Syah raised the sword. The light of the flames reflected on the silver blade and his face shining with sweat. He moved away from Fasime and the knight, towards the flames of their campfire.
Fasime rose and started towards Syah, but Denire stopped him. “Wait!” the knight commanded. Syah turned around. He avoided their eyes. He seemed to look at their shadows.
“You will not stop me!” Syah said in a crazed, impassioned voice.
“Syah, put down the sword!” Oman cried, circling the fire. Oman saw fire dancing in his eyes. Oman walked towards him, saying sternly, “Syah, put down the sword.”
Syah watched him, lowering his head a little, lifting the sword, tilting it, changing his stance.
“Don’t look at me that way!” Oman yelled.
“Syah, please,” Oman spoke easier, clenching his fist, “please listen to me. Give me the sword.” Oman took a step forward. Syah didn’t move. Oman raised his hand.
Syah screamed and slashed out with the sword. Oman jumped back in surprise. “What are you doing!” he demanded. In that moment, Fasime and Denire grabbed Syah’s arms. Syah screamed again, trying to slash at them with the sword, but Fasime had his wrist. Oman grabbed Syah’s hand. Together they pulled the sword from their brother’s clenched fist. His screams filled the night again, angry, desperate. They held him as he twisted and wrenched his body. Oman and Fasime knew it would be useless to try to talk him back to reality.
Syah’s screams stopped. He stiffened in their arms, holding his breath. Then they saw the whites of his eyes and he fell limp.
“Curse the skies, what happened to him?” Oman cried. He placed his hand on Syah’s unresponsive face. His skin felt as if it had been cooking over the fire.
“Lay him down,” Denire instructed. “He needs to rest.”
His brothers laid Syah down and covered him again with several blankets. Fasime clenched his fists and then hit the ground. “We should never have left,” Fasime said. “We were only risking his life. He is not well enough. He is not strong enough. We should never have come here. It was folly!”
Oman sighed and answered Fasime’s anger with solace, “He would never have let us stay because of him, and he would never have let us leave him behind.”
“But now look what it has gotten him,” Fasime continued. “The fever has him. He is going to die out here!”
“He’s strong enough to fight it,” Oman argued.
“No, Oman. We are killing him!”
Oman was silenced, swallowing. The eldest looked hesitantly back down at Syah.
The folds of the tent flapped in a gust of wind. Oman placed the dampened cloth back on Syah’s forehead.
“Rest, my brother,” Oman told him. Syah’s face and hair were wet; his skin was hot and pale. Oman brushed back his hair and adjusted the blankets. Syah didn’t respond or react. Oman sighed and returned to Fasime and Denire by the fire.
Denire glanced over to the tent, but saw that the young prince still slept. He looked back at the other brothers, watching them eat the stew he had made. He turned his eyes to the forest.
“There is Parmin, we could be there in two days,” Fasime suggested.
Oman shook his head. “The ride would wear on him, and he is already weak. Trying to move him that far now could kill him.”
“So we wait here? What if… one of us went back?”
“No,” the knight interrupted.
“I could ride to the castle and bring back a carriage and a healer.”
“It would take weeks. By then, the outcome of his sickness would be decided.”
“It is better than doing nothing.”
“No, you need to stay together,” Denire insisted.
“Lightning and I could out ride any of your dangers,” Fasime replied.
“Fasime, it is not worth the risk.”
“Are you worried that our lie might be discovered, Oman? Are you afraid of the repercussions, when Father realizes we ran away?”
“No, Fasime.”
Fasime put his hand on the eldest’s arm. “I am worried about that myself,” he said, before Oman could argue further. “But it is not worth risking Syah’s life.”
“That’s not the point. Even if you sent for aid from Shal, it couldn’t get here in time.”
The three of them breathed out simultaneously, strained by their arguing. Fasime’s brows lowered and he sighed again. What other option was there? He couldn’t stand this wait much longer. He couldn’t stand sitting here watching Syah become weaker every moment.
Fasime glanced at the tent they had put up over the youngest. Some movement there caught his attention. With a sinking feeling, he realized something was wrong. He leaped to his feet and started for the tent, Denire and Oman close behind him.
Fasime gasped as he laid eyes on Syah, seeing the whites of his eyes and his body jerking.
“No!” Fasime cried, kneeling beside him, grabbing his arms. Syah’s body was limp in his arms, but he could barely keep hold against his spasming muscles. “No! Syah!” he exclaimed, shaking him. Fasime looked up to Oman with desperation, but Oman’s face was as pale as Syah’s. His terrified eyes stared down at his brother’s frenzied body.
Fasime looked at his younger brother. “Syah!” he screamed, digging his fingers into Syah’s arms and trying to lift him up.
“That won’t help him,” Denire said with a level tone. He knelt on the other side of their brother. Denire put his hand around Fasime’s and pulled his grip off Syah’s arms. “Move,” the soldier ordered. Fasime and Oman complied, watching him lift Syah’s shuddering body in his arms.
Somehow Denire was able to keep hold of Syah and walk, carrying him through their camp towards the river. Oman and Fasime collected themselves and followed him. Denire stepped into the river, feeling the iciness take possession of his feet and ankles, then his legs. He waded out deeper, but then stopped, looking back at Oman and Fasime. “Come help me hold him,” he called, standing still as he watched them come into the river. They clenched their jaws as its cold pierced them, but they met Denire where the water reached their waists.
He nodded to them and moved a little deeper. Fasime grabbed Syah’s legs, while Oman held Syah’s arm and back. Their bodies numbing with the cold, they lowered the young prince into the water. His body did not respond, its shaking neither pausing nor intensifying, as they struggled to hold him in the flowing dark water. As they lowered his entire body into the mountain water, Denire shifted his hold and leaned down. He put his hand under Syah’s head and then placed his other hand over Syah’s face.
“What are you doing?” Oman demanded as Denire lowered his brother’s head into the water. Oman wanted to push the soldier away from him, or pull Syah up, but he could do neither, struggling to hold on to his flailing body. Oman and Fasime saw Syah’s distorted face under the water, with Denire’s hand still over his nose and mouth.
“Stop it, he’ll drown!” Fasime pleaded.
“That’s enough!” Oman cried. Denire nodded and lifted Syah’s head back up. After the water fell away from it he removed his hand. Though Syah didn’t seem to be breathing, Denire held his head above the water for a few moments. Then the soldier covered Syah’s face again with his hand. Oman and Fasime had no time to argue, as he dunked Syah’s head beneath the water again. Syah’s body was still shaking, but they felt it quieting. Denire’s hand blocked Syah’s nose and mouth.
Syah’s eyes opened wide under the water’s surface. His body became frigid. Denire lifted his head out of the water. As his face was coming out of the river, his body fought back again – but this time with purpose, trying to pull his arms and legs free from their grasp.
At last, Syah stopped struggling and was still, gasping. He saw indistinct figures standing over him, holding him in the freezing water. He was trying to speak, but hadn’t the strength to push the words out.
“You are all right,” Denire told him, leaning down, trying to get Syah to focus on his face. Denire put his hand on Syah’s forehe
ad. Although the water felt like ice, Syah’s skin was still hot to the touch, as if he had been burned. Denire sighed and met Syah’s gaze. “Take a deep breath in,” Denire said. Syah’s eyes widened. He started to protest and tried to pull away from his brothers, but Denire was lowering him again. He held his breath. Denire placed his hand over Syah’s face and Syah felt the freezing pain come over him again. He struggled, feeling pain on every point, in every part of his body. After a moment, Syah found he could bear the icy chill. He stopped fighting and let his limbs relax. His thoughts, churning painfully, settled a little. He heard the roar of the river against him, and yet it calmed him. Finally Denire lifted him. As he left the water, the grip on his face was released and he was able to breathe.
“All right, that’s enough,” Oman said with a sharp tone. Syah’s body was limp as rags, lifeless, but his eyes were open, questioning and confused. A swell of heat and coldness came over him as they laid him down on the ground.
“What happened?” he asked. They removed the wet clothes clinging to his body.
“You have… been asleep,” Oman replied.
Syah took a few cautious breaths. “I don’t remember,” he murmured.
Oman sighed. “We will dry you off, and then you should rest.”
Syah didn’t say anything more. His eyes were growing heavy, and he was glad when they moved him to a mat of blankets close to the fire. With his eyes closed, he remembered being under the water, and he clenched his fists. Cold blackness he thought was death, rolling over him, taking him away. He shuddered at the feeling, but it was warmed and faded…
Oman, Fasime, and Denire sat down by the fire, warming their dampened clothes, skin, and spirits. “I don’t think the fever is gone,” Denire said, staring into the fire. “If it gets any worse, he won’t survive it.”
“And all we can do is sit here and wait?” Oman asked and turned to Denire with a sullen expression.
“We have to take him back to the city, get him out of the wilderness,” Fasime pressed again.
“It would kill him if we forced him to ride now,” Oman countered.
The crackle of the fire was the only consolation to the thick silence.
“There might be something else we can do,” Denire said, “instead of sitting here and waiting.” He looked at both of the brothers, but they were still and listening. “In the mountains, there are hot springs of mineral water. I have seen them heal wounded soldiers.”
“In the mountains? But the dwarves!” Oman said.
“If we follow the river, I think we could find one of those springs. We wouldn’t have to go far into their lands.”
“It is not safe to pass into such a dangerous land,” Oman countered.
“We wouldn’t go deep into the mountains. I could go up alone and scout to see if I could find one of these healing springs, and make sure it is safe before we take him there.”
“Hot springs won’t heal his ribs,” Fasime argued.
“After fighting by the forest’s edge over the winter, many of the soldiers fell ill from dysentery. A stream in the dwarven hills cured them. I believe it is worth the risk, if it can help him overcome his fever.”
“If we allow you to go scout the mountains, what if you don’t return?” Oman questioned, catching Denire’s eyes.
“Then you know not to follow me,” was Denire’s reply.
Chapter Ten
THE BLACK MOUNTAINS
They knew they were in a new territory, though such a realization wasn’t told by a change in the land, other than a few more boulders and a steeper incline. The air, the wind were the same. The trees were the same. The birds and other creatures of the forest and their noises were the same. Still, the brothers were leery, eyeing every shadow, watching every movement of animal, but they were alone. They followed the river deeper into the mountains.
“It is not far now,” Denire told them. It was one of the few things he had said since they had left their camp. Denire glanced back at Syah, who was asleep on Fasime’s horse. Then Denire looked at Oman. The eldest was leading his horse beside Syah, and was also keeping an eye on the boy. The soldier turned to continue leading them to the hot springs, a little away from the river beneath a cliff, a safe spot.
They heard it before they came within sight of it: a light, constant splashing and moving of water. They saw a small stream running down a cliff and several clear pools beneath it, the water lightly flowing through them, then out and following another small stream towards the river. The sun shone through the trees, lighting the pools.
Oman and Fasime were relieved. Fasime pulled Syah from the saddle. He was unresponsive. Fasime lifted him and carried him towards the pools, while Oman took the horses and tied them. Denire knelt beside the largest pool and put his hand in, feeling the water. It was as warm as Syah’s touch. Fasime breathed in the strange smell of the water, gazing at the large green and white chalky rocks around the edge of the pools and the steam rising off the water’s surface. They undressed Syah. Fasime stepped into the pool and helped lower Syah’s body. His eyes fluttered open.
“You’re awake,” Fasime said, touching his brother’s face. Syah looked around with a shaken, blank expression, but he did not meet Fasime’s gaze. Fasime held him and lowered him, all but his head, into the water.
Oman and Denire began to make a fire nearby. Fasime watched Syah’s breathing slow and his eyes close again. Fasime felt his own body growing warm from the water, getting used to its strange smell. He turned Syah around, one arm around his body, while Fasime half stood in the water. Comfortable, he watched Oman and Denire set up their camp.
Oman stiffened, his hand on a branch he was placing on the clearing for their fire. He was still, his eyes moving up to the trees around them. Denire noticed Oman’s apprehension and followed his gaze to the trees, afraid the prince had seen something. He startled at a snap of branches behind him. He turned around and gasped.
Several angry, worn, dark faces of dwarves appeared through the trees. They moved with purpose, lifting their maces and axes. Denire and Oman stood rigidly, finding more armed dwarves coming through the forest. Their angry eyes were set on the travelers as they surrounded them, blocking them against the cliff. Fasime’s grip grew very tight around Syah, but he was still asleep. Fasime was about to stand and Oman’s hand was going for his sword, but Denire ordered quickly, “Hold.”
The dwarves moved in closer. There were at least ten of them. Their shorter stature was compensated with their girth and sheer strength. One of them, bolder than the rest, stepped inside the semi-circle, holding out his axe. This dwarf said something in the grinding dwarven tongue and the others around them tightened their stances and shifted their weapons.
“Now, trespassers,” the dwarf said in common tongue, though his accent was thick and grueling, “prepare to die for your foolish entry into our lands.”
Oman’s hand was on his sword. As he began to draw it Denire saw the dwarf’s hot eyes snap to him. Denire turned around. “No, Oman, hold,” Denire urged. Oman said nothing, but held still. Denire turned back to the leader. “We meant no harm,” Denire stated.
“Hold your tongue,” the dwarf warned, moving closer with his lifted axe. “We will not hear your blubbering. You are spies for King Algoth. You have come now for the foolish king to see if you cannot only take over the lands of men, but the lands of magic as well.”
“No,” Denire protested. “I’m…”
“You are a soldier of Algoth, do not deny it!” the dwarf growled, planting his foot on the ground and violently motioning his axe towards Denire.
Denire sighed. “Yes, I am. But my intention in coming here was not for war. I am traveling with my sons.” Oman and Fasime looked at him sharply. “And one of them fell ill,” Denire explained, but not motioning down to Syah. “We came for the healing waters. We will collect our things and leave.”
The dwarf kept his thoughts to himself, eyeing Denire and then Oman. Then he looked at Fasime and his eye
s fell on the boy, asleep in Fasime’s arms. Fasime’s eyes widened and he put his arms protectively over Syah, seeing something dangerous in the dwarf’s expression.
The dwarf slackened his hold on his axe. “These are your sons?” he said at last, shifting and looking back up to Denire.
The knight swallowed. “Yes.”
“And what were you doing traveling so close to the dwarven border?”
He stalled a moment. “Surveying the Dikartians.”
The dwarf was silent again.
“We will leave immediately,” Denire said. “We will not return. We are sorry that we have trespassed into the Black Mountains. We meant no harm towards you.”
“Yes,” the dwarf answered. “And your… sons.” He started towards the pool. Oman stepped forward but Denire held his arm out and caught him. The dwarf came towards Fasime, who watched the dwarf with a nervous expression. “Your son, who you claim is sick.” The leader knelt down beside the pool. Fasime drew back away from him, but couldn’t avoid him. Fasime was tense, but fought the urge to strike the dwarf as he knelt down and put his hand on Syah’s face. The dwarf’s eyes narrowed. Syah was motionless under his touch. The dwarf’s hand moved down to the boy’s neck and Fasime saw his hand tighten and he jerked, but held, feeling Syah breathe easily, still unawakened. The dwarf raised his head and then moved his hand to the boy’s forehead, lifting up his eyelids. The dwarf was still, staring into Syah’s drugged and silent eyes.
The dwarf then said something in his secret, rough language. The dwarves around them muttered replies that neither the knight nor the princes understood. Denire saw that they allowed their holds on their weapons to loosen. The leader raised his gaze back to the soldier and said in a grave tone, “He is near death.”
Denire swallowed, but didn’t give a response. The dwarf stood and moved closer to him. “Your blood isn’t worth spilling on dwarven lands. I think we should kill you all,” he said in a low tone, “but since your child is weak, we will take him to our village, and out of the wilderness.”
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