What Was Forgotten (37 page)

Through the gate, Baudrus led his detachment with a hungry and fierce anticipation, the kind Barrett expected to see in a mercenary company. The knight found it odd; to him, battle was his life, his way of serving Xidius and the Empire, while the first sergeant seemed possessed of bloodlust. It was not a good urge to be possessed by, but at least the man had found the proper vocation in which to satiate it.

The detachment began to jog at a slow pace, following the still-visible footprints in the dirt and mud on the forest floor. Barrett, the only one among them who was mounted, stayed at the rear of the group and was following them while letting his mind wander. He nearly missed spotting another set of tracks – wheel tracks – that veered west, away from the tracks that Baudrus and his men were following.

“Sergeant Baudrus, keep following the main set of tracks. I’ll catch up with you,” Barrett said. The Sergeant paused long enough to salute him before turning back to the hunt while the knight veered away from them.

Grey clouds were encroaching against the sun before midday. Anticipation, almost unbearable, weighed on the Tauthri in Ten Tower more than anyone else there. Daruthin wondered for how long and how far Barrett would follow the tracks. He hoped they would find only trees, but he began to catch himself looking around anxiously when he started to think what would happen if they actually did catch up with the Dramandi they had cut loose. Daruthin did not doubt they were brave, but if there was anyone among them who would give up the truth of what had happened, Barrett would sniff them out, and while the Silver Sun knight would have had no reason to suspect anything, it was apparent that the commander might. He could have conveyed his thoughts to Barrett, something Daruthin hoped was only possible in his dread-fraught mind.

With none of the soldiers wanting to incur the commander’s displeasure, the repairs to the fort were going quickly. The Tauthri, smaller and weaker than their Trueborn counterparts, still helped where they could by organizing the timber to be used in the repairs by section and by cutting over-long pieces to sizes fit for the task.

“When do you think he’s coming back?” Tascell asked Daruthin in their native tongue.

Daruthin looked around to see that no one was close enough to hear them talking. None might understand, but unwanted attention was to be avoided. Especially today of all days. “I hope soon. This commander is enraged by the defeat he believes he’s suffered. His eyes will be open until the scales are balanced.”

“But he does believe it? The attack?”

“He seems to. At least, he believes in the attack itself. Whether or not he believes it unfolded the way I told him… I’m not sure.”

“Open the gate!”
a voice called out from across the fort. Tascell and Daruthin both looked over to see the north gate open to let familiar faces inside the walls – the mariners who had restocked the fort just days earlier. It seemed every soldier around stopped to see who had arrived, and every soldier displayed some confused and tired open-mouthed gape at why the mariners were there, or a disappointed scowl that it was not Barrett and Baudrus returning victorious from their search.

“What do you think they’re doing here?” Tascell asked.

“I’m not sure,” Daruthin said, “but I doubt they’re already resupplying.” As he spoke, the two Tauthri watched as the mariners wheeled in the half-destroyed remnants of a carriage, one that they immediately recognized not as the one that bore the coveted relic, but the one Zayd had put in its place. Commander Walrend was already on his way over to Drusidus, his face nearly as red as blood, barely containing his rage.

“This is nothing good,” Daruthin said. There would be no doubt now that there was some deception being played upon them, but whether they could trace it to its source was still unknowable. Lesryn came walking towards them a moment later, after Walrend and Drusidus had already begun speaking.

“I heard them,” Lesryn said. “A misstep by one of the horses pulling the carriage, and the whole thing overturned. The commander is furious. He’s accusing the captain of stealing it for himself.”

“He’d be a fool to come back,” Tascell muttered.

Lesryn nodded. “That is what he said.”

“He’ll have the fort searched, every inch of it,” Daruthin said.

“He might lay the blame on someone else,” Tascell said, half hopeful. Daruthin rubbed his chin as he thought and tried to see the truth of the situation they were in.

“Daruthin?” Lesryn said after a long silence. “Are we still… safe?”

He shook his head. “The whole house was built on this one stone, and now it’s gone. Walrend may not know now, but he will know. By His eyes, Zayd even asked the commander to bury the cursed gold. Once the commander remembers that, he’ll have no doubt who is behind this.”

The three of them stood in silence, wary with the sense that they could be among enemies in the passing of a breath, and the same realization came to them all.

“We can’t stay,” Tascell said. He was clenching his hands, open and closed, over and over, and shifting his weight from left to right. He was preparing himself, getting ready to run or to fight.

“No, we can’t,” Daruthin said.

“Well…” Lesryn looked between the two lieutenants. “When do we act?”

“The northeast wall is still being repaired. We should be able to slip through without drawing much attention.”

“The north gate is still open,” Tascell offered.

“Too many eyes. Far too many. Let’s tell the others and go, right now.” The three of them were about to disperse when Daruthin stopped himself. “Eyes watch him…” Lesryn and Tascell stopped. Daruthin looked at them. “Zayd doesn’t know…… he doesn’t know he’s been found out.”

“Cursed calls,” Tascell growled.

“If he comes back here…”

“Then someone has to warn him,” Lesryn said. “I mean… he’s our
vahr
.”

“Lead the others home,” Tascell said to Daruthin. “I’ll find him, and… we’ll see you back there. Back home.”

“How much further?” Zayd asked.

“I’m not certain. We must be close,” Sera said.

Zayd was certain it had been hours since he left the fort, and hours longer than he had wanted to be absent. Thinking on it, he wasn’t sure how long he thought he would be gone, or how long it would have felt to be acceptable, and that the longer this journey went on, the more difficult the explanation would be when he returned.

It was only doubt, he told himself. It was only fear. Of course he should be afraid when he had everything at stake. His life, his wife and son, but his men, too… and their families. There were also the untold eyes that could be, likely were, watching him now, eyes from across worlds and centuries. There was the fear of that, too.

“Where did you find the Raan Dura?” Sera asked, taking Zayd from his dark thoughts.

“It was attached to
that
,” Zayd said, motioning to their burden.

Sera’s eyes narrowed. “What? No, no, that’s wrong. It never was.”

“It is where I found it, though.”

“It was always kept in the chest; it had been consecrated by Aulvennic’s Chosen. The chest was the
only
place it should have been. And I
saw
that thing underground, when it was still half-buried. Its whole face was exposed, and the Raan Dura was in the chest when I saw it.”

Zayd produced the relic from a satchel at his feet and handed it to Sera, who took it and stared at it as if trying to decipher some riddle.

“This
is
it,” she said. “But…… I don’t understand. When did you first see it on the marker?”

“After the siege had ended. I had seen the monolith, like many others, when it was still underground. I know it wasn’t there then. But when we first loaded it onto this carriage, it was being carried by two En Kazyr… two of our giants. And I saw it then. It was in the centre of the carvings, in the circular space between the hands… if those are actually hands.”

Sera tapped the edge of the Raan Dura with her thumb. “It doesn’t make sense,” she said quietly to herself. “Why would someone place it there?”

Zayd was not sure she expected an answer until she looked up at him. He shook his head. “I don’t know, but it fit there as if it was made just for that.”

“That’s nonsense. This was created by our god, it has nothing to do with this evil.” She waved her hand at the monolith with disdain.

“What if you’re wrong, Sera? The phantoms spoke of a portal – what if it’s the monolith they speak of? And the Eye is one of the keys –”

“Enough! I don’t know how you saw what you did but your assumptions speak to your ignorance.” She looked back down at the silver disc in her hands and traced her fingers along its markings. “I suppose… I suppose it doesn’t matter now. I have it.”

“I suppose it doesn’t,” Zayd said, though he disagreed. The carvings on the monolith were so elaborate that he could not imagine the Eye fitting there by chance, yet if he convinced Sera that it did not come from her god there would be no reason for her people to surrender. They would be hopeless once more. “I hope it brings some good,” he said, though he wondered if it was already too late, and knew that Sera must have thought the same as their eyes met. Their brief, unspoken understanding was cut by their shared realization of a sound: the distant rush of water.

They came upon the edge of the gorge not long after first hearing the sound. The ground sloped upwards as they neared and the trees thinned. The horses, tired, began to slow and they struggled on the incline, forcing Zayd to hit them on their hindquarters with the flat side of his blade to spur them on. The sudden lurch jarred the carriage, causing the golden slab to slide several inches backwards.

Zayd cursed under his breath, and then cursed loudly as the slab slid further still. Sera gave Zayd a worried look, once again sharing the same unspoken worry as him; if it fell to the ground, the slab would be nearly impossible to move, and, looking down at the ground, Zayd knew that, if it did fall, they could never bury it here. The soil was too shallow and was mostly rock underneath.

He handed the reins to Sera, jumped down, and moved behind the carriage to push against the edge of the slab, hoping at least to prevent it from sliding further.

“What are you doing?” she said, looking over her shoulder at him.

“Just keep going!”

“It will crush you if it comes loose.”

“It won’t,” he said, though he knew she was right. “I’ll be fine, just keep going.” Zayd put his head down as he pushed. The carriage lurched forward, creaking with each motion, and though his muscles were burning as he pushed harder and harder, he could still feel the slab slipping back. Inch by inch off the back of the carriage, it edged towards him until he finally had to jump back from the carriage as the huge weight teetered on the end, a hair’s breadth from falling off.

The carriage stopped.

Sera stood and looked back at Zayd. “We’re at the edge.”

Zayd smiled. “Thank you,” he said. He walked up to the edge of the gorge and looked down into the water. Sera stood beside him and did the same.

“It’s called Kathu Rial’s Grave,” she said. “The name comes from legend. Kathu Rial was one of Aulvennic’s Chosen, one of the very first. He was a very powerful seer and a very wise man in everything but love. It is said he became smitten with the daughter of a Dramandi highborn. He asked the highborn for his daughter’s hand, but the father did not respect seers. He respected warriors and he wanted his daughter to marry a fearsome, noble warrior who lived in their village. Kathu Rial and the warrior became enemies, but there was nothing Kathu could do, even though he swore the highborn’s daughter loved him and not the warrior.

“One day the warrior was found dead, apparently by his own hand. The highborn girl was heartbroken, and it is said that, upon seeing this, Kathu Rial came here and threw himself into the waters and drowned. After that, the waters moved faster, and the land surrounding the gorge became dark and full of angry spirits for years after.”

“Why did he jump?” Zayd asked as he took a step closer to the edge to get a better look at the water. “His rival was out of his way.”

“No one is sure, but some say he was overcome with guilt.”

“Guilt at what?”

“That he had killed the warrior himself out of jealousy, or that he had somehow devised a way that the warrior killed himself.”

“How would he do that?”

“Kathu Rial was said to have many powers. But when he saw the heartbreak he caused his love, he succumbed to despair. Powerful warriors and holy men have the same weakness as paupers. It was love – the absence of love – that killed Kathu Rial. It makes men strong, and it makes men weak.” Zayd stepped back from the edge and began to untie the horses.

“Will you not keep one?” Sera asked.

“We never had them in Tauthri. I can’t ride. None of us ride well, even those who have been trained. Will you?”

Sera shook her head.

“You’ll find your sword-kin faster.”

“I’ll be tracked more easily. Don’t worry, I’ll find them still.” She smiled. “I have hope.” Zayd finished unbridling the horses and watched them wander off. He almost expected them to break into a gallop, but realized he was imagining, foolishly, that they would sense freedom and captivity as keenly as he would. He wondered if, days from now, once they found a place to graze, they would think of what had been and what had now replaced it, or whether they would return to their masters out of habit, knowing nothing else.