The Destroyer Book 3 (9 page)

I had plenty of time to practice using them now. There was no army to manage. No people to train. No enemy to crush under my boot. I only wanted to find Iolarathe and continue to grow in strength and power.

I began to perceive a faint orange glow across the emptiness. My vision was as keen as an eagle’s and I guessed there were another forty miles ahead of me before I would reach the outskirts of the town. I had chased Iolarathe for so many years now, it was hard to remember my life before this. The years had been spent in solitude, which did strange things to my perception of time. I did not actually know how much time had passed since I killed Shlara.

I did not want to know.

Iolarathe remained a few steps ahead of me. Sometimes I missed her by months, sometimes by days. Once I saw her on a distant mountain range. The sight had energized me and I pushed myself to catch up to her. When I reached the spot where she had been, I found nothing but a few scattered footprints and the smoking embers of a hastily abandoned campfire.

Somehow she had eluded me and I never glimpsed her again.

But she left a trail. She was not simply evading me, she was searching for something. At first I believed it was for the remnants of her people, but the longer I tracked her, the more I came to realize she was seeking something more. The O’Baarni destroyed most of the Elven estates in our quest to annihilate their race. We had not even wanted to inhabit the same grounds as our enemies. The very buildings they had erected were tributes to the centuries of our oppression, and they were as important to destroy as the oppressors themselves. Iolarathe was searching for the remaining places that had not been razed by the O’Baarni.

I had not figured out why she was in Deadflats, but I would have answers soon. I slowed my pace a few miles from the city. I could not draw attention to myself with a superhuman approach.

And I wanted to take in the view of the bizarre metropolis.

Long ago, something massive had fallen from the sky and landed in the center of the Salt Desert. Whatever had collided into the planet had destroyed three thousand square miles of land. There was nothing to be found here but salt and gemstones. And survivors scraping by through grit and stubbornness.

At the center of where I imagined the collision to have occurred rose a large, flat-topped hill. The mass must have been pushed upward by the impact, and it only added to my belief that whatever hit the planet had been significant in size. The mesa was about five miles long and a third of a mile high. Wind had slowly eroded the top of the hill to its level tabletop after thousands of years.

The city was situated at the base of the mesa. An incongruously sturdy looking gate hung against wood stakes tied together by rusted barbed wire. Torches burned at the top of the posts, sputtering against the wind. Past the gates, squat, simple wooden structures were augmented by rough patches of stonework. The salty streets branched out from the gate as limbs of a tree, the farthest reaching dwellings carved out of a low-lying hill. Most of the homes were dark at this hour, but a few had torches or fireplaces lit, a warm pink glow visible through their windows. It looked as if half of the hillside was home to a nest of resting fireflies.

I was spotted when I was an eighth of a mile from the front gate. Two men rode out on horseback. I wondered how they fed their animals, or themselves for that matter, as no crops would grow on these badlands. Then I wondered how they even got the wood for their homes. Finally, I asked myself how anyone could even think to live out in this forsaken land. It did not matter. I let my curiosity lie and directed my focus back to my mission.

"What is your business?" one of the men on horseback inquired. They wore dusty leather pants and long coats of gray wool. Their faces were dry and more weathered than the side of the hill.

"Looking for Deadflats. Is this it?" I asked the obvious question.

"Yeh. You travel in the night?" the other man asked with worry. His mount shifted sideways nervously. I recalled the various black and ill-tempered horses I rode during my life. The head of his horse would not have even reached halfway up the body of one of my steeds.

"Is there a place to get food and water?" I asked with a faked gasp. Hopefully they would think I was in distress, weak and not a threat. The gusts of wind had died down to a breeze so we could hear each other. The location of the city in relation to the hill must have been planned to reduce the effects of the wind.

"Are you diseased?" One of the men pointed to his face and I realized I still had my head wrapped in cloth.

"No, just keeping the sun and salt out." I unwrapped my head and showed them my face. I had decided to let my beard and hair grow long, but it would not fool anyone who knew me. "About that food?"

"Down the main avenue. First right. Left side. Lizard Breath Inn. What is your business here?" The first man beckoned me to follow him toward the gate and the light of the torches on the fence posts.

"Meeting a friend. Rock business." Rock could be taken to mean either gems or salt. That was the only reason people came here: to mine or to trade.

The men nodded and opened the gate to let me pass. For a second the two exchanged glances and I thought they would try to extort me, but the second passed and they closed the gate without another word. Only the creak of the salt-crusted hinges marked my passage.

The road was made of dried, crusted mud, but the wood homes lining the street had stone foundations built up out of the dirt. The light from the sputtering torches lining the street reflected off the salt coating the ground and the houses, making everything sparkle.

I heard heartbeats and gentle breathing inside of each home and I imagined that most citizens here were getting as much rest as they could before waking up early to dig in the mines. I had never worked in a mine, but had freed many people who had slaved in them under the Elvens. While all of us had suffered as slaves, those men and women had a dead look in their eyes that was unchanged by freedom. They had lost themselves somewhere in the dark depths of the earth.

They were very effective in my army.

I heard the voices and laughter of the Lizard Breath Inn before I saw the place. The building was two stories high, and not at all stable. The corners were made of stacked, roughly-hewn stones. One side was a little uneven and it caused the inn to lean. A salt speckled post extended from the mud on that side in some futile attempt to prop up the structure in case the wind decided to change direction.

I pushed through a set of thin wooden doors to enter the lobby of the inn. The hinges squealed loudly, announcing my entrance and causing the conversations to halt as the patrons looked up at me. I took a few steps on a threadbare, salt-covered rug while I memorized the position of everyone in the room, their size, and if they were a threat. None were. A fat old man sitting by the door stopped me.

"No weapons." He pointed at my spear and then thumbed toward a table where a few small picks, a bare rusty short sword, and various clubs were piled in a heap. I nodded at the man, leaned my weapon against the wood, and walked across the room to the long bar that separated what I guessed was the innkeeper and his daughter from the rest of the patrons.

"You're new." The innkeeper may have been the son of the man by the door. He looked very similar, only thirty pounds lighter and greasier. I sat on a surprisingly sturdy stool and sighed in an attempt at weariness.

"Been traveling for a long time. From the Green Mountains. Water?" I shrugged off my pack and set it on the ground next to me.

"Metal?" He shot his daughter an angry glare when she tried to fill my request. His look stopped her like an arrow through a rabbit's heart.

"What will you take?" the Elvens had traded in various forms of metal and artwork. It made sense to keep some traditions.

"Water is free with food." He nodded at the girl and she quickly filled up the cup that had been dangling in between her fingers.

"What are you serving? I'll need a room as well." I noticed that the conversations behind me resumed.

"Lizard steaks with mushrooms. Also have fish stew. Rooms are an iron piece a night. Two meals are included, with water. Anything else and you have to pay extra." He peered at his daughter with an evil smirk. She hastily turned away and made busy with cleaning what looked like the only pair of glasses left in the place. I now assumed that she probably wasn't his daughter. Or he was a really sick fucker.

"I'll take a room for three nights. The stew now. Where do you get the fish from?" I knew the lizard meat to be repulsive, but I was also a bit put off by the idea of how fish got to a desert. I rummaged through the inside of my pack to where I carried a few pouches of various solid blocks of metal. I could twist the Earth and pull off a piece of whatever I wanted easily. On my second attempt my fingers recognized iron and I pulled off what felt like the right amount.

"The river," he said it as if I asked what color the moon was.

"Ah yeah. They said one runs under the city?" I handed my three iron pieces across the table to him. They were each about the size of my thumbnail. He looked hungrily at them and put them in a pocket of his dirty apron. I had guessed the right size.

"First time in Deadflats, eh?"

"Yeah." I drained the cup of water in a single swallow. It was surprisingly cool and I didn't taste any salt.

"What brings you here, kid?"

"Trade. Mining. Adventure." I smiled through the lie. "How about that stew?" The man looked over to the girl and barked a name I couldn't understand. She set down the glasses and scurried into the kitchen. When she returned, two of the men playing Stones bid their friends a good night and left the inn. I noticed the bartender watch them leave with a frown.

"Something wrong?" I said before I swallowed the next cup of water.

"Naw." He smirked at me and poured a foul-smelling potato based alcohol into a mug. Then he drank it as quickly as I had swallowed the water.

The girl came out with a steaming bowl that didn't smell as fishy as I expected. She set it in front of me with a shy smile and scurried to the far side of the bar. She would have been pretty if she had not grown up under such harsh conditions. Life had not improved for everyone, even with our enslavers gone.

I had other things to worry about.

I expected the stew to be salty, and it was, but the flavor did not overpower my tongue. The fish tasted fresh and it was mixed in an orange-colored cream sauce with spicy mushrooms, dense potatoes, and some sort of green vegetable that tasted sweeter than carrots. I hadn't eaten in a few days, but I wasn't famished and slowly savored the meal. When I roamed the wilderness I didn't have to worry about food. I could put my spear through the heart of a boar from five hundred feet away, stalk prey with the stealth of a mountain cat, and run faster than most horses. I just had to find Iolarathe and avoid anyone sent after me.

I heard Shlara scream again. It echoed in my brain hundreds of times. I saw her body bend backward as the sticky fire enveloped her. I smelled the scent of her flesh burning.

"You alright kid? Look like you are about to puke. Most like the stew." The innkeeper's words pulled me back from the distressing thoughts.

"I'm fine. Can I have another bowl?" I hastily scooped up the last two bites and raised an eyebrow.

"You're supposed to get only one bowl per meal." The door to the inn opened and several pairs of boots entered. The innkeeper's oily skin turned the color of piss and he wrung his hands on his apron. "I'll get you another though. Since you are new in town." He scurried back through the doors to the kitchen.

For a second, I assumed the men who had entered were the local law enforcement, or town bullies, as was usually the case. I had run into a few of these types in my travels. Most of the time I could talk my way out of whatever conflict they had concocted as an excuse to fight or detain me. Others had to be paid off. Twice I had killed them when we failed to come to an agreement.

I knew from their footsteps that these were not mere humans. I felt the Wind displace from the room with their bulky frames. Their steps were careful, calculated, and smooth. No, these were my kin, and I cursed myself for having journeyed to Deadflats. They must have suspected that I would eventually get here. They must have guessed that this town, past the edge of whatever civilization they were trying to build, would be a tempting sanctuary to a traitor.

There were four of them. Two took seats next to me at the bar to my right. The other pair sat on my left. I steadied my heartbeat and breathing. Maybe they wouldn't know who I was through the beard. Only the highest ranked soldiers and generals knew what I looked like. The rest only recognized my armor and my name. The girl saw them take a seat and practically ran into the back room.

"Round of drinks, Tos!" the man to my left yelled. The doors to the kitchen opened and the innkeeper emerged with another bowl of stew for me. He set it in front of me with a nervous flick and grabbed four wooden cups and filled them with the vile potato brew from the barrel.

"You new?" the man to my right asked when I took my first spoonful of the new bowl. I chewed slowly and glanced over at him before answering. He looked just like his companion: muscular, with a shaved head, thick jaw, and hands crisscrossed in countless scars.