Lakaan nodded, his plump fingers plucking nervously at his collar.
Zera moved away from the burros, and pressed a fat bundle of supplies into Leitos’s arms. “An Alon’mahk’lar’s greatest weapon is its voice,” she said. “Do not heed their words. Push them away.”
… sweet perishing … sweet death….
Leitos gritted his teeth, focused on the shifting sand underfoot, the bundle in his arms, the memory of Zera pressed against him in the night, anything to avoid heeding the accursed voices on the wind. He realized that the howling beasts did not sound so near as he had first thought. He had been sure they were upon them, just a few paces from camp. But no, they prowled miles distant, using their voices to drive their prey mad with fear.
Zera led an ashen-faced Lakaan to Leitos’s side, then released the burros. Once freed, the beasts tore into the night, braying and kicking as if death were nipping at their hooves. Perhaps it is, Leitos thought with a shiver.
Zera retrieved two more bundles from the back of the cart and returned. “We continue west,” she said, handing Lakaan a bundle.
They did not run, but Zera set a pace fast enough to discourage talking. In the first hour, Leitos was sure the hunting Alon’mahk’lar were coming nearer, but deep into the second he knew they were not. By the end of the third hour, as the stars faded, the only sound in his ears was the steady, sulfurous wind blowing down off the mountains. There was no hint of the chilling whispers anymore. He didn’t know how they had shaken off the pursuers, but he was glad Zera’s skill had kept them safe once again. Other than pausing to sip from a waterskin Zera carried, they did not halt until midday, after climbing into the foothills of the Mountains of Fire.
While Lakaan and Leitos shared a crust of bread, Zera fashioned straps from a coil of rope she had taken from the cart, and then tied them to the corners of the three supply bundles.
“Rope makes for poor straps,” she said, testing her makeshift pack, “but sore shoulders are better than having our hands full if an Alon’mahk’lar sets upon us.” She gave them both a hard stare.
“We cannot stay here,” she said, handing Lakaan the depleted waterskin. “We will walk days and nights, until we are through the mountains.”
“And break our fool necks for the effort?” Lakaan complained.
“The trail is not easy,” Zera admitted, “but it is passable, even in the dark. Besides, staying still too long in these mountains is to invite the company of death.”
Lakaan weighed that for a moment, as if he were willing to take his chances, then shrugged in resignation. “So be it,” he muttered, and passed the waterskin to Leitos.
A long day followed, the beginning of a ceaseless march through a parched, desolate land. The open road narrowed to a rocky trail barely fit for travel. Behind them the broken canyons, through which Leitos and Lakaan had journeyed, stretched far away under an ugly haze. Dark gray and lichen encrusted, the mountains stood around them, an impregnable wall seamed with the sullen reds of molten rock. Where it had cooled and hardened, the new stone was darker still, clinging to the floors of dizzying ravines. Ever the reek of sulfur left them gasping and choking by turns. What vegetation grew was tough and scrubby. Spiny leaves hung curled and yellowed, starving for pure water and bright sunlight.
Zera called a halt one evening at a wide spot on the trail overlooking a gorge so deep that shadows hid the bottom. A muted roaring told of an abundance of water leaping and crashing amongst boulders far below. A battered bridge spanning the gap drew Leitos’s eye. Deep ruts grooved its surface, like those he had seen made by wagons on the road to Zuladah. Zera answered Leitos’s question before he could ask it.
“Once,” she said, her voice tossed and pulled by a fitful breeze, “this route was one of the greatest trade roads in all of Geldain.”
She saw Leitos’s doubtful expression and explained, “Ancient stories tell that from Zuladah to what was once the city of Imuraa, merchants used this route to avoid the stormy months on the Sea of Sha’uul. Great armies once trod this road, as did lesser merchants-those more given to smuggling than honest trade. That was a thousand and more years before the Upheaval, during the reign of the Suanahad Empire. Now it is a trail barely fit for walking, and seldom used even for that. I expect the day will soon come when every lingering trace of what was, will be lost.”
The finality of that statement fell over Leitos even as the last, muted rays of sunlight winked from the sky. “And then what?” he wondered aloud.
“Then some fool will build it all up again,” Lakaan said, peering into the impenetrable gloom under the bridge, “and another fool will tear it down. Birth, life, death … such is the way of things.”
“So our purpose is to live a life that amounts to nothing, and then die?”
“Some believe Pa’amadin has a design,” Zera said, “but it is not for us to know.”
Leitos gave her a quizzical look. “Do you believe that?”
“My purpose is to see you safe into the hands of the Brothers of the Crimson Shield,” Zera said. “Whether that is the will of Pa’amadin or not, I cannot say.”
“Brothers of the Crimson Shield!” Lakaan barked. He wheeled, not looking childlike anymore, but dangerous. “You have been traipsing us through these accursed hinterlands, searching after that false dream?”
Zera leveled a flat stare at him. “You are free to go where you wish, old friend, but I am taking Leitos to those who can help.”
“They do not exist!” Lakaan shouted, the words echoing away.
“They do,” Zera countered with deadly serenity. “Elsewise, they would not be sought after by the Faceless One.”
Leitos looked between them, then settled on Zera. “Tell him,” he insisted.
“Tell me what?” Lakaan demanded.
“That they do exist,” Leitos said slowly, “because she is of their order.”
Lakaan roared harsh laughter. He did not notice Zera’s fury, nor her hand falling to her sword hilt, but Leitos did. “She is no more a warrior of the Crimson Shield than I am. By the gods good and dead, boy, she is-”
A howl cut off whatever he was about to say. Thick with malice, it pushed up the trail and encompassed the trio, then sped past them and over the bridge, fading under the sound of rushing waters.
Zera’s sword flashed from its scabbard. “Go,” she ordered in a tone that ended any arguments before they could begin. “Stay on the trail as far as it takes you. I will find you, as I did before.” She wheeled and sprinted back down the trail. A moment more and she was gone from sight.
Another howl broke over Leitos and Lakaan, carrying with it all the dark promises of before. Not again, Leitos thought. He had taken two unconscious steps after Zera when Lakaan caught his arm in a crushing grip.
“There is much you do not know or understand, boy,” he snarled. “Believe me, now more than ever, when I say she can look after herself. Believe, as well, that her doing so is a sight you do not want to behold.”
At another of those terrible howls, Lakaan moved beyond explanations to action. He spun Leitos about and shoved him. “Run, damn you! RUN!”
Chapter 24
One moment Leitos was struggling to keep his footing over the bridge’s cracked surface, the next he tripped and fell hard against the low rail. The crumbling stonework, having survived the ravages of ages, the Upheaval, and the constant abuses of the Mountains of Fire, fell away with an almost trivial grating noise, taking Leitos with it.
Leitos clawed, seeking purchase he could not find. His legs flew out over the drop. The edge of the bridge slid under him, scraping his upper legs, his belly, his chest, then he lost all contact. The world tipped and spun. Lakaan ran toward him … too slow. Then Lakaan was gone, and the stars wheeled overhead-