by Kris Kramer
* * * * *
Galen would later remember this day passing by blissfully fast, without much to speak of happening. They stopped at mid-day to rest, and Iago gave everyone an update on the rest of their journey. They’d reached the northern base of Lharsil, almost to the foothills where the rocky paths and sheer cliffs were giving way to grassy valleys and smoother hills. It would take them another two days at the most to get through the foothills and into the Halaraan Steppes. But that assumed that they didn’t run into any trouble on the way. Bandits, slavers and rogues of all types would be roaming both the steppes and these hills. He didn’t worry about being captured or taken, though. As long as they were careful and sharp-eyed they could avoid the larger groups easily, and the smaller ones would avoid them as long as they saw that four of the group carried weapons. Small bandit groups, or slavers, would avoid parties with armed guards. They weren’t worth the trouble.
Iago also told them that they'd taken a fast pace through the mountains, taking little-used paths that kept them out of sight and avoided trouble. But they wouldn't have that luxury in the foothills or in the steppes. From here on out, they would have to face whatever trouble came their way head on, because there was nowhere left to hide.
Once they reached the foothills, they thankfully spent less time hiking and climbing and more time wandering through the shallow valleys and over low, gradually sloping hills, walking easy and hoping to avoid Tyrans. They made camp in one of the valleys and ate some rabbits they were fortunate to come across that afternoon. The group talked lightly, mostly about Duren Olan since they had the entire day to regain their senses and put words to what they saw and felt that morning. Galen avoided the conversation, though. He ate light and slept early.
The next morning brought another day of travel through the hills, their last before reaching the steppes the following morning. Galen was almost glad to finally see Tyr. He wanted this journey to end, so he could get past the hardships of the trek, and the doubts and fears in his mind. He remembered Iago talking about the lone traveler they encountered on the way here, and how he had said some people prefer unknown dangers to known. He only now felt like he understood what that meant.
After another uneventful morning, they stopped at midday to rest and eat. Before resuming their march, Iago turned to Galen and Margis and gave them a serious look. “Wear your crystals and cloaks for today and tonight, Pilots, but take them off in the morning and don’t put them back on. Don’t give the appearance that you are magic users in any way. You’ll be targets to everyone in the city if you do.”
Galen and Margis both nodded, though reluctantly. Galen would be uneasy without his crystals at the ready, since magic was his only defense against whatever danger came next. But even though the encounter with the Garn was still fresh on his mind, he could practical and stay anonymous for the rest of the trip. He just didn’t have to be comfortable with it.
The afternoon dragged on much more slowly than the previous one, mostly because the weather had become noticeably warmer as they approached the steppes. The sky was empty save for the sun beating down on them, and a faint wind kicked up dust here and there. At one point, Galen realized he’d been lost in his thoughts for so long that he’d lost track of time. The sun sat on the crest of the mountains to the west, which meant they’d be stopping somewhere soon, but he didn’t know when. Iago was unpredictable that way.
Suddenly, Iago crouched low, motioning everyone else to do the same. They laid flat in the tall, dry grass, as Iago stared at something unseen over the crest of the hill. After a moment Jonir crawled up next to him, then Saalis and Hal. Finally Galen decided to go see what they were hiding from so he too crept along the ground until he reached the others. He looked down into the valley ahead of them, some five or six hundred yards away, where he saw a familiar sight. A long caravan of large, wooden carts, some pulled by horses, some by slaves, moved slowly across the valley. About forty soldiers on horseback, wearing the red and brown garb of Tyran soldiers, rode alongside, some using lashes or whips to keep the slaves moving faster, to keep up with the horse drawn carts.
At least a hundred slaves manned the caravan, chained to each other, pulling what looked to be fifteen carts filled with crystal extraction supplies. They would spend roughly two months in a mine deep in the mountains, pulling everything they could out of the caves. Some of the slaves would die in those conditions, but that's why the Tyrans brought a few extra. When the next caravan arrived, this one would load up the carts with whatever usable crystals they'd found, then head on back to Tyr with the survivors. With the exception of Margis, all of the Wind Riders here had seen this a hundred times. Saalis and Hal had actually been slaves just like the ones they now watched down below.
“Miserable bastards,” Jonir said. “They wipe out half our numbers and now they can bring out mining caravans twice the size they used to. Give me a Karawan right now and we could put some fear back into them. And teach them not to be so brazen.”
“Aye,” Saalis said. “I knew we might see this, but it still boils my blood to know what those people will go through in those mines.”
Hal shook his head. “I never knew people ate more than once a day until I was freed. All we got in the mines was some water and old meat in the morning. Nothing else. Barely even saw the sun during those times either.”
Saalis nodded. “Not times I like to remember.”
“Let’s get to Tyr. We make a deal for purifiers and we can fix this,” Iago said. “We can go back to righting wrongs, again.”
The others nodded, but Galen hesitated. It was strange letting the caravan go, knowing the terrible situation the slaves were headed for, because he had never done it. He was used to seeing the smiles and appreciation on the faces of freed slaves, hearing their heartfelt thanks and seeing the gratitude they had for having a new life. But seeing this made him realize exactly what kind of life those people had before he'd ever found them. This was the first time he'd come face to face with what they went through, and it was also the first time he was powerless to do anything about it.
They moved away from the caravan, taking the long way around, just to be safe. After a few more hours of traveling the group finally made camp between two small hills a good distance from the river. Again the conversation was lively around the campfire and again Galen was not part of it, preferring to spend time working on his journal and going over his notes. He turned and watched the others at the fire, talking, laughing, eating, and he wondered how this trip would end. They had already faced death once, twice if he counted the harrowing trek past the Cliffs, and they had come through just fine. But what would happen at Tyr? Everyone who had ever been there left no doubt about the dangers in that city, and here he was, leading five Wind Riders right into the heart of their enemy.
Galen watched Iago, sitting casually with the others as they traded old tales of Anzarin legends and heroes. He definitely had the look of a fighter, strong but with a weary confidence to him that made him seem both dangerous and humble. Iago seemed to be a solitary person, more so than anyone else he knew in the camp, and people talked on occasion about the secrets he kept. Here was the man who would guide them in that terrible city, yet Galen wondered just how much anyone here knew about him. Galen himself knew nothing about Iago’s history before joining them, only that he had spent a long time in Tyr and Elbasa, working as a Guard among other things. Why did he quit? And what brought him to the Wind Riders?
He remembered the day Iago found them, stumbling into their camp almost a year ago and being taken by Landers to the Pilot’s Council for questioning. He’d met with Idaris for some time in private but no one knew what details passed between them that day, only that Idaris had proclaimed him to be one of their own after that, and to be treated as such. Strange circumstances, but no one thought much of it at the time. Galen knew that Idaris and Iago had been close since then, but when they spoke, they always did so away from prying ears. He wondered ho
w much Idaris’ death in the attack a few weeks back had affected Iago, especially since Iago hadn’t been there when it happened.
Galen’s brow furrowed at that thought. Iago wasn’t at camp when the Tyrans attacked because he had some things to attend to, a trip Idaris had approved. Galen grunted in confusion. Why so many secrets? What was in this man’s past that he could never say? He assumed only Idaris really knew, and with their former Pilot-Captain dead, only Iago held the answers. Perhaps that was fortunate for Iago.
Galen shrugged. Now was not the time to question the trust he had to put into the members of this group. He needed Iago to get them into and out of Tyr safely, something he couldn’t do himself. And even though he was bothered by the lack of control he had over that part of the mission, he trusted Iago, who had shown his loyalty and determination many times over since joining the Wind Riders. But with their entire future now at hand, everything needed to happen just right once they got into the city. He hoped that Iago had the same faith in his contacts that Galen gave to him right now.
