Bastial Sentinels (The Rhythm of Rivalry: Book 5) (49 page)

The days went on one after another, making it difficult for Cleve to keep track of how long they’d been at the edge of Presoren killing desmarls. There seemed to be no end to them. Every day they would wade through the fog until it was too dark to continue. And every morning there’d be no evidence of their victories.

Cleve forced himself to believe it was working. There
was
a limit to the creatures. There had to be.

But after weeks of it, he started to feel frustration. “This should’ve been done lifetimes ago,” he muttered. “Before there were so many.”

“Aye,” Hahn agreed. They were walking back to camp after another long day. Reela looked more weary than usual, her head hanging and her steps labored.

“How long have we been out here?” Larri asked.

“Three weeks tomorrow,” Jek answered calmly. For someone as brash as he, Cleve was amazed at how collected he’d been. Jek treated every day like their first. He was cautious yet commanding, without ever showing a smile or offering a laugh.

“Any idea how many we’ve killed?” Cleve tried.

“No,” Jek said.

“Do we know how many there were when we started?” Reela asked.

“We only have guesses.” Jek glanced over his shoulder at the fog.

Reela turned to look as well. “And what are the guesses?”

“Most experts believe there were around fifty thousand.”

At first, the number took Cleve’s breath away. But as he looked to the east and then the west, watching the thousands of groups just like them coming out of the fog, he realized fifty thousand wasn’t so daunting.

Their camp was a mass of tents scattered across the land. Groups tended to sleep near each other to make it easier to find one another by morning. The food they’d brought with them from Goldram had run out. But farms behind their camp, organized by Fatholl months before and maintained by volunteers of Goldram and Presoren, supplied them with the food and water they needed to continue fighting each day.

Cleve had spent a few late evenings visiting the farms with Reela and Vithos. They’d discovered that nearly every person there had his or her own story. Many were barely adults. They’d lived with their families on their own farms until Fatholl’s Elves had recruited them. Many of them missed their parents, but they were all proud to help.

Others had no experience farming. They were tailors, blacksmiths, bards, chefs—all inspired to help when they heard of the battle against the desmarls.

This evening, Cleve noticed cheers coming from a hill to the north. Everyone in his group was intrigued by the accumulation of people who’d gathered on it.

“What is that?” Vithos asked.

“I don’t know,” Jek said. He walked toward the hill to find out as the rest of them followed.

Realizing it would be dark soon, they hurried like children trying to make it home before a curfew. Atop the hill, Humans and Elves alike were passing around spyglasses. Someone took a glimpse through it to the south, and by the time they passed the spyglass to someone else, they were either smiling or cheering.

Reela got her hands on a spyglass and peered through it. She gasped.

But Cleve already knew what she and the others were witnessing. He could see it well enough with his naked eyes. There was an end to the fog. Only a few miles of it was left. He could feel his whole body throb with satisfaction. After Reela passed the spyglass to Vithos, Cleve grabbed her and kissed her.

She smiled against his lips before returning the kiss. Cleve could hear fighters asking those in other groups how many desmarls they’d killed.

“Ten a day.”

“Twelve.”

“Ten as well.”

Those numbers seemed low. He hadn’t kept track of how many of his arrows had passed through blood-red eyes, but it had to be more than twenty a day. Cleve examined the groups clustered together. Swordsmen were the most prevalent, followed by archers, then psychics. Mages were in the minority, especially green mages. Hardly any seemed to have a robe the same color as Jek’s.

“What has been your strategy?” he asked one red mage.

“The psychics keep the desmarls’ tentacles away from us, and I use Bastial wind to blow the fog aside.”

Now Cleve understood why their numbers were lower. This process was slow, as the mages had to be careful their hot wind didn’t touch the desmarls’ tentacles. This would alert the monsters of their location. But Jek could move the Sartious Energy without the man-eating creatures knowing food was just ahead. It reminded Cleve of Effie. She’d been practicing manipulating Sartious Energy. He wondered about her progress since he and Reela had left.

The spyglass came around to Cleve. He gladly glimpsed through, happy to see the sight more clearly.

Behind the fog to the south was a line of tents like a wall. It was Fatholl’s Elves. They'd been behind the desmarls, pushing them forward with the odorous substance the creatures avoided. Cleve couldn’t imagine how long they’d been out there.

As Cleve looked closer, he saw some of the Elves holding their own spyglasses, looking back at him. Others were dancing with each other in celebration.

Chapter 46:

JEK

When the last desmarl in the south was slain, everyone cheered. Jek joined them, relieved the monsters were dead, but happier just to be done. His nightmares had never been this bad. The air, so filled with heavy energy, meant his body drew in more of it. Every night his darkness would cut him open, and the gashes he suffered were as if he’d been sliced with a sword.

He was nervous to find out how much the evesal had grown. It helped to remember that he still had seeds in the pouch Cleve had given him if those Sannil and Kalli planted had died. But it didn’t give him much solace. Knowing the end to his torment was in his grasp made it harder to wait.

When they came to their first town on their return journey—and Cleve, Reela, and Vithos steered their horses toward an inn—Jek realized he was too eager to get back to follow them; he couldn’t waste every night sleeping when he could be riding home.

“I’m going to the stables instead,” he told them.

“Is something wrong with your horse?” Cleve asked.

“Yes. He’s tired,” Jek joked, “and I’m going to be riding through the night as well as the next day.”

Cleve and Vithos looked confused, though Reela understood. She showed him a comforting smile. “That eager? Well, I hope the evesal has grown big enough.”

Then Cleve and Vithos understood. They shook Jek’s hand.

“Meet me in the palace when you get back,” he told them.

“We will,” Cleve said.

The horse master happily let Jek trade his mount and some coins for another horse. It wasn’t uncommon for people in a hurry to trade their tired horse for a fresh one and lose money in the process. Jek couldn’t care less. The King had given him a generous salary, and although he hadn’t been paid since Danvell’s death, he had plenty saved.

He rode through the night. He used light from his wand to steer his horse north, all the while wearing a smile that stuck with him until sunrise. He felt like he was cheating. His darkness would wonder why Jek didn’t come to visit that night. It would grow angry. He loved the thought.

It was evening by the time he reached the next town. He traded his mount for another, purchasing food and water as well. He rode through the night once again, falling asleep briefly too many times to count.

When he fell off his horse and could’ve broken his wrist, he realized he needed to sleep. He squinted to see through the blurriness as he studied his map. Unable to reach the nearest town for at least half the day, he decided to steer his horse off the road, tie it to a tree, and collapse onto the grass.

His darkness taunted him for trying to cheat as it eagerly sliced him open.

Jek awoke, cleaned his wounds with the rest of his water, and fell back asleep.

It was night when he awoke once more. He rode to the next town fully expecting the exact process to repeat. He would cheat his darkness as long as he could, passing out when he couldn’t withstand his weariness any longer. The days were miserable, but at least he would reach Facian in half the time.

Sometimes he managed to fall asleep for hours without his darkness attacking. He would rise gingerly, climb onto whatever horse was with him—the animal often looking unfamiliar—and ride with haste, knowing the horse only needed to reach the next town before he could get a fresh one.

Half the times he collapsed near a path, people passing by would wake him thinking he was injured. It always took some convincing before they left him, confused.

“No, I’m too tired to ride to an inn.”

“No, I’m not hurt.”

“The grass is comfortable enough. Please, don’t worry about me. Be on your way.”

“No, I’m not worried about bears or wild dogs.”

“No, I’m not insane.”

The worst was when they recognized him as the Sartious mage. They would associate some rumor they’d heard with the sight before them.

“Are you lying here because Raymess Takary expelled you from Goldram after you shot him?”

“Are you heartbroken the Princess will no longer see you?”

“Did you run from the desmarls?”

He always managed to tell them the desmarls were dead…at least all of the southern ones. He wouldn’t know about the northern monsters until he received news from that army. Many didn’t seem to believe him, just as they didn’t believe he was completely sane.

He almost appreciated the robbers. After awaking to their hands in his pockets, he’d scare them off with fire, and they’d run, leaving him without question.

He lost track of the days.

Eventually he arrived in Facian. His clothes were bloody, his wounds needed cleaning, but more than anything his body couldn’t go on without sleep. His eyes burned every time he forced them open. Just gazing up from the dirt path felt like staring into the sun.

Dismounting, he stumbled up to Sannil’s door and knocked with his elbow.

“I need to sleep,” he muttered, unsure who even opened it. “Bring the plant.” He figured they would know what he meant.

Sannil’s arms came around him, supporting his weight. “Are you hurt? Do you need a chemist?”

“No, just sleep.”

He refrained from collapsing into his father’s capable arms, barely managing to walk to his room. Soon he was in bed, falling asleep to the sound of Sannil’s worried sigh.

The flow of Jek’s strange dreams held the same fury and imagination as many children’s first experiences with painting. He soared across unreal lands. He fought mythical monsters with his superhuman powers. He met damsels in need of his assistance. But then everything broke apart. The world shattered, leaving him falling into blackness. There were talking dogs, desmarls with Human screams, a game invented by his younger brother where they both would spin around until one vomited. He knew he didn’t have a brother, but he played anyway and won, watching a small version of himself vomit. Then Cleve and Reela were inviting Jek into their bedroom.

“Only if Lisanda wants to,” he said, knowing she would refuse.

“She’s already here,” Reela said with a smile. She pointed at the bed behind her.

A door opened. A curtain parted. Lisanda’s beautiful naked body was revealed.

His clothes were being removed, though not by his own hands.

He awoke.

He felt sweat on his forehead and back but knew he’d slept many hours. He could tell by the clarity of his mind, his ability to focus—something he hadn’t felt in a week.

“Bastial hell,” Kalli said from his doorway. “Father, he’s finally awake. Stupid, stupid boy. You nearly killed yourself. Did you forget how to eat, sleep, and treat your injuries?”

Sannil rushed in behind her. “Jek, you scared us! We didn’t know anything when you came to the door. We’ve asked around, and no one else has seen anyone back from fighting the desmarls besides you.”

“Did you run?” his sister asked incredulously, doubting that could be it.

Jek realized the sun was still up. Perhaps he hadn’t slept as long as he’d thought.

“Are you hungry?” Sannil asked. “We have food ready.”

Jek coughed to clear his throat. He glanced around him, making sure this was his room.

“I think he’s gone daft.” Kalli seemed genuinely concerned.

“How long did I sleep?”

“A whole day,” she said.

Resting along the headboard, he found the evesal. The vine was about the thickness of his wrist. From it grew clusters of pink and gray flowers. In the center of the clusters was a budding fruit the color of lime.

The moment he noticed the evesal, he realized he couldn’t remember any attacks during the night.
Was I in such a deep sleep that I didn’t awake?
Or could it be that…

Even in his own mind, he couldn’t finish the thought. He wasn’t ready to truly consider the possibility.

Jek lifted his shirt. “These bandages…?”

Kalli seemed to understand what he was asking. “We put those on when you arrived yesterday.” She looked at Sannil, her voice as hard as steel as it grew loud and serious. “And I haven’t changed them or added any new bandages.”