoners were being held, I wonder?”
“There was a seer among the prisoners,” Daruthin said. “Zayd had often suspected her of trying to summon the aid of their dark gods.” He looked down at his feet and fought the nervous urge to shift his weight. Walrend’s questions made the Tauthri wonder if the commander suspected them or if he was merely accusing the decorated Tauthri sentries of incompetence.
Walrend rubbed his hand on the stubble on his cheek. “I don’t understand how they could have done it,” he said, still staring at the manifest on the table in front of him. “Why did no one go with Zayd?” The commander looked up at Daruthin. His eyes narrowed. “One of you must have thought that him going after the Dramandi alone was too dangerous.”
“Yes, sir. We would have, but he ordered us to remain in the fort so we could help quell the fires.”
“That was foolish. How does he expect to track them without being detected? This is unfamiliar terrain to him. To all Ryferians.” Walrend shook his head. “Pointless.”
“Sir?”
“Pointless for him to follow.” The commander scowled. “How many of them did you see in the fort?”
“I can’t say, sir. When we saw them, the captives were freed and they were all running for the north gate. It was hard to distinguish soldier from prisoner.”
The commander placed his hands flat on the table and slowly leaned forward. “Then guess,” he said quietly. “Was it a hundred? A thousand?”
“No, sir, it –”
“Then give me a damned number!” he shouted. Daruthin nearly took a step back.
“Perhaps no more than twenty… aside from the prisoners.”
“Very good. You’re dismissed. Gather the other Tauthri and report to Hame… or Boamanth.” Walrend slammed the ledger book closed in frustration. “Whichever officer is in charge of the repairs.”
“Boamanth, sir.”
“Then go see him! Dismissed!”
The Tauthri sentry left, and Walrend sat down and rested his head in his hands. How had this happened? His men were supposed to be disciplined. They were supposed to be elite. “The Tauthri are not your men,” he whispered to himself. Regardless, it was an embarrassment, and something had to be done. He needed a victory in the wake of this defeat.
A large figure loomed in his doorway.
“Commander.” Barrett Stern had donned heavy hide instead of his full plate armour, but was just as imposing a sight.
“Exalt Stern.” Walrend saluted, and Barrett returned it without enthusiasm. “You seem already possessed by some task.”
The knight stepped into the room. The wooden floorboards creaked under his weight. “Yes, commander. To find the Dramandi and regain our prisoners… or put them to the sword.”
“Zayd Cothar is gone. His men tell me he was on their heels as they ran.”
“I’ve heard as much myself. But we need more than the eyes of one Tauthri.”
“One sword, even yours, seems inadequate.”
Barrett nodded. “I will need men to follow me. Perhaps ten.”
Walrend stood. “Take twenty. Barthel Baudrus’ detachment is the most experienced. Take them. And take the bloody En Kazyr as well.” The commander thought he saw the knight grin.
“Thank you, commander,” Barrett said, and he turned and left.
First Sergeant Baudrus had his detachment of twenty men armed, armoured and ready and the north gate within minutes of Stern giving the order. Talazz, meanwhile, was carrying three large timber planks, each one twice his own height, over his shoulders.
“Damage done to the wall is worse than they thought,” Talazz said to Stern.
“Finish, then. But find us immediately after,” Barrett said. The giant nodded, and he shifted the wood laden on his shoulders as if he was shrugging off a fly. The knight signalled to Barthel Baudrus, and the group of them marched out of the fort through the north gate in a loose formation. Baudrus was young to be a first sergeant, barely over twenty years old, but as a veteran of several vicious battles earlier in the war, he had already proven himself. More importantly, he instantly won the respect of those who fought with him, not only with his brutal fearlessness, but with his natural aptitude for war. Many said that no one in the Fourth Regiment could deliver a killing blow as quickly or efficiently.
Through the gate, Baudrus led his detachment with a hungry and fierce anticipation, the kind Barrett expected to see in a mercenary company. The knight found it odd; to him, battle was his life, his way of serving Xidius and the Empire, while the first sergeant seemed possessed of bloodlust. It was not a good urge to be possessed by, but at least the man had found the proper vocation in which to satiate it.
The detachment began to jog at a slow pace, following the still-visible footprints in the dirt and mud on the forest floor. Barrett, the only one among them who was mounted, stayed at the rear of the group and was following them while letting his mind wander. He nearly missed spotting another set of tra
cks – wheel tracks – that veered west, away from the tracks that Baudrus and his men were following.
“Sergeant Baudrus, keep following the main set of tracks. I’ll catch up with you,” Barrett said. The Sergeant paused long enough to salute him before turning back to the hunt while the knight veered away from them.
Grey clouds were encroaching against the sun before midday. Anticipation, almost unbearable, weighed on the Tauthri in Ten Tower more than anyone else there. Daruthin wondered for how long and how far Barrett would follow the tracks. He hoped they would find only trees, but he began to catch himself looking around anxiously when he started to think what would happen if they actually did catch up with the Dramandi they had cut loose. Daruthin did not doubt they were brave, but if there was anyone among them who would give up the truth of what had happened, Barrett would sniff them out, and while the Silver Sun knight would have had no reason to suspect anything, it was apparent that the commander might. He could have conveyed his thoughts to Barrett, something Daruthin hoped was only possible in his dread-fraught mind.
With none of the soldiers wanting to incur the commander’s displeasure, the repairs to the fort were going quickly. The Tauthri, smaller and weaker than their Trueborn counterparts, still helped where they could by organizing the timber to be used in the repairs by section and by cutting over-long pieces to sizes fit for the task.
“When do you think he’s coming back?” Tascell asked Daruthin in their native tongue.
Daruthin looked around to see that no one was close enough to hear them talking. None might understand, but unwanted attention was to be avoided. Especially today of all days. “I hope soon. This commander is enraged by the defeat he believes he’s suffered. His eyes will be open until the scales are balanced.”
“But he does believe it? The attack?”
“He seems to. At least, he believes in the attack itself. Whether or not he believes it unfolded the way I told him… I’m not sure.”
“Open the gate!” a voice called out from across the fort. Tascell and Daruthin both looked over to see the north gate open to let familiar faces inside the walls – the mariners who had restocked the fort just days earlier. It seemed every soldier around stopped to see who had arrived, and every soldier displayed some confused and tired open-mouthed gape at why the mariners were there, or a disappointed scowl that it was not Barrett and Baudrus returning victorious from their search.
“What do you think they’re doing here?” Tascell asked.
“I’m not sure,” Daruthin said, “but I doubt they’re already resupplying.” As he spoke, the two Tauthri watched as the mariners wheeled in the half-destroyed remnants of a carriage, one that they immediately recognized not as the one that bore the coveted relic, but the one Zayd had put in its place. Commander Walrend was already on his way over to Drusidus, his face nearly as red as blood, barely containing his rage.
“This is nothing good,” Daruthin said. There would be no doubt now that there was some deception being played upon them, but whether they could trace it to its source was still unknowable. Lesryn came walking towards them a moment later, after Walrend and Drusidus had already begun speaking.
“I heard them,” Lesryn said. “A misstep by one of the horses pulling the carriage, and the whole thing overturned. The commander is furious. He’s accusing the captain of stealing it for himself.”
“He’d be a fool to come back,” Tascell muttered.
Lesryn nodded. “That is what he said.”
“He’ll have the fort searched, every inch of it,” Daruthin said.
“He might lay the blame on someone else,” Tascell said, half hopeful. Daruthin rubbed his chin as he thought and tried to see the truth of the situation they were in.
“Daruthin?” Lesryn said after a long silence. “Are we still… safe?”
He shook his head. “The whole house was built on this one stone, and now it’s gone. Walrend may not know now, but he will know. By His eyes, Zayd even asked the commander to bury the cursed gold. Once the commander remembers that, he’ll have no doubt who is behind this.”
The three of them stood in silence, wary with the sense that they could be among enemies in the passing of a breath, and the same realization came to them all.
“We can’t stay,” Tascell said. He was clenching his hands, open and closed, over and over, and shifting his weight from left to right. He was preparing himself, getting ready to run or to fight.
“No, we can’t,” Daruthin said.
“Well…” Lesryn looked between the two lieutenants. “When do we act?”
“The northeast wall is still being repaired. We should be able to slip through without drawing much attention.”
“The north gate is still open,” Tascell offered.
“Too many eyes. Far too many. Let’s tell the others and go, right now.” The three of them were about to disperse when Daruthin stopped himself. “Eyes watch him…” Lesryn and Tascell stopped. Daruthin looked at them. “Zayd doesn’t know…… he doesn’t know he’s been found out.”
“Cursed calls,” Tascell growled.
“If he comes back here…”
“Then someone has to warn him,” Lesryn said. “I mean… he’s our vahr.”
“Lead the others home,” Tascell said to Daruthin. “I’ll find him, and… we’ll see you back there. Back home.”
“How much further?” Zayd asked.
“I’m not certain. We must be close,” Sera said.
Zayd was certain it had been hours since he left the fort, and hours longer than he had wanted to be absent. Thinking on it, he wasn’t sure how long he thought he would be gone, or how long it would have felt to be acceptable, and that the longer this journey went on, the more difficult the explanation would be when he returned.
It was only doubt, he told himself. It was only fear. Of course he should be afraid when he had everything at stake. His life, his wife and son, but his men, too… and their families. There were also the untold eyes that could be, likely were, watching him now, eyes from across worlds and centuries. There was the fear of that, too.
“Where did you find the Raan Dura?” Sera asked, taking Zayd from his dark thoughts.
“It was attached to that,” Zayd said, motioning to their burden.
Sera’s eyes narrowed. “What? No, no, that’s wrong. It never was.”
“It is where I found it, though.”
“It was always kept in the chest; it had been consecrated by Aulvennic’s Chosen. The chest was the only place it should have been. And I saw that thing underground, when it was still half-buried. Its whole face was exposed, and the Raan Dura was in the chest when I saw it.”
Zayd produced the relic from a satchel at his feet and handed it to Sera, who took it and stared at it as if trying to decipher some riddle.
“This is it,” she said. “But…… I don’t understand. When did you first see it on the marker?”
“After the siege had ended. I had seen the monolith, like many others, when it was still underground. I know it wasn’t there then. But when we first loaded it onto this carriage, it was being carried by two En Kazyr… two of our giants. And I saw it then. It was in the centre of the carvings, in the circular space between the hands… if those are actually hands.”
Sera tapped the edge of the Raan Dura with her thumb. “It doesn’t make sense,” she said quietly to herself. “Why would someone place it there?”
Zayd was not sure she expected an answer until she looked up at him. He shook his head. “I don’t know, but it fit there as if it was made just for that.”
“That’s nonsense. This was created by our god, it has nothing to do with this evil.” She waved her hand at the monolith with disdain.
“What if you’re wrong, Sera? The phantoms spoke of a portal – what if it’s the monolith they speak of? And the Eye is one of the keys –”
“Enough! I don’t know how you saw what you did but your assumptions speak to your ignorance.” She
looked back down at the silver disc in her hands and traced her fingers along its markings. “I suppose… I suppose it doesn’t matter now. I have it.”
“I suppose it doesn’t,” Zayd said, though he disagreed. The carvings on the monolith were so elaborate that he could not imagine the Eye fitting there by chance, yet if he convinced Sera that it did not come from her god there would be no reason for her people to surrender. They would be hopeless once more. “I hope it brings some good,” he said, though he wondered if it was already too late, and knew that Sera must have thought the same as their eyes met. Their brief, unspoken understanding was cut by their shared realization of a sound: the distant rush of water.
They came upon the edge of the gorge not long after first hearing the sound. The ground sloped upwards as they neared and the trees thinned. The horses, tired, began to slow and they struggled on the incline, forcing Zayd to hit them on their hindquarters with the flat side of his blade to spur them on. The sudden lurch jarred the carriage, causing the golden slab to slide several inches backwards.
Zayd cursed under his breath, and then cursed loudly as the slab slid further still. Sera gave Zayd a worried look, once again sharing the same unspoken worry as him; if it fell to the ground, the slab would be nearly impossible to move, and, looking down at the ground, Zayd knew that, if it did fall, they could never bury it here. The soil was too shallow and was mostly rock underneath.
