by Welcome Cole
“I don’t like it any more than you do.”
Chance looked up at Jhom. “How long have you all been awake?”
“Wenzil says he came around sometime past midnight,” Jhom said, “Me and Mawby woke up a few hours later.”
“I went out tracking them,” Mawby said, “It’s clear the rogue left first. He scattered the horses, all but the one he took. He rode off alone.”
“And Koonta?”
Mawby looked over at Wenzil, who only shrugged his brow.
“What is it?” Chance pressed. He was in no mood to guess, even less to be mollycoddled.
“Well,” Mawby said with an odd shrug, “It’s a little hard to believe, but it seems... well, we think she followed him.”
Chance was certain he’d misunderstood the man. “Followed him? She went after him? Is that what you’re saying? That a woman half dead ran out into the plains after a man on horseback?”
“Ay’a, Chance. It’s the gods’ own truth. She ran after him. On foot.”
Chance glanced up at Jhom. “You support this assessment?”
“I do,” Jhom said, “You may not like it, but the trail doesn’t lie.”
“I don’t think she was affected by Parhronii’s caeyl curse,” Wenzil said from across the corridor.
Chance looked at the runner. “How do you mean?”
“I think he healed her more than we thought. It had to be something like that, because she mustered herself together while we were all out, and then she stole after him. She even found the time to take a few supplies with her.”
“What are you saying? That he healed her with the wave of a hand? Hell, it took damned near two weeks to heal himself, and that while fully under the light of the caeyl.”
“You’re the mage, not me,” Wenzil said with a shrug.
Chance bristled at that. “I don’t like your tone.”
“He doesn’t mean anything by it, Chance,” Mawby said, grinning, “He’s just being straight.”
Chance looked at the Vaemyn.
“We’re not mistaken,” Mawby continued, “I’m an elite tracker, one of the best, and I’m telling you she went after him, on foot and of her own accord. What Wenzil means is how she did it is your calling, not ours.”
Chance squeezed the quickly returning stress from bridge of his nose. “Apologies,” he said, “I’m frustrated.”
“Forget it.”
“No, it was rude and uncalled for. I’m sorry.”
“I mean it, Chance,” Mawby said sincerely, “Forget it. Save your strength. This next part is going to land even harder.”
“The next part?” Chance said as his hand drifted to his lap, “There’s a next part? I can’t wait."
Mawby studied him a beat too long. Then he said, “The rogue came back and got her.”
Chance had to think on that a moment. “He came back and got her? You mean he rode back for her?”
“Exactly right. He rode back for her. His trail was nigh on seven miles ahead of hers when he doubled back. Caught up with her a mile and a half south of the hatch. After that they rode off together heading southwest.”
“He was seven miles ahead of her?”
“You heard me right,” Mawby said, grinning, “I reckon you’re seeing my point now, aren’t you? There’s no way he could’ve heard her calling. He was too far out for eyesight or even taer-cael. So how’d he know she was following him? How’d he know to go back for her?”
“He’s changed,” Chance said carefully, “The caeyl light’s done something to him. He’s a Caeyl Mage now, I’m certain of it. In truth, I believe he may be much more than that. I believe it’s possible he’s a vessel for the Father. I doubt we can even imagine what he may be capable of.”
Mawby drew pale. “The Father? The Father of legend, of Lamys te’Faht? That’s not possible.”
“Not possible?” Chance said seriously, “Look around, Maubius Yendt. Explain to me what’s possible and what’s not. If he’s not the vessel of the Father, he’s still the most powerful mage I’ve ever encountered.”
Jhom’s deep laugh again rumbled through the corridor.
Chance sent him a look. “Something funny, Jhom?”
“Sure is,” the Baeldon said, still grinning, “If you’re right, I’d say they’ve seriously lowered the requirements for mages.”
Chance chose to ignore the remark. “I’m curious why he’d come back for her.”
“Prodes, I think,” Mawby said.
“Prodes? Explain.”
“Found the remains of a mob of prodes back where he intercepted her. I counted nine. Couldn’t find any signs of struggle. They had no blood or wounds, no arrows in them, no signs of trauma. Just a bunch of dead prodes scattered about the grass like they’d dropped out of the sky, jh’ven?”
“She was likely in danger,” Chance said, talking out the facts, “Maybe the prodes were circling for her. Maybe he sensed her danger and came back to intervene?”
The other faces simply looked back at him.
Chance looked down the hall at the remains of the runners. As he thought about their shriveled, leathery faces and their gruesome mouths still locked in silent screams, he wondered why Beam had used such a lethal response? Surely, he could’ve incapacitated the Baeldons without resorting to murder?
When he looked back, he noticed the dried blisters fouling the side of the Mawby’s face, blisters he’d caused with his Water Caeyl. Truth was he’d killed more than a few of Mawby’s comrades in recent weeks when less lethal force may have served him just as effectively. And he’d committed those killings under that same guise: defense.
In that moment, he understood that Beam wasn’t a murderer or a villain, he’d simply reacted defensively. He’d protected the team with his power much as Chance had done back in the swamp and at his house. It was that unholy combination of natural brutality, self-preservation, and a primal urge to seek revenge that lurked in all of them. It was a dark and sorry thing, but there it was.
“Doesn’t take an astronomer to figure it out,” Jhom said.
Chance looked up at him. “What did you say?”
Jhom lowered himself into a squat, leaning forward with an arm crossed over his knee. “We saw what the half-breed did to the runners here. He’s got a temper on him, that one. We’re best off letting that miserable tornado blow as far away as the gods will take him, damn him and damn his caeyl.”
“Blood of the gods, Jhom! That’s the most ignorant thing I’ve ever heard you say. I’ve no patience for such thoughts, not even in humor. Not today. The white caeyl’s here for a reason. If you don’t have the faith for it, go back to selling your axe to the highest bidder. I don’t need it.”
Jhom laughed. “Hell, I’d sooner eat a rock than leave you to have all the fun. You can’t get rid of me that easily, old man. What do you want to do?”
“We’ll go after them, of course.”
“Not anytime soon, we’re won’t. The half-breed scattered the horses.”
“So unscatter them. How far could your wonder horse, Farnot, have gone, for Calina’s sake? You’re always bragging that you can call her from fifty miles off with a simply tuned fart.”
Jhom laughed again.
“They could’ve gone quite far, I reckon,” Mawby said, “The four horses shot off like arrows in as many separate directions. Normally when horses split up, they quickly regroup. I tracked one of them for a couple miles, but he never released his gallop, never altered course, just kept running in a line as straight as an arrow shot.”
“What are you saying?” Chance said.
Wenzil’s voice again called from across the corridor, “He means the half-breed sent them off on purpose, probably used his caeyl force on them. He didn’t give the beasts a choice, yea?”
“For Calina’s love,” Chance whispered. He pushed a hand up over his brow, raking his fingers into his hair as he struggled for calm. He wanted nothing more in that moment than to choke something, preferably a certain half-bred rogue
.
“We’ve been talking it over some while you napped,” Jhom said, “Farnot’s tracks ran due north. It won’t take me long to find her. Once I do, we’ll have better luck at wrangling up one or two of the others.”
“Fine,” Chance said, “Do anything, so long as we’re not just sitting here in this damned hole waiting for the world to end.” He looked at Mawby and added, “You follow the trail of the horse heading west. When you find it, head straight back here. When Jhom finds Farnot, he’ll do the same. We can get by with two horses. I don’t care about the rest.”
Mawby nodded solemnly. “Ay’a, sounds like a reasonable plan.”
“You’re up to it?” Chance asked. “Your wounds are tolerable? You can still make the hike all right?”
A determined grin spread across Mawby’s face. “Are you joking? never been more ready for anything in my life. I’m Lamys te’Faht. This is why I was born, jh’ven?”
XXIII
THE RESCUE
KAELIF BEAT AT THE WHITE WATER WITH HIS OAR, THOUGH THE EFFORT WAS NEARLY USELESS.
Their boats rocked and shook as they fought their way against the current. The colossal waterfall called Yaelic’s Teeth loomed threateningly before them. The head of the falls began a thousand feet above them and spread nearly a half-mile in width, and the noise it generated was deafening. It towered above their puny boats like a raging giant, like all the power of Pentyrfal was ready to come flooding down over them.
A dense cordon of tall, jagged rocks crowded the white river for nearly a mile downstream of the falls, ominous spikes of massive boulders jutting up from the water at unnatural and intimidating angles. Rising thirty and forty feet above the foam, they stood in defiant resistance to the powerful river storming around them.
Seth sat low before him in the bow of the violently tossing boat. He looked back at Kaelif from an expression of utter terror. Licks of wet hair pasted his face and his eyes. He had so tight a grip on his oar, Kaelif worried he might break a knuckle.
“Kad’r,” the boy yelled back over the thunder of the river, “We can’t go under that waterfall! It’ll flip us for certain!”
Kaelif felt a pang of guilt for having planted such a ridiculous notion in the boy’s head. He’d of course meant it as a joke, but the boy was young and inexperienced, and telling him they’d be going under the waterfall just to frighten him was a selfish and mean-spirited thing to have done.
“We’ll land soon!” he shouted back at Seth, “Hold on! If you end up in the water, don’t fight the current. Just let it take you downstream and gradually kick your way to shore!”
Just then, their boat ran up against a low-angled pillar. It heaved them so abruptly, their skiff nearly flipped. Seth reflexively threw himself into the boxy bow, seizing the gunwale like it was his mother’s arms. His recovery cost him his oar, which disappeared into the white current.
The boat careened off another boulder before they could recover. Kaelif pitched forward from his seat. He managed to seize the thwart before being thrown from the boat, very nearly losing his own oar in the process. They had to get out of the river. These crude Pendtish canoes weren’t up to the requirements of negotiating such turbulent water. It was just a matter of time before a rock came up through the boat’s nearly flat bottom. They had to make for shore.
As they lurched past another particularly tall jag, Kaelif spied the pass he’d been waiting for. Off on their right, barely visible through the mist and rocky monoliths, was a break in the stones just wide enough to pass a boat through.
“Gyf!” he shouted over his shoulder, “Over there!” He jabbed his hand determinedly to the indicated break on their right.
Despite being much older and definitely more seasoned, Gyf looked every bit as white as Seth. The warrior threw back an enthusiastic nod and switched his oar to the other side of the boat.
The second boat was too far back to make a signal. He hoped they’d see his maneuver and follow suit. This wasn’t going to be quick and it wasn’t going to be pretty, but he was confident they’d make it to shore. The Drayma vision had shown him exactly when he was going to die, and it sure as hell wasn’t here in this miserable river.
Unfortunately, he couldn’t offer the others in his party the same assurance.
∞
Kaelif waded back out into the icy water. Here at the shoreline, it was only a couple feet deep. The bed beneath the water was covered in fine gravel. It was surprising to find such calm here while the river screamed through the tall rocks just a few dozen yards farther out.
As the second boat rocked within reach, he grabbed the bow and pulled it shoreward. The warriors were out of it before it even found the bank. Together they dragged it up onto the dirt beside the other.
The team then collapsed into the shaggy grass beneath some scraggy poplars a few dozen yards inland from the river. Though he’d seen his warriors walk out of the smoking waste of a dozen battlefields in his time, Kaelif had never seen such expressions of utter, gods-fearing relief on their faces before this. Seth was practically pacing a rut in the dirt. He wondered if the boy would ever take a swim again.
Still, Kaelif was deeply impressed with the courage Seth had shown in facing so terrifying an endeavor. This was the very characteristic that had allowed the Vaemysh people to survive so many hardships over so many generations. Survival was in their blood. They did what they were called upon to do when they were called on to do it, and only grieved the consequences later.
He walked up behind the boy and squeezed his shoulder. “How’s your trail, Seth?”
Seth wheeled around in surprise. His face was still as pale as a fish belly. He was soaked through, his wet hair pasted his face. “Damn me, Kad’r, I’ve never been more relieved in my life. I thought you were serious.”
“About going under the falls?” Kaelif laughed and gripped the boy’s shoulder tighter. “I wanted you worrying more about that than the river itself. Reckon it worked, eh?”
“I expect it worked well enough, sir.”
“You did well, boy. I’m damned proud of you.”
“It was touch and go there for a while,” Seth said as he glanced back at the river, “I think I was more worried about wetting myself than falling in the water.”
Kaelif laughed and threw an arm around him. “That’s just a sensible reaction, son. Our people come from the forest; we weren’t bred for swimming. Every damned one of us is happiest with dirt under foot.”
“I expect you’re right, Kad’r.”
“Come on, let’s get some food and drink. We need to clear the top of the falls before night lands.”
“All right, Kad’r.”
As they walked back to the others, Kaelif looked up at the barbed crown of Yaelic’s Teeth towering nearly a quarter mile above them. Even from here, the rage of water was so loud they were forced to shout to hear each other. The amount of water coursing over that wide drop could fill an ocean inside a week.
“It’s a hell of a long way up,” Seth said as if reading his mind.
“That it is, Seth. But the worst is behind us.”
He wished he believed it.
∞
It took Kaelif’s troops until late afternoon to portage the boats all the way to the top of the falls, and with every step of the trip, Kaelif cursed the lazy Pendts for their ineptitude and lack of simple pride. A Vaemysh boat of the same length weighed a quarter what these foul skiffs did. These were barely more than mud rafts, roughly hewn and crude. It was a miracle they’d survived the rapids below the waterfall in them at all.
The foul Pendts were the most uncultured, uncivilized people in all of Calevia. To his mind, they were barely people at all. They were hairy, dirty, and rough. Their snouts made every word little better than a grunt or snarl, and the hunched nature of their posture gave them a perpetual wheeze. Their clothes and weapons, their buildings and machines of war, even their speech was vulgar and offensive. How his own people had ever become desperate enough
to ally their cause with such animals was something he’d likely never come to grips with.
He shook his head and forced the grubby animals out of his mind. There was no point in wasting his energy; it was what it was, and they had to make their way forward despite the constrictions of these lousy vessels. He had much bigger things to fret this day than his loathing of the beasts. Besides, if all went as planned, they’d be rid of the filthy bastards soon enough.
The moon hovered just above the darkening forest line now, a disk of hope climbing steadily into a slate-gray sky. His warriors were beaten down, nearly exhausted in fact, but he had to keep pushing them forward. To their great credit, none of them gave him so much as a glance of complaint when he ordered them to move out just minutes after supper. They were strong with Vaemysh blood, and Lamys te’Faht to boot. They were the best of the best; they’d do whatever was required of them.
At least the paddling would be easier and less dramatic going forward. They’d already made a mile or so past Yaelic’s Teeth. Here the river’s surface had fallen as smooth and mellow as a holiday bath. The intimidating pillars of stone lining the mouth of the waterfall were well behind them, replaced now by the lush walls of the darkening forest, a blossoming night sky, and a soothing current. He felt hope take breath again.
Ancient beech trees followed along both banks of the river, their thick, silvery trunks rising hundreds of feet above them like the pillars at Pentyrfal’s Gate. Their billowing crowns murmured softly as a peaceful breeze sifted through their leaves. This was the Southern Forest, Na te’Tula. They were nearly halfway home now. The greatest dangers they’d face from here on were the eyes of their own people. He knew from experience that word of their disappearance, or desertion, would travel fast.
Their weakest link was his notoriety. He was a high-ranking fael’eer, though his warriors still affectionately called him Kad’r, two ranks below his current status. He was a war hero many times over, and a member of one of the remaining royal houses of antiquity. He could walk through the merest Vaemysh village in the furthest outreaches of Vaen, and still be recognized and heralded like a king. Everyone knew him everywhere he went. Stealth was going to be a significant problem until he finally reached his target. Once there, it wouldn’t ever matter again.
