Bishta the Black

by Jada Fisher

His eyes widened with horror as his mind replayed whatever terrible events he’d witnessed. Baerdon could only imagine. “They… They came out at night. We had no warning. They just materialized as if coming from the shadows themselves.”

  The trio all shared a look, wondering if he was speaking of the shadows. They only came out at night. Could there be more? That seemed likely. Baerdon didn’t like the idea of having to make another stand like the one they’d made a couple night ago, but it seemed logical that they wouldn’t be the only people the shadows had harassed and attacked.

  Though, they were probably the only group traveling with a sage, so maybe they were. What did he know?

  Gayla crouched so she was eye level with the father. “Were they shadow monsters? Looked like they were made of pure shadow?”

  He looked at her like she was mad. “No! I— My word, is that a real thing?”

  The sage stifled a chuckle. “You don’t need to worry about that. Please, continue. What happened?”

  Maedon licked his lips and gathered himself. “My tribe, we live in a shallow valley in the hills to the south. A deep fog rolled in a few nights ago and completely overshadowed the sky. There was no light save for what fires we had. And that’s when they came out of the fog and darkness.”

  “Who?” Baerdon asked, a tad too harshly. He wanted answers and fast.

  “Men, but not like any I’d ever seen. They had blank stares, like they were dead. They didn’t say a single word, just appeared and began to kill.” His voice caught and a lilt of sorrow invaded his words. “We were so unprepared. Our warriors, they… I don’t know. They fell so easily.”

  Ivara stood next to him then knelt and offered a finger to one of the twins. Baerdon wasn’t sure if it was Yama or Baara. “So everyone was killed,” she said. The baby took her finger in its chubby hand and giggled. A strange sound to underscore the darkness of this conversation.

  Maedon shook his head. “Maybe it would be easier if they had. But they weren’t all dead. They were taken. My brothers and wife and mother. Everyone.”

  “They were captured?” Gayla asked.

  “Not exactly. It was like, after a point, the bloodshed stopped. Everyone went still and then as one, they left together. The attackers and my tribe. For some reason, whatever dark spell they were under didn’t take hold of me. I tried to snap my family out of it, but once they realized that I wasn’t a mindless husk, the men with swords chased me.”

  He shuddered and held his daughters closer to him as he held back a sob. The girls cooed, oblivious to their father’s distress. “Since I had my full faculties, I managed to escape them, or maybe they thought it unimportant to let a single straggler escape. If they even have thoughts of their own.”

  His gaze went distant again, and Baerdon could see the horror in that gaze. The sight of death upon them. Baerdon had seen that in battle, though he could imagine the type of trauma this event had caused. If Baerdon had seen the same thing… He didn’t know how he’d react.

  After a few seconds, Maedon shook his head and refocused. He looked so tired. “I wanted to follow, but I was too scared, and I couldn’t risk my babies. So I ran. Until…” he trailed off.

  “Until?” Baerdon prodded.

  “I heard a large uproar. I investigated. Thinking I might be able to get some help. And what I found was another large group.”

  That made Baerdon’s heart leap with a glimmer of hope. He leaned in close, hands on his knees. He probably seemed a bit wild and overeager, but he didn’t care. “This group, did it seem like a tribe? A bunch of women and children, elderly too.”

  He perked up a bit. “They did. I saw them. They were much like my tribe. All hollowed eyed and silent, marching slowly to the south like my people. I didn’t… I couldn’t follow them. I just kept running. I don’t know what I was hoping for. Help?”

  Gayla smiled and put a hand on his arm in comfort. “You found us. You need not feel guilty for running. Your first duty as a father is to protect your kin, and that is what you did. Nothing comes before them.”

  His eyes glistened again, and he nodded to her. “Thank you.”

  Baerdon stepped away and stroked the hairs of his goatee, which had grown wilder the last few weeks. He hadn’t had a time to trim it. He shared a look with Ivara. “Do you think…”

  She shrugged. “It could be. Would explain some things.”

  Gayla wriggled her lips, her arms still crossed over her staff, as she puzzled over this. But she let them do the talking for once. Odd choice, since she seemed a lot more reasonable a talker than he or Ivara, but on the other hand, they could relate to Maedon a lot better.

  Baerdon crouched in front of the father. “Do you know how to find them?” he asked.

  He gulped. “Well, I s-suppose I could tell you which direction they w-went. Don’t know the exact location though.”

  “Could you show us?”

  He averted his gaze and stammered even worse. “I don’t know. I need to keep my daughters safe. That group is dangerous. They aren’t the people that we know and love.”

  “You let us worry about that,” Ivara bulled her way in. “We just need their location.”

  “I don’t—”

  “Maedon, please, we just want our people back,” Baerdon said, trying to sound as reasonable and soft as he could. He was usually more assertive, but he didn’t think that would work. Well, maybe it would, but Maedon had been through enough. He didn’t need a verbal lashing.

  “It’s possible we can rescue the surviving members of your tribe too. You can have your family back, but in order to do that, we need your help. Please.”

  Ivara put a hand on his shoulder. “We’ll keep you safe. No harm will come to you or your daughters, but we need to find our people before this same fate befalls others like you.”

  He looked between them, and the conflict was clear in his eyes. He wanted to help, and he wanted to save what remained of his tribe, but he also didn’t want to put his babies at risk any more than they already had been. Baerdon understood. It felt like a very hard choice to make. Obviously, they would do their best to protect him and his babies if danger came, but they couldn’t guarantee his or the babies’ safety. Maedon was taking a huge risk.

  But they needed him. He was the first lead they found in their search for the missing tribe. They couldn’t let the clue slip through their fingers.

  Finally, after a long minute of pondering, Maedon’s shoulders sagged. “I will help you. But please, if anything happens to me, protect my daughters. They’re all that matter to me in the whole world.”

  “We will protect you and them, you have my word,” the sage said. That was a promise Baerdon knew she’d keep.

  He gulped, lips puckered, and nodded to them. “Okay then. I suppose you should follow me then.”

  He started after where the forest bear had gone, and he didn’t seem the least bit concerned about going down the path of destruction that the beast had cleared. Maybe he was too focused on what laid ahead to worry about it. Maybe he knew that Gayla would be able to handle it, so he put that worry aside. Regardless, Baerdon was glad to see that the man had some courage.

  So, without any more fuss, the trio fell in behind him and marched through the forest, hoping that the end of this path would lead them to the answers they sought and the tribe they so desperately wanted to find.

  5

  Dorrick

  The table in front of Dorrick was filled with smiling faces, good alcohol, food, and playing cards. His head swam with beer and warmth and his body was just the same. The meat pie at his side was hot and delicious, and he had a killer hand that was sure to win the pot in the middle of the table.

  Next to him, beautiful Marcella giggled, her cheeks flushed with drink and her brown hair held up in a messy bun. Usually, she’d be way more put together, but that usually went out the window whenever they all drank. She glanced at her cards and cracked a crooked grin. He could spy a few of them since she was drunk and
not being careful. He smirked himself. She had a good hand, but it wasn’t as good as his. He didn’t need to see the rest of it to know that for certain.

  Across from him sat the brothers Evan and Ollo. Ollo was stoic and had his eyes narrowed at Dorrick. The elder brother was always an ace when it came to cards and his lucky streak was legendary in the order. Of course, as knights, they didn’t make a lot of money in a wealth sense—they were public servants, after all—but they did receive stipends, so wagers usually were from those stipends, but sometimes shifts and chores were wagered as well. The captains didn’t usually like that, but they never dissuaded the gambling completely, for they saw it as a way for the knights to form comradery.

  Dorrick’s father, of course, was one of the sticklers that didn’t approve, and as the commander, he could have outlawed all gambling, but he didn’t. Maybe he had a secret gambling problem. No, way too calculating and smart for that. Maybe he had a heart then and saw how his men enjoyed it.

  No, that didn’t seem right either.

  Whatever the reason, they could still gamble, and Dorrick and his friends always got together every few days. Once they were full-fledged knights with their own squires and duties, they’d have less time together, being scattered around the wilds, so they had to take advantage of what time they had left to have fun.

  It was what they all signed up for, so they didn’t mind, but that didn’t mean Dorrick and friends wouldn’t miss this.

  Evan chugged a few gulps of his mead, splashing a bit on his exposed chest, and then promptly belched louder than the keep’s bells and slammed his cards down in front of him with the ferocity and pride of a lionhawk.

  “Full caravan!” he declared proudly. His hand—two whistlers, a jouster, and a merchant—was no doubt a good one, for another game. Not tonight.

  He thought he had a winning hand, but judging by his brother’s bemused shake of the head, the younger was mistaken.

  Ollo was about to play his hand, no doubt confident that he could best Dorrick and Marcella as well, but she beat him to it and put her hand down with a giggle.

  “That’s a half circus, you idiot! This is a full caravan!”

  She put down one merchant, three smiths, an ox and carriage, and one knight. Indeed, it was a full caravan in comparison to his half circus. Again, both were good hands depending on the circumstances.

  “That’s why you were grinning like a fox,” Ollo said with a smile.

  Marcella smiled wider. “You bet!” She grabbed her pint of ale and gave it a swig and then let out a content, gasping sigh that would have been obnoxious if it wasn’t her. “Now pay up, you fools. You do my chores for this week.”

  Ollo just rested his chin in the palm of his hand, his index finger resting against the sharp cut of his jaw. His eyes flitted to his hand, then to hers, then to her face, and his coy grin grew.

  “Oh my sweet, I’m afraid it’s my chores you all shall be doing!”

  With gusto, he slammed his hand onto the table, rattling the room, the light fixtures, their drinks, and had several heads at the other tables turned to look in their direction.

  “Full circus!”

  A tremendous hand. Two whistlers, two jesters, a fire spitter, and a dancing elephant. There were several configurations of the full circus, but this was the best one, and indeed it was a hand that would reign triumphant on nine nights out of ten.

  In fact, so confident in his victory was Ollo that he was already leaning forward to collect what little of their stipends had been put in the middle of the table. Unfortunately for him, Dorrick Vane had to spoil his triumph.

  He wagged his finger. “Not so fast, my good sir.”

  Ollo frowned. “You can’t possibly have a better hand.”

  Dorrick watched him for a moment, returning his friend’s stoicism. He leaned back, leered down at his own cards, glanced at his friends, and then calmly laid out his hand.

  “Full court.”

  The full court was the best hand one could get in Miser’s Medley. One king, one queen, one jester, two knights, two stewards, and one headsman. It was an unbeatable hand and incredibly difficult to get. You had to be extremely lucky to get it. There were only two kings and two queens in the entire deck of one hundred, and only one headsman.

  Ollo’s eyes widened as he beheld Dorrick’s glorious hand. Then he threw his hands up and let out a flurry of colorful curses that made Marcella and Evan bust out laughing.

  “Victory is mine,” Dorrick declared with a triumphant grin and leaned forward, scooping his winnings over to his side of the table.

  But that victory melted away very quickly. He felt a chill suddenly in the air, and his little hairs stood on edge as the noise in the tavern ceased all at once. Dorrick raised his head and found that everyone in the room had their eyes on him, empty stares, almost lifeless, if not for the hidden glares and looks of contempt. He was confused as to why they were looking at him like that. What had changed?

  Even Ollo and Evan looked at with such unveiled hatred. It made his chest constrict. “W-what’s wrong?”

  But they didn’t answer. Their glares just got worse. They aren’t mad about the game, are they? I won fair and square!

  And then it hit him. Why they were mad, why they hated him. It all rushed back to him, everything that had happened. All the terrible events that had transpired in his life, all the bad that had happened since this one amazing night with his friends.

  He gulped, his throat constricting, as he turned to Marcella. She, however, was faced away, unlike everyone else. He reached out for her. “M-Marcella?” he asked shakily. His hand never touched her. It fell, limp and useless.

  He gasped. Horror grabbed his heart and squeezed it in a death grip.

  Marcella looked at him, and blood poured down her face, from her eyes and nose and lips and ears. Suddenly, she looked so lifeless and broken that Dorrick wanted to vomit. Despite her shattered form, she turned her broken neck and looked at him, her distant, dead eyes somehow still focusing on him.

  “You let me die,” she croaked in an unnatural voice. “You killed me.”

  Before Dorrick could even cry or offer a retort to that, Ollo and Evan both stood abruptly, suddenly in their full armor, and pulled out their weapons.

  “Traitor!” they both roared, and then lunged at him. Dorrick couldn’t even move. All he could do was watch, frozen and silent, as their weapons swung and connected with his flesh.

  Dorrick’s eyes cracked open.

  Just a dream. Of course it was.

  Anything else would have been too nice, too good for him. No. Marcella was dead, and his two other friends were his enemies, thinking him a traitor. Everything was gone, and he would never have a life like that again.

  No more drunken nights playing cards, with secret, stolen kisses between him and Marcella. With smiles and laughs and good drink and food and the promise of an even better tomorrow. It was all gone.

  He found himself in the same cell he’d gone to sleep in. Well, ‘cell’ wasn’t an accurate term. He was in a large tent, arms bound at his sides and his body tied to the large central beam that supported the tent. The knights hadn’t intended to come to the wilds to take prisoners, so this was the best they could do. Plus, Dorrick had burned down most of their structures.

  The room was packed with supplies, wooden boxes and barrels, and large heavy tools. No one ever came in there and by Dorrick’s estimation, it had been almost a day since they’d been given food and water.

  Knights weren’t supposed to mistreat prisoners on the rare occasion they took them, but he supposed they were making an exception for an exiled traitor such as himself.

  Shandi sighed behind him. She was tied to the same beam. “You finally awake?”

  “Yeah. Sorry, did I wake you?”

  “No. I can’t sleep well. Not tied up like this.”

  Dorrick felt the same. It had only been sheer exhaustion that had forced his eyes shut and made him embrace the realm of dr
eams. Otherwise, he was sore and fatigued and highly uncomfortable. Which was the point. They were prisoners and making them have nice rest wasn’t a luxury to be given out to the likes of them.

  “What kind of dream did you have?” Shandi asked.

  The young, exiled knight suspected that she knew it was bad dream filled with bad memories, but she was trying to ease his pained soul.

  “It was good at first,” he admitted. “A pleasant memory of friends and a time of my life where everything was going right for me. I had everything ahead of me, and I was ready to fulfill my dreams.” He paused and took a deep breath, his mind remembering the look of Marcella’s broken body. “And then that was all taken away from me.”

  Shandi didn’t respond immediately, but he could feel her sympathy. “I’m sorry, Dorrick.”

  “It’s okay.”

  “I’m sorry that Gayla and Tuni caused that.”

  Dorrick shook his head. “I don’t blame them—not anymore, at least. They were fighting for what they believed was right and so was I. To them, we were ignorant city folks causing undue harm on the wilds. They simply wanted to protect that rock spirit that had been harmed by that town’s mining operation. I wish… I wish it had turned out different, but we can’t change the past.”

  “I’m glad that you have seen the light and have come to understand the harm that Al-Sevara and the knights have done to the wilds. I just wish you hadn’t needed to suffer so to learn that truth.”

  Dorrick lowered his head so that his chin was tucked against his chest. “Yeah, me too.”

  “And again, for what it’s worth, I am sorry.”

  “Thanks, Shandi. You’ve been a good teacher and a finer friend.”

  She actually snorted, but it was more light-hearted than cruel. “Friend, huh? We’ll see about that, little knight.”

  Dorrick could sense her smile and he smiled in turn. He was in an absolutely horrible situation, but at least he was with someone he could trust. Someone who would be with him until the end, if it came to that.