He'd known very little of the other elements before now. The Temple's historical and academic volumes contained almost no information about the earth, air, and water elements, so he'd been amazed to find that the Vault contained an actual archive naming the elements that fought in the ancient war. He'd asked Gu'ruk to tell him more about them, and the Relic Keeper had obliged, but after a half hour of description, they had all begun to blur together in his mind.
The kreal was the important thing, anyhow. Unless there was an invasion of yet another alien substance into their world, it was the only one of the old enemies they needed to concern themselves with for the time being.
Gu'ruk had confirmed one other thing for him, too. At least, he'd supported a theory. Ever since learning that the intrusion into their world was of an actual foreign element, Be'Var had been trying to piece together the implications. What, basically, happens when you take the fundamental makeup of everything around you and then add something to it? Does everything not of the new element just carry on the way it was, careless of the intruder's actions until it comes along to destroy? That theory was all well and good, but then one had to consider what 'destroy' would really mean in that situation. If a man were killed by a krealite, his bones should return to the ground, to be consumed by and distributed back into the four elements, but how, then, would the new element be accounted for? No, if the world was made of countless elements before, then was made of four, there had to be a transition, a time between the states, where the defeated elements slowly vanished out of existence. That meant that, in this case, now that the krealites had brought their element into the world, the world must be in a new transition, that even now, everything around him was changing to incorporate the new building block. Their own transition into beings of five elements should only be a matter of time.
Gu'ruk had agreed that this was likely the case.
He'd been sure to let his companions know of his theory, hoping to impart some greater sense of urgency to their collective efforts. His actions had had slightly more than the desired effect; he didn't think any of them had slept at all the first night after the revelation.
At least Caymus was feeling better about himself after their trip to Otvia's Vault. Be'Var had known very little of this Knight of the Flame, which was to say he'd known practically nothing at all. There had been a single reference to some champion of the Conflagration in an old scroll he'd been hanging onto for what seemed like ages, but the text was so vague and generally unhelpful that he hadn't even bothered to bring it with him on the journey. The boy was hanging onto the idea with a death-grip, though, and Be'Var wasn't entirely sure that was a good thing.
As though illustrating his previous thoughts, Rill was knocked down again just as the wagon came abreast of the two combatants. Staven flicked his ears and snorted with distaste at it all; Be'Var found something comforting in that. After Caymus helped his friend to his feet, the two of them began walking alongside the horses, catching their breath. Then, Caymus turned his head in Be'Var's direction, yet again, and spoke, "Master Be'Var, do you think the krealites have a champion?"
Be'Var let out a long breath, not having realized he'd been holding it. "I don't know, Caymus," he finally said. He shifted the reigns to hold them in one hand, using the other to rub the few, short tufts of gray on his head. "Gu'ruk didn't say anything about it."
Rill spoke up next, talking between breaths. "They must be one of the ones that used a group, like water and air."
They all turned to look at him. "I mean, there have been all these krealite things attacking us, right? If they picked a champion, wouldn't we have seen some evidence of it by now? Somebody commanding the creatures, or some kind of emissary, maybe?"
Their eyes all shifted to Be'Var at that point. Be'Var noticed that even Bridget had jogged a little so she could catch up and listen to the conversation. "No," he said, with barely more than a mutter, "I highly doubt it."
"What do you mean?" said Caymus.
Be'Var was tired of questions. He glanced over at Y'selle with a plaintive look, trying his best to emote great fatigue.
She smiled that little quarter-smile he knew so well—the turn of her mouth was so faint that he might not have noticed had it not been so familiar—and saved him. "What I wonder," she said, leaning over, "is why you'd assume that this new element would do things the way we do them. Fire, water, earth, air; groups or champions; why would they be like any of us?"
Be'Var managed to hold back his smile. Sella had always had a patient way of getting to the heart of things.
She seemed as though she was about to say something else, but Rill spoke first. "So," he said, then paused a moment to gather his thoughts. "So, how do you think they'd do it: divide their power among all their worshipers equally?"
Bridget, who had been very quiet since Gwenna had started disappearing for hours at a time, said, "Maybe they don't give power to anyone at all?"
Y'selle nodded. "Neither case would surprise me. Isn't it interesting, though, that we haven't actually met any kreal worshipers?" She turned her eyes forward, looking to the horizon as she continued. "I sometimes wonder if there is any more to this element than those monsters, if there are any human worshipers at all. It could be that those who rule the kreal realm have no use for people."
They all quietly pondered the thought for a few moments. Be'Var was glad for the silence. He noted the crunching noise the wagon's wheels made as they trundled over small stones in their path and felt some of the tension leave his bones. He'd always liked that sound. On nights when, as a younger man, he'd traveled alongside an army, he'd usually done so atop a cart or a wagon or some kind of war machine. The wheels were sometimes wooden, sometimes tied with leather or iron, but they'd nearly always been traveling south, through what was now the Mael'vekian desert, and so the sound was always the same. Crunch, crunch, scuff, pop. Be'Var had never considered himself a sentimental man but, at that moment, he really wanted those days back.
It was Rill—of course it was Rill—that broke the silence. "Why isn't there more kreal around?" When Be'Var turned his tired gaze to what was probably the most troublesome youth he'd ever known, he saw Rill's wide eyes searching, full of energy, from face to face. "If the stuff is here," he continued, when nobody answered, "—and it has to be here, if these bugs are here, right?—then why isn't the world starting to be made of it? I'm not saying your theory," he tilted his head at Be'Var, "is wrong or anything, but shouldn't we be seeing more evidence of the kreal by now?"
Be'Var had wondered for the past several years whether accepting Rill into the Temple as a disciple had been a huge mistake. He specifically remembered that the boy had been filled with wonder when he'd first arrived, but that the enthusiasm hadn't lasted but a few months. After that, according to every instructor he'd ever had, coaxing attention out of Rill had been like coaxing a bear into a thimble: as pointless as it was unlikely to occur. Now that the boy had extricated himself from the building though, now that he was no longer being spoon-fed on a disciple's lessons and was having to think for himself, Rill was turning out to have a rather first-rate mind. For the past week or so, Be'Var had found himself torn between immense pride at the boy's achievements and exceptional aggravation at the fact that it had taken so long for him to start using his brain for more than just eating, sleeping, and finding a place to go to the bathroom.
"I don't know," he finally said, squinting in thought. "I think it might have something to do with the fact that it's entering an established, balanced world, so it's taking awhile to spread."
"Spread..." Y'selle's voice was quiet, hesitant. "I don't even want to think of what that would mean."
Nobody responded to that. The idea that this strange element might somehow seep into their bodies was sickening, the stuff of nightmares. Be'Var found himself entertaining thoughts of a sickly, black substance slowly growing into his bones. He looked at the young faces about him, hoped none of them would have to contend with such a thing
.
They traveled in silence for some time. Only the wind spoke, picking up some force, gusting dry air and sand into their faces and occasionally rattling the horses' tack. Be'Var spent most of the next hour hunched over, shielding his face with his hands or squinting to keep the worst of the dust from his eyes. When the wind died down and he finally looked up, he noticed that they were traveling through a change in the landscape. Desert shrubs were giving way to short grasses, coarse sand to hard-packed soil. The soil was dry, the grasses diminutive and mostly brown, but he felt relieved to be finally passing into the Tebrian Plains. Not only did it mean that the drought wasn't quite as bad as his imagination had feared, but that they were getting close to their destination, to the city of Kepren.
"What's that?" Bridget, who was walking next to the horses again, was pointing out ahead of them.
Be'Var shook himself from his thoughts. He followed her arm, squinting into the distance, trying to see what she was pointing at. The sun was about half-an-hour from setting, and in the failing light he could only make out a fairly large boulder, about the size of one of the horses, by the side of the road. There didn't seem to be anything special about it. "Just a rock," he said, happy to put the thought out of his mind.
"No," she said, pointing with greater urgency and now tilting her head at the shape. "Next to the rock. Is that a person?"
Be'Var looked again, tinges of frustration nagging their way into his thoughts. He'd always had sharp eyes, even at his advancing age, but he couldn't see what she was talking about.
"I see him," said Rill. "I think you're right. Somebody's there, sitting up against the boulder."
Be'Var squinted his eyes still further. The evening sun was setting behind them, casting its shadows across the landscape. If there was a person there, it was hiding in one of those shadows.
Then, he saw it, the faintest hint of color against the dark browns of the rock. He couldn't make out any details, but the faint outlines he could see were obviously those of a man, lying down, his head and shoulders propped up against the rock. "Burn me," he said, under his breath. He gave the reigns a sharp flick to urge the horses to move a little bit faster.
As they moved closer, more detail came out. The man's simple clothing was of a dark brown, which had blended into the color of the boulder he lay against. A small pack, the size of a messenger's satchel, lay at his side. His features were sharp, gaunt, his skin ashen. He didn't look well.
He did appear to be conscious, at least. He turned his head toward them as the group approached. When they were close enough to speak, he offered up a small wave and a bit of a smile. Be'Var 'whoa'ed' at the horses and brought the wagon to a stop at the point where the road passed him, about five yards from the boulder. He didn't want to get too close just yet. He'd seen far too many bandits lay traps like this during his days with the army.
"Hello," said the man. His voice was weak and raspy. From this distance, Be'Var could see that his face was sunburnt, with small patches of skin peeling off his nose and ears. Likely not a bandit, then. Highwaymen might play the wounded bird sometimes, but he doubted any of them were quite this skilled with stage makeup. "I don't suppose," the man continued, "that you could spare some water?"
***
Caymus was getting frustrated.
As he sat quietly amidst the dry grass, he stared out across the twilight plain, listening, feeling for something that he wasn't sure was there.
When the group had found the man, who'd called himself Callun, by the side of the road, they had quickly realized that he was beyond his own help and had offered him some of their water. He had gratefully accepted, drinking down two entire waterskins worth, but his arms had shaken as he had done so, and when he'd tried to stand, he had barely gotten to his knees before collapsing to the ground again. Be'Var had said the man showed signs of severe dehydration and that it would be a while before he would be fit to travel, so Y'selle had suggested that, though they would normally continue for an hour past dark, they go ahead and stop here for the night so they could see to the man's immediate physical needs.
Caymus hadn't liked the situation. To begin with, he'd found he'd immediately disliked Callun. He knew the feeling was, at best, uncharitable, considering the stranger's condition, but something about the man had struck him as 'off' from the moment he'd smiled and waved at them. Perhaps it was just the stress of travel catching up with him.
Strangers on the road be damned, though; the more immediate concern was that he'd been experiencing a familiar prickling sensation on the back of his neck ever since they'd stopped. He couldn't find the source of it, though. He'd mentioned the feeling, which usually heralded the appearance of krealites, to Be'Var, and also to Milo when he and Gwenna had finally shown up, but neither could offer him much he didn't already know. The flat ground around here made it unlikely that there were krealites hiding anywhere. For all he knew, though, they were waiting, lurking, buried in the earth.
Caymus probed, both with his eyes and with his mind, at the dry grassland around him. The occasional short tree or small collection of rocks dotted the landscape, but they were all that he could distinguish. He'd been maintaining this watch for awhile, and his instincts told him that if there was a krealite out there, it would have attacked by now. His instincts could not, however, account for the warning his body was giving him.
He felt Milo's approach before he heard it, his friend's warm core being easy to pick out against the cooling evening. Making almost no noise at all with his footfalls, he stopped, stood at Caymus's shoulder, and took a few deep breaths. "See anything out there?" he said.
Caymus sighed. "Not a thing." Before he realized it, he found his hand was rubbing his neck again.
Milo noticed. "Still buzzing at you, is it?"
Caymus wasn't sure he cared for the term 'buzzing', but he nodded as Milo took a half-step forward so they could see each other's faces.
The priest of the air furrowed his brow with concern and, Caymus expected, more than a little frustration of his own. "I don't know what to tell you, Caymus," he said. "You're probably right that the only way they're going to sneak up on us is if they're passing through the ground again." He indicated the area around them with a wave of his hand. "I searched about pretty thoroughly. If there's an old worship spot around here, I can't find any evidence of it."
Caymus spoke into the middle distance. "We don't know for sure that it's only worship sites where they can just pop out of the ground like that."
Milo nodded and shrugged at the same time. "You're right," he said. He turned to Caymus and put a hand on his shoulder. "Think you want to come back to the fire? Stew's on." He smiled. "Ever eat snake meat before?"
Caymus started, the twilight's spell on him broken, and he looked at Milo with raised eyebrows. "Snake?" he said. "Really?"
Milo smiled his easy smile at him. "I showed Gwenna how to catch them. She's got quick hands." He clapped Caymus's shoulder a couple of times, attempting to turn him around. "That Callun fellow had a small sack of beans in that satchel of his, so they're making a stew out of it. Come on."
Caymus took one more pensive look at the land around him. The sun had disappeared in the West, and the night had nearly completely taken over from the day. He realized he was very hungry. "Yeah," he said, "okay."
The two of them walked, side-by-side, back to the evening campfire a couple of hundred yards away. Caymus could see the flickers of flame playing amongst the shadows of his friends, could see the glow of warm light on the rock where they had found the stranger. "I don't like him," he said, quietly.
"Callun?" said Milo. "Why not?"
Caymus had been struggling with the question for hours now, and hadn't come to any conclusions. "I'm not sure," he said. "Something about him just sets my teeth on edge."
Milo looked sideways at him. "It's just a sunburn, Caymus. Haven't you ever worked outside too long on a hot day?"
Caymus wasn't sure if Milo was making fun, but he wasn't in
terested in sparring with him. "It's not that," he said. "Something about the way he looks at everybody." He shook his head. "I know we had to help him—I'd want somebody to help me if I was dying of thirst out here—but I wish we'd just given him what he needed and been on our way."
"You sure it's not just the prickles on your neck making you a little distrustful?"
Caymus was forced to concede the point, but he was unconvinced. "Maybe," was all he said.
He decided to change the subject. "How's Gwenna doing with her new toy?" he asked.
Milo brought his hand up and waggled it. "She's kind of starting to be able to hit what she's aiming at pretty much most of the time now, so..." He paused, his eyes scanning the sky for words. "She'll never be as good as me," he said after a moment, then gave Caymus a grin, "but she's a whole lot better than you."
"Ha!" Caymus smiled. It felt good to laugh after the stress of the last few hours. "We didn't even see you two most of the day. How far away were you?"
Milo gave a shrug, the feathers on his arms rustling with the movement. "Distances are odd in places like this. They'll play tricks on you. It's why people like Callun suddenly find themselves dying of thirst out here. I don't think we were ever more than half a mile away, at the most."
Caymus thought about the stranger again, about his sunken eyes, his skin that seemed to have just a slightly grayish tint. He had black hair that he slicked back with some manner of oil or grease, too. Caymus suppressed a shudder. The man gave him the creeps.
When the pair reached the light of the campfire, Gwenna waved him over and proffered a tin bowl containing a spoon and some steaming, dark substance—the firelight didn't reach past the rim—which he supposed was the stew Milo had described. She smiled at him when he took it and sat down next to her, which he was happy to see. She'd seemed not to want much to do with him in the days since Otvia, but since she and Milo had made their appearance around sunset, she'd appeared to have reverted to being herself again. Caymus wondered if Milo had had anything to do with that.
Knight Of The Flame Page 25
