Sir Edge
Page 23
Jhonate was already regretting trying to save money by buying the raw camel meat instead of purchasing pre-cooked food at one of the tent stalls. She had never been much of a cook. Growing up at the palace in Roo-Tan’lan, her focus had been on training. Food was always provided. Her experience at the Battle Academy was much the same. Her years traveling at Edge’s side had taught her little more. Edge was a serviceable trailside cook and they often traveled with someone that was better than either one of them.
This journey with Nod had made her regret her lack of knowledge in this area. She knew how to skin and clean any animals she caught, of course, but other than that, all she could do was cook meat on a stick or boil it in a pot. Nod seemed to know less than she did. The few times she had made him cook the food, he had managed to burn it and one time he had thrown in leaves that she was fairly certain were inedible.
Perhaps she would ask Lenny for cooking advice the next time she saw him. The dwarf cooked his food spicier than she liked, but he still was the best trail cook she had ever met.
She considered what to do with the meat as she walked towards the northern edge of the city where she and Nod had camped. Maybe if she cut the roast into small enough pieces and boiled it long enough it would be edible. Maybe one of the tents would be selling potatoes or carrots to add to it. She paused and considered going back to the spice tent just to purchase some salt.
Jhonate shrugged the thought away. She had travelled for three flavorless weeks with the man. One more night of mediocre food wouldn’t harm her. She had a bunch of hardtack that was too hard to eat on its own. She could break some of it it up and toss in with the meat. It wouldn’t add much flavor to the soup, but it would at least give it some texture.
As she approached their small campsite, she saw Nod talking to two figures in gray attire. One of them was a bent old man who was leaning on a staff and the other one was wearing a hooded cloak. The conversation looked to be heated and Nod ended it with a sharp word that she couldn’t make out, but it sounded like an order.
The two figures turned away and walked in her direction. When they passed her, she got a better look at the old man’s staff. It was made of gnarled wood that was carved in intricate runes. A quick shift to mage sight told her that this man’s staff was an item of great power. She also caught a glimpse under the other figure’s hood. The person had skin that was pure white and his lips were drawn back, exposing pointed teeth.
Jhonate continued to the campsite. Nod was pacing, an irritated look on his face. He reached into his cloak to massage his crippled left hand. It was something he often did while deep in thought.
“Who is that man you spoke with?” Jhonate asked.
She was fairly certain that he was aware of her approach, but Nod jumped as if startled, and swung around to face her with a look of surprise. “Ah, there you are, Sar! Is that our dinner hangin’ on your staff? I’m famished!”
“I asked you about the people you were speaking to,” she repeated firmly.
“Oh, them? No one, Sar. Just pilgrim friends of mine,” he said and stepped closer to get a better look at her wrapped package.
Jhonate pulled her staff away from his reach. “A pilgrim wizard and a pilgrim imp?” Nowadays demons were a more common sight out in the world than when she had been growing up, but imps were still a rare sighting.
He cocked his head at her. “Got a good look at ’em did ya? Don’t know why you’d ’fink it strange. Don’t matter none if a person’s wizard or warrior or imp or gnome. We pilgrims take in everybody.”
She frowned. His explanation actually made sense. For some reason she could not fathom, this movement did attract all kinds. “Yet, for an imp and wizard to join and travel together seems an odd thing.”
Or more specifically, a suspicious thing. Imps weren’t evil as a rule. They were a people with a broad range of personalities like every humanoid race. But they were known for their underhanded dealings. Even the good ones had a tendency towards trickery.
“True, Sar. An odd pairing, that,” Nod said with a shrug. “Which is why I sought ’em out. I heard they’d been near to Alsarobeth, see, and I asked ’em for a safe route through the desert. If anyone was gonna pass ’frough the Whitebridge unscathed it’d be a team with their magical power.”
“It looked as though they said something you did not like.”
The look of puzzlement left his features and he gave her a disarming smile. “I’d hoped for better news is all.”
“Then they did not know a safe way through?” she asked.
Nod shrugged exaggeratedly. “They had a map what they found somewheres, but they can’t promise it’ll work. Like most folks, they turned back a’fore they make it through the Whitebridge. Just kept a jar of sand as a souvenir and called it good.”
She chewed her lip for a moment, her eyes narrowed. He had managed to come up with logical answers to all of her questions while still leaving her feeling that he was lying to her.
Many of her conversations with Nod left her feeling this way. They had developed an odd sort of companionship over their long journey. She trusted him to a certain point, but they hadn’t become friends. She didn’t even like him, and for some strange reason, she thought he preferred it this way. It was like he enjoyed finding ways to keep her from getting too close.
Begrudgingly, she swung her staff over and released the package into his arms. He held it clumsily against his chest with his crippled arm and untied it with his other hand. He looked blandly at the large piece of meat she had bought.
“So you’re cookin’ again tonight? It’s a fatty cut at least. What kind of meat is it, Sar?” he asked, adding a hopeful smile.
“Camel,” she said.
His smile fell. “They didn’t have any beef? Not a leg of lamb? Even a chicken? I wouldn’t even look askance at a rabbit at this point.”
“This is a pilgrim camp. We take what we can get. Why? Does camel taste bad?” she asked, disappointed.
A dark look passed briefly over his features, but he laughed it off. “I dunno! I ain’t had it a’fore! Let’s consider it an adventure. Me’n Sar Zahara eatin’ camel. Why not?” He paused. “Did you happen to pick up any spices to go along wif it?”
Her back straightened. “If I had would you know what to do with them?”
Nod shook his head. “Well, you got me there, Sar. It’s another culinary adventure for us.”
Jhonate felt abashed about the whole situation and as she prepared the soup she did her best. The meat was tougher even than she had expected. She got the pot boiling and added the hardtack, which soon turned to mush, and even put in some pungent cheese that she had been saving. The resulting soup was greasy. The meat somehow managed to be both tough and blubbery. The cheese kept it from being flavorless, but that didn’t mean it was a good flavor.
Nod forced his bowl down without comment. He didn’t need to say anything. His facial expression told the story. Jhonate’s experience was little better, but she had better control over her own reactions. She ate hers in stony silence. Nevertheless, the sound of his occasional gagging made her stomach turn a few times.
Knowing how tough the last leg of their journey was going to be, they made themselves eat as much as they could keep down and bedded for the night. Jhonate slept in her bedroll opposite the fire from her companion. She didn’t like sleeping next to him when she could avoid it.
Ever since she had yelled at him at the beginning of their journey, Nod seemed to be on his best behavior. She had never caught him leering at her again, but sometimes she still wondered. Jhonate couldn’t explain the feeling, but even when he was facing away from her it was like his eyes were still on her. She scowled at herself. There was no need to make things up just to spite the man.
The next morning, she awoke to Nod yelling at a group of pilgrims. There were four of them, large bulky figures in hooded cloaks that were standing not far from the campsite. They were just staring in Jhonate’s direction.
Jhonate climbed out of her bedroll and pulled on her boots. “What was that about?”
He shrugged. “Dunno. I woke up and saw ’em starin’. But they were harmless. Like I said last night, we pilgrims take in all types.”
They quickly packed up and rode their horses northward. As they rode, those large pilgrims wouldn’t leave her mind. Something about them tickled her memory, but Jhonate didn’t know what it was. She really missed Edge right then. He would have been able to help her discover what she was missing.
Her thoughts took a gloomy turn at that point as she wondered what her husband was up to without her. Was he mad at her for leaving? Had he tried to follow?
Jhonate’s mood darkened as the heat rose and by noon she was miserable. To make things worse, she saw a dark cloud system passing to their south. Those clouds were full of rain, but they weren’t headed their way. The people in the tent city were going to get some relief, though.
Nod was usually a loquacious traveler, something that often got on her nerves. But today, he was either just as miserable as she was or he seemed to sense the intensity of her mood. The man wisely kept his inane prattle to himself.
A few hours later something happened to change her temper. The road took them up a sharp incline and when they reached the top, she caught her first glimpse of their destination. Far in the distance, beyond a wavering white horizon, she saw the snow-capped peak where Alsarobeth lay.
Nod reined in his horse and placed his hand to his brow. He smiled. “It’s a lovely sight, ain’t it, Sar? To have our destination in view?”
“Yes it is, Nod,” she said.
They continued on their journey, the mountain peak growing slowly in the distance. Two days later they came to a stream. On either side of the water was a narrow strip of green and beyond that was their next great obstacle.
Stretching between them and their mountain was an ocean of sand. Heat rose from the dunes, distorting their view of the horizon.
“The Whitebridge,” Nod said with a hint of fear in his voice. “A land of hot death and monsters.”
A shiver passed up her spine despite the heat. This was Deathclaw’s homeland.
Chapter Twenty One
Lucinder – Plans
Lucinder’s head throbbed worse with every day that passed. He complained about it and one morning Priestess Sren came to him. The dangerous blond beauty made him strip down to his small clothes and then she walked around him in her leather armor. He blushed under her calculating gaze. Finally, she seized his head in both of her hands and kissed him with her black painted lips.
Her elemental power surged through his head, and the ache was greatly reduced. She pulled back and sneered at the shocked expression on his face. “You aren’t eating enough,” she had declared and turned to leave. She paused at the door. “Call for me if it worsens.”
The door shut behind her and he dressed hurriedly, feeling like he had narrowly avoided something worse than headache pain. His headache returned a few hours later with a vengeance, but Lucinder knew better than to call for her again.
After that, his meal portions increased to a ridiculous degree and yet every day he was certain that the pain was worsening. Even worse, Sir Bertrom didn’t return. He worried that something had happened to the named warrior and every hour that passed seemed an hour closer to his death. Lucinder’s only respites were reading and sleeping. He spent most of his days in bed with the curtains drawn around him. He began refusing to eat.
One morning, as he sat in the dim light of his shade-drawn room, Lucinder was hungry enough that he picked at the extravagant breakfast the servants had brought him. A pile of bacon sat on a wide platter next to toast that was smothered with gravy and tender chunks of beef. Next to it lay a row of sliced honstule covered in cheese. A glass of fruit juice had been placed to the side.
None of it looked good to him, but he considered eating the honstule. The vegetable was the only part of the meal that ever made him feel any better. He cut a piece with his fork and was bringing it to his mouth when a tiny rock bounced off of the platter.
He looked to the window and saw Sir Bertrom’s face peering at him from between the curtains. The warrior’s expression was grim as he reached an arm into the room and beckoned the prince over to him.
Lucinder grinned widely and ignored the extra throbbing that came from standing quickly. He rushed over to the curtains and threw them open despite the way the sunlight stabbed his eyes. Bertrom crouched on the window ledge and placed his silencing cube on the ledge next to him.
“You came!” Lucinder exclaimed. “I worried that something happened to you.”
The warrior’s gaze didn’t meet his. “I’m afraid I received some bad news.” His face looked haggard, haunted even. “We aren’t going to have all the help we hoped for.”
Lucinder swallowed. “What does that mean?”
“It means were in a tight spot,” Bertrom said. “Our numbers are few in this city and time is running out.” He looked down. “That means we have some tough choices to make.”
“A-are you saying you have to leave me behind?” Lucinder asked. “Please . . . I don’t want to be sacrificed to the Dark Prophet.”
Bertrom’s eyes finally rose to his. “Lucinder, I’m going to be honest with you. It’s worse than that.”
His gaze was dark and this time Lucinder was the one to look away. “I know. I’ve read about how the priestesses sacrificed people to him. It’s said that their daggers had the power to tear a piece of a person’s soul away as they died. He used those pieces to increase his power.”
“You’re well-read, kid,” said Bertrom with respect. “We’ve destroyed all but one of the priestesses’ daggers, but . . . Look, that doesn’t matter. What I need to tell you is that they have other plans for you.”
Lucinder’s jaw drooped and a feeling of dread overtook him. “What plans?”
Bertrom sighed and he sat down on the ledge. “A few decades back, a powerful seer had a prophecy. It spoke of the Dark Prophet’s return.” He rubbed his face with a tired hand. “Unfortunately, the wrong people got wind of it and they have been trying to bring him back ever since.”
“What does that have to do with me?” Lucinder asked.
“The prophecy said that when the Dark Prophet rose again, he would return to this world as a king. He’s been trying ever since. The Prophet has been working us ragged foiling the Dark Prophet’s schemes as fast as he comes up with them. But one of his plans snuck past us.” He gave the prince a firm look. “Until Nurse Deena reached out to us.”
“He’s coming back as my father? Or . . .” Lucinder blinked back at him. “Me? But I’m not king.”
“Not yet,” Bertrom said. “But you are the heir to Khalpany. And since your mother is a Muldroomon, you would also have a claim on Dremaldria’s throne. You know that shriveled black orb you told me about? We think it’s actually a moonrat eye. One of them, an artifact powerful enough to contain the entirety of the Dark Prophet’s soul, went missing a year before you were born. All they have to do is cut you open and place this moonrat eye inside you. He’ll be able to take over your body, toss your mind aside, and fulfill the prophecy.”
Lucinder now realized why Bertrom had been so grim when he arrived. This wasn’t a rescue. “I guess we can’t let him do that. I . . .” He felt tears come up, but he forced them away and squared his chin. “I suppose you should kill me then.”
Bertrom’s eyebrows rose, but he didn’t brush the idea aside. “Are you serious about that, Lucinder?”
The prince swallowed as he wavered. He wanted to live, but . . . this is what his life had become. One way or the other he would be led to slaughter.
“It’s what you came here for, isn’t it?” He straightened his back. “Don’t feel bad for me, S
ir. I understand that it needs to be done. A-and if it will keep the Dark Prophet from returning, then it’s worth it.”
Sir Bertrom put a hand on the prince’s collar and gripped his shirt tight, his expression resigned. “Brave boy.”
The named warrior leaned forward and Lucinder was certain that Bertrom was preparing to pull him out of the window and hurl him to the distant ground below. A jolt of fear passed through the young man and he almost pulled away, but he managed to regain his courage and stood still, closing his eyes. It was better this way. In mere seconds, the Dark Prophet’s plan would be foiled. At least his headache would be gone.
“Dammit,” said Bertrom gruffly, and he gave the prince a slight shake before letting go of his collar. “Maybe the Bowl was wrong to choose me.”
“It’s okay, Sir,” Lucinder assured him and opened his eyes. “I’m not worth the . . .” His voice trailed away as he saw tears in the warrior’s eyes.
“I won’t do it,” Bertrom said with a brusque shake of his head. “We won’t do it.” He placed his hand on Lucinder’s shoulder. “We’re going to do something much more difficult.” He nodded, and a grin spread on his lips. “We’re going to do something that will really put a thumb in the Dark Prophet’s eye.”
Lucinder smiled back at him. “Really? What is it?”
“Well, part of it’s already planned,” said Bertrom. “Even though we didn’t receive all the aid we hoped for, we’re going to stage a raid on the dungeon. We’ll rescue Mistress Dagger and Nurse Deena. Only we’re going to do it louder.”
“Are you going after the Dark Bowl?” Lucinder asked.
“Unfortunately, we’re not quite set up to do that. Even if we managed to reach the Dark Bowl, we have no way to destroy it or even move it.” He lifted a finger. “But your father and the Dark Prophet’s other servants don’t know that.”