by C. K. Rieke
Even if we’re allied with Lezeral and the other kings and queens, it's still better to have an army than naught? Of course it is. We are going to war: a couple of ex-Scaethers, a hard-spoken woman from another land, a single Knight of the Whiteblade and a couple of young dragons wouldn’t be enough to fight Dânoz in his own lands.
“I wonder what the dragons are up to now,” Fewn said, looking up to the bright sky above, with a thin tail of clouds running a single line across the sky, floating westward.
“Which ones?” Lilaci asked, trying to rub the ache in her hands away.
“Ours,” Fewn said, eying Lilaci caressing her own hands. Lilaci stopped once she noticed. “It hurt badly?”
“Like the devil,” she said, looking out to the desert. “I figure they’re out hunting, or maybe they just feel Kera’s safe here with us for now. Who really knows where they go and what they do.”
“Maybe they’re looking for gold to create a nest, and we’ll find that damn, evil, little pixie and kill it next time, or find the right eel to fix you up.”
Lilaci inhaled deeply and exhaled. “As long as I make it to Firen-ar, and we fulfill whatever destiny has been laid out for us. I’ll be happy enough doing that.”
“Don’t talk like that,” Fewn said, brushing a couple of frayed silver hairs back behind Lilaci’s ear. “That’s not going to be the end. That’s going to be the beginning.”
“Maybe.” A flood of memories bored through Lilaci’s mind then: her families torture and demise, her being taken from Gogenanth and forced to believe him dead, the spell the mages cast upon her to make her bow to the will of Veranor and forget her family, and almost dying more than a handful of times, and the loss of Roren. Her eyes glossed over in anger. “We’re going to make it there, and we’re going to kill him. That much I know. My sight doesn’t look beyond that though.” Her gaze fell over to Fewn, and she grabbed her hand.
They walked side by side, hands held for a couple of gentle moments, then Lilaci said, “Promise me something...”
“Sure.”
“After we’re done, if we win,” Lilaci paused a brief few seconds, “take care of her. Let her grow into the woman she’s supposed to be.”
Fewn scoffed, throwing Lilaci’s hands back at her. “You can go and keep that kind of talk back in your dim-witted head, Lilaci. Don’t ask me dark things like that. We’re going to get your old age fixed. You have my word on that, we will figure it out. Don’t get all dark on me now.”
Lilaci laid a hard glare on Fewn and grabbed her arm to hold her back. So they both stopped walking, and Lilaci continued staring into her eyes. Fewn’s eyes rolled up to the sky with a childish sigh, “Fine! I promise that when we are done, we’ll let Kera grow into a woman, hopefully less stubborn and grim than you!”
Lilaci felt Veranor’s eyes and ears fall over to them. He didn’t say anything, but the two women were now at the back of the wagon, and he was easily within earshot.
“Care to add anything?” Fewn asked him, noticing his interest too.
He simply shook his head and went on with his stoic gaze at the sands at his feet as they trudged on.
That evening, just after the sun had faded away over the high dunes to the west, the group huddled for warmth around their fire that sent its embers lifting off toward the clouds. Kera held out her small, pale palms toward the flames. They’d finished their meal of dried deren meat, and stew of watery potatoes and garlic. Ezmerelda and Fewn had decided to indulge in some mead from one of the wagons, while the others sipped at their mugs of chill water. The two of them sat next to each other, drinking the thick mead, whispering and laughing between themselves. Kera seemed quite entertained by the two, as Kera smiled when they smiled, and giggled when they laughed heartily. Gogenanth and Veranor were having a rare conversation between just the two of them. Normally Lilaci would be interested in listening in, but she had to admit to herself that she was worn from walking that day, and her joints and limbs ached.
Not listening to the mens’ conversation, she found herself more interested in Fewn and Ezmerelda’s, as both of them had wide smiles across their faces. Ezmerelda caught Lilaci looking at them, and with her auburn skin and wavy dark-blond hair framing her bronze eyes in the light of the fire, she held out her mug toward Lilaci, which she waved away with her hand.
Ezmerelda drew her mug back, and then whispered something to Fewn, which made her lift her head back with her white teeth showing, laughing hysterically. “Come on, it’ll make you feel better.” Ezmerelda feigned an empathetic smile. Lilaci thought she was getting drunk.
Lilaci just smiled and waved it away again, clutching the thick wool blanket up to her neck, trying to get warm.
“Oh, come on,” Fewn said, standing up, and knocking over the pitcher of mead at her feet. “Join us, it’ll warm you up. Look at me.” Her bare arms were held out wide, and her black hair was let down in front of her chest and shoulders, very rare for her to not have her hair back. Just have one, it’ll make you feel better. You’ve been such a bugger lately. Cheer up, have some fun!”
Lilaci saw Veranor and Gogenanth had halted their own conversation and were looking at Fewn with her arms still suspended at both sides, and then she looked at Kera, who seemed entertained by Fewn, and concerned for Lilaci with a look of worry. Maybe if I have one, Kera won’t give me that look anymore, at least for tonight.
She lifted her hand, ready for a mug to be inserted into, and Fewn kicked Ezmerelda in a spurt of joy. “You called it,” she said, laughing.
“Called what?” Gogenanth asked, his arms resting on his knees by the fire.
Lilaci rose and went over to take the mug, taking a drink, and she admitted to herself that it did help to warm her from the inside.
“I told her I bet we could get Lilaci to come join us if we laughed at her loud enough.” She snickered. “It seemed to work.”
Lilaci shrugged and took another drink.
The rising enjoyment of the party came to a quick halt when a thick, mucusy ball of spit fell to the dirt at Veranor’s feet. Three soldiers were walking by, the one who had a thin line of spit running down his chin, and who staggered slightly as he walked opened his mouth, showing his yellowing teeth. He was missing one of his front teeth.
“Keep it down,” he said, as one of the other soldiers grabbed him under the arm, trying to pull him away. “W—We’re trying to enjoy ourselves.” He hiccupped. “And it’s hard to do that when we have to hear your foul tongues.” He closed his mouth to draw enough spit to let another fly toward Veranor, but he was caught by a nasty surprise when he found a boot in his groin. She’d moved so quickly, Lilaci hadn’t even noticed.
Fewn removed her boot from his crotch and placed it firmly in his chest, knocking him to his back. She didn’t say a word, loomed over him with heavy shoulders. No one had the sense to say a word, not even Kera asking her to stop.
“H—hey,” the downed soldier said in shock. “You’re not supposed to do that! You can’t do that to me, to us!”
“Stay down, you rat,” Fewn said, pointing her finger harshly at him, and then turning her back to him and walking back to her spot next to Ezmerelda. She sat and glared at him. He stumbled to get to his feet, and Lilaci worried instantly at his next move as he sloppily drew his sword, scowling at her. The other two soldiers drew their swords, but just as quickly as they did, they saw that Lilaci, Gogenanth, Ezmerelda, Veranor, and even Kera had drawn their weapons.
“Your move,” Fewn said, her head lowered, glaring at the drunk soldier.
It didn’t take but a second to see and feel that every soldier within sight of them was intently watching the standoff, and many were rising to the aid of their fellow soldiers. The Whiteblades approached quickly, many with their swords already drawn. The drunk soldier looked around at the dozens of soldiers coming to his aid and smiled at Fewn. “My move, huh?”
Fewn rose, drawing her sword, and holding its tip into the flames of the fire. “Sure,” she
said, tilting her head to the side. “You come near us and I’m going to run this straight up your...”
“What is the meaning of this?” Alveron yelled, hurrying in from the head of the caravan.
“They pulled their swords on us,” the drunk soldier fumbled to say. Alveron set a swift fist into the right temple of the soldier, sending him careening to the sand, landing on his face, snoring almost instantly.
“What is going on here?” His eyes narrowed, and his mouth frowned in a thin line under his gray beard.
“Nothing,” Fewn said, stabbing her hot sword into the sand and taking a seat back by the fire. The others lowered their swords.
Alveron looked around, and Burr came running over from behind Alveron. “Put your weapons away, please,” he asked Lilaci and the others, which they did. All except for Veranor.
Burr, Alveron, and Veranor held a gaze between them then.
“We will protect our own,” Veranor said, holding his long sword at his side, pointed at the sand, shimmering in the light of the fire.
“And we our own,” Alveron said, raising his chin.
Burr stepped between the two, with his hands out to separate them. “We don’t have to like each other but let this be known!” His voice was gruff but raised, as he shouted out to the soldiers all around. “Drunk or not, any who disrespect our guests will be cast out to the sands from here on out. By the honor of our kin, we will not be the first to herald disrespect through action or word. These are my friends, and our comrades in this war, and they are not to be harmed, antagonized or even looked at in a scornful way. Do you hear me? We are here because of them, because of what we have done together. They are more important than any single soldier in this army. And just to be even more clear, you’d not only be getting into a brawl with them, but also don’t forget they have blazing dragons with them!”
Murmurs were heard within the ranks of the army, and all put their swords back in their scabbards, but Alveron still stood with his grip on his sword at his side, staring at Veranor.
“Don’t make me regret this,” Burr said to Lilaci. “Keep her in line.”
“I will do no such thing,” Lilaci said. “That soldier deserved that, and Veranor is right. We’ll protect our own.”
“Which side are you on anyway?” Fewn asked him, with a slight slur in her words.
“We are all on the same side!” he said, with a nasty look in his eye and the wrinkles on his head tightening. “Don’t you all get that by now?” His gaze went to everyone around then. “We’re not going to win this war alone. What do you want Whiteblades? Do you want to bring peace back to these lands that have been dry and wrought of plague since the last wars? Or do you want to return to hiding for another few centuries? And what do we want?” He looked at Lilaci and Kera. “Do we want to walk the sands alone, waiting to be attacked by anything that wants to kill us for any number of reasons from over another dune? How much is that going to slow our progress? You think Roren would be gone right now if we would have had this army to fight off those dragons?”
Lilaci scowled at him.
“You can be mad at me,” he said, showing sympathy in his eye, signaling his grief for their lost friend. “But you know I’m right. We’re stronger together. Just put up with each other in the meantime. That’s all I ask.” He turned back to address the knights with his arms out wide. “Now return to your fires, and rest for tomorrow we have another long day of walking. And lay off the mead!”
The soldiers went back as he asked them to do, and Alveron turned too, walking back to the head of the caravan without saying a word.
Burr stood there for a long moment, waiting for Veranor to sheath his sword, which he did after a few seconds.
Ezmerelda let out a snort of a laugh, covering her mouth, trying to hold it. “I think his eyes went cross-eyed when you kicked him in the pecker,” she said to Fewn, still trying to hold in the laughter.
“By the feel of it,” Fewn said, trying to hold in her own giggle, “I think you’ve got a fibber in your midst. Your Whiteblade was pretending to be a man, but all my foot found down there was a puff of hair and minge.”
There was a brief, heavy moment of thought, or lack of it in the group, then Gogenanth let out a loud burst of laughter, slapping his knee with a smack, and lifted his head up with a roar. Ezmerelda and Fewn wrapped their arms around each, laughing so hard, they both fell over onto the sand. Lilaci saw even Veranor had a smile wide across his face, trying to contain his own enjoyment at the joke. Burr went and sat next to Lilaci, and they both began to laugh with each other, and Fewn and Ezmerelda were stuck in a fit of girlish laughter.
Kera looked over at Lilaci, and whispered, “I don’t get it, what’s funny?”
Lilaci looked at Burr, and they both laughed even harder.
Chapter Twenty-Two
There was a stir of commotion at the head of the army’s march the following day. The air was clear and crisp in the early morning sun, which rose like a dazzling golden half-sphere neatly rested between two sharply-sloped dunes. The long dead trees made the sun look like it was rising from a bed of needles.
Groups of soldiers hurried past, as some word was surely being spread through their ranks, with many stirs and Whiteblades leaving their hot breakfasts by the fires to join the others.
“Stay here,” Lilaci said to Fewn, which she did, chewing on a bit of dried deren and sipping tea while waiting for Kera to rise from the wagon at her side.
Lilaci weaved through scores of the soldiers as she threaded her way up to where Alveron and Burr were stationed. It only took ten minutes. A large crowd of soldiers was standing shoulder to shoulder, in between her and Burr, and the group was easily a hundred deep. There were many speculations the soldiers were throwing around as she listened; they’d found another horde of Reevins, or a dragon was approaching, or—she even heard the rumor that—Lilaci and the others were to be disposed of. She quickly grew impatient of the rumors and decided she would wait no longer.
The fires welled up inside of her, and as she was nearly touching shoulders to the growing ranks behind her, she summoned the sands to gather and harden under her boots. With a delicate lift of her hands, the sands rose, carrying her up.
The soldiers leaped back in fright, gasping and stumbling over, some even trying to draw their swords. Lilaci lifted herself over their heads, with a disc of sand beneath her feet propelling her up and over them, her hands were illuminated in the soft fires of the Sanzoral. It appeared many of the soldiers had forgotten how powerful she and her friends were. After the Whiteblades had defeated the Reevins and saved them, perhaps they thought they were the stronger force—now they remembered why Lilaci and Kera were the ones traveling to Firen-ar.
Lilaci found the gasps—entertaining—to a point, and intentionally lifted herself higher so that all could see her. She rose sixty feet into the air before finding Alveron and Burr on the other side of the soldiers. There was a small collection of Whiteblades holding the others back. The two men were talking to another man, this one presumably a scout, as he was dressed in a different cloth than the others, he nearly perfectly blended in with the color of the sands.
The scout’s eyes found her quickly, and as she descended toward the men, Burr and Alveron turned to watch her descend. Burr showed his teeth in a grin that stretched to one side of his mouth. Alveron seemed un-entertained, as he turned and folded his arms to wait for her.
Her boots landed with a soft thud as the sands relaxed and returned to small piles at her feet. “What news have you brought?” she addressed the scout, who looked to Alveron for whether he should answer or not.
Alveron waited a moment, but not long, and answered, “There’s a river up ahead.”
“A river?” she asked, not really believing him.
“It’s on no map,” Burr said with a serious eye. “It appeared out of thin air, it has.”
“Well, it was said the dragons would return the waters to the sands,” she said.
>
“True,” Burr said, “but this is a river, this isn’t another well. We need to decide if the wagons can make it through the depths.” A look of interest crossed his mind seemingly as his eyebrow popped up, looking inquisitively at her. “Lilaci...”
An hour later they were at the river, its clear waters flowing south. They were almost magically clear, and didn’t rush past like flood waters in the mountains during heavy rain, but they were powerful waters nonetheless. The soldiers had already been wading past when they arrived, as the waters rose to their chest line. The wagons had been the issue, but that was until Burr had asked her if she’d be able to use her magic to get them over.
To keep the wagons still, and to keep their contents from spilling out into the water, and being lost down in the current, she tried to form not flat sands to carry them over—but half-spheres. It took quite a deal of concentration as she practiced the first one. Kera had awoken and was standing next to her, along with their other friends.
“Any volunteers?” she asked, her hands dancing in front of her, with them wafting with the enchanting lights of the Sanzoral.
“What’s that?” Alveron asked, his bald head glowing under the ever-rising, hot sun.
“I need to practice once first, I’d like to try with one of your men first, to get the shape of the sand right.”
“Hmmm,” he said. “You.” He pointed at a soldier that stood taller than he, and wide at the hips and shoulders. “Over here.” The soldier ran over with heavy strides. “Good?” he was looking at Lilaci. She nodded.
Then she went to focus on the sands at his feet. Each of them stepped back as a thin circle of sand began to lift around the feet of the heavy soldier, who was caught off guard.
“Hold your ground,” Alveron ordered.
The sands rose in a circular pattern eight feet around him, and once they rose to his shoulder height, he felt the hardened sands at his feet begin to lift. He staggered to his side, trying to find his balance. The soldier then seemed to understand what was going on, as he turned and faced the bank on the far side of the river. His hands were held out wide, and his knees were bent as he was just a passenger for the ride.
