Fable: Edge of the World (11 page)

“Careful, Ben,” warned the king. “We really don’t want to cause an international incident so early in our journey.”

“Ah, where’s the fun in that?” Ben shot back, then splashed him. A water fight began, which eventually left both men laughing and choking in equal amounts.

Cooled and clean, they dressed for the feast as best they could. The king had brought a single set of formal clothing, including
his crown, in the happy chance that the confrontation with the Empress would take the form of negotiations rather than war. Something told him not to bring it out on this occasion, though. These were simple people, already in awe of him; he contented himself with wearing clean, if wrinkled, traveling clothing and opted not to put on his crown.

He, Ben, Shan, and Kalin were given places of honor next to Pahket. The feast began at dusk, starting with fresh-cut melons and other fruits passed around on a platter. After weeks of rations, the flavor was intoxicating. And the food kept coming: spiced mutton carved fresh from the roasting spit, root vegetables, delicate greens, tangy milk and cheeses. It was simple fare compared to any meal the king had eaten at Bowerstone Castle, but no meal had ever tasted so delicious. They ate and ate, licking their fingers clean of the dripping juices. After there was no more room for another bite, what remained was borne away to be shared with the soldiers, and the entertainment began.

Several men bearing unusual instruments took seats by the fire while women dressed in lovely, flowing silk garments stood in a row. The night air was filled with songs that, to the Albion ear, initially sounded almost disharmonious but strangely beautiful. The women took no such getting used to. They were slender but strong, no doubt a testament to their difficult lives. Their skin was dark brown, darker even than the Aurorans, and their long hair black as night. The dancing was lovely and graceful as they performed for their honored guests. Ben had a rather stupid grin on his face, and the lead performer gave him a wink without missing a beat.

“Interesting,” said Kalin. “The music and the dancing are very similar to our own traditional songs and dances. We are closer to the Samarkandians than I had thought.”

Shan was smiling. “It is good to hear the old songs again,” he said. “I … I have missed my home.”

The king squeezed his shoulder. “We’re here to bring your home back to its people. So that traditions like this can continue.”

“I like
this
tradition,” Ben said as the lead dancer whirled and bowed low in front of him, affording him an excellent view.

“International incident,” the king reminded him, and Ben sighed.

All too soon, the evening wound to a close. His stomach comfortably full for the first time in what seemed like ages, his mouth no longer parched, the king was more than ready to trundle off to his tent, fall down on the sleeping mat, and be dead to the world.

A few hours later, he wondered if he might be dead, period.

A hand covered his mouth. The king surged upright. He shot one hand out to choke the intruder and closed the other on the dagger that he kept constantly at his side. A strangled “Dammit, it’s me! Ben!” reached his ears just in time to stay the blade.

“Ben? What the bloody—”

The king released him at once, and saw that Ben had not come alone. With him was the lovely young lead dancer. She looked scared, and Ben looked furious.

“I’ve been—er, talking with Shalia here. She’s old Pahket’s daughter. She told me that we’re all in danger. We need to go now.”

“What? What’s going on?”

“I am ashamed,” Shalia said. “Two years ago, the sand furies came to us. They threatened to murder the whole town unless
we tricked all those who came to trade or buy. We would sell them goods and—”

“We were going to be killed in our sleep,” said Ben.

“Sounds like this has been going on for a while,” the king said. “What made you change your mind and try to save our lives, Shalia?”

She glanced down, and even in the dim lantern light he could see her blushing furiously. Few actresses were accomplished enough to do that at will, and the king realized that Ben Finn’s charms had entranced yet another young female.

“Well, thank goodness for your sex appeal, Ben,” the king said, getting to his feet. He threw on his clothes and grabbed his sword. “Thank you, Shalia,” he said. “Go wake Kalin and Shan. But be quiet. We don’t want them to know that we’re on to—”

Howls rent the night, ululating cries that raised the hairs on the back of the king’s arms. The noise was closely followed by that of gunfire.

“Too late,” Ben said, and they charged out of the tent.

The fires had died down, and the only light was moonlight. Even so, it was enough to see what was going on. The king’s men were engaged in hand-to-hand combat with several of the villagers. Many of both had fallen, some of them writhing in pain, others too still.

Dark forms could vaguely be seen, like something glimpsed out of the corner of one’s eye. Sand furies—bandits of the desert. The king knew them well. Their dark clothing served them even better at night, but the king’s army was well trained. There were only a hundred or so villagers, and the army numbered in the thousands. Even with an entire tribe of sand furies thrown into the mix, the fight would go to the king.

He and Ben sprang into the fray. The king wielded his sword with devastating speed, the blade clashing against the scimitar
of one sand fury. He shoved hard and the bandit staggered back. Two others charged him. With the skill and strength of a true Hero, the king whirled in a circle, lopping off the head of one attacker, slicing a furrow through a second, and completing the move to impale the first who had charged him.

He caught his breath, looking around. His gaze fell on the supply carts. He saw movement, and realized that one of the villagers was stealing water gourds. The king raced toward the thief, quickly ascertaining that the man had no weapon. He lifted his sword and brought the hilt down on the back of the man’s head. The robber fell silently, the gourds tumbling down next to him. Sensing a presence behind him, the king turned, bringing the sword around quickly in a blur. It caught the attacker, his sword raised to cleave the king in two, across the midsection. The sand fury fell to the ground, blood spurting. In a mercy blow, the king lifted the sword, drove it straight down into the man’s heart, and looked around for more foes. There were only a few left fighting; apparently the sand furies and the villagers realized how badly they were outnumbered and had fled. Even as the king hurried up to offer his aid, the last of the combatants turned and slipped into the night.

“That’s got ’em!” said Ben. “So, how bad was it?”

The king looked around. Most of the bodies stiffening on the ground were clad in either the long white desert robes of the villagers or the black tunic and trousers of the sand furies. “Looks like there are only a few of our own people slain. And most of the wounded seemed to have only minor injuries. I think a better question is, why in the world did they even attack us at all? They had to know they’d lose.”

He grabbed a torch burning next to one of the tents and jumped up into one of the carts, the better to see and be seen. Most of the male villagers were nowhere to be found, but plenty
of the women and children clustered together, looking up at him fearfully. The king realized now, as he hadn’t truly done before, how sharp their cheekbones were against their skin. The villagers had been utterly desperate, to attack as they had done. They were more afraid of the sand furies than of death. He felt sorrow for their plight, but it could not excuse their actions.

“Listen up, troops!” he shouted, holding aloft the torch. “Tonight hospitality has turned to betrayal. Most of those who attacked us have fled, leaving behind those who raised no weapon against us. We will not seek vengeance,” he stated firmly, looking at a group of women holding their children close. “But we will recover what we have honestly paid for and depart. If anyone seeks to hinder us, then we will attack to defend ourselves.”

Anger was still running high, and there was some muttering, but the men turned to begin reloading the carts rather than seeking out the lingering villagers. The king nodded. Good. He jumped down and began helping.

The villagers stayed well clear during the process. Shan and Kalin had survived, and set to assisting as eagerly as the king. At one point, the monarch noticed that Ben was looking around for the lovely Shalia, who had so bravely come to warn them, doubtless at the risk of her own life. He hoped she had not been forced to pay with it.

In record time, everything was packed and the army was ready again to move. Shan had advised against traveling at night, citing the shadows and other dangers. Thus far, however, the only enemies they had encountered were hollow men, who could attack day or night; the sirens, who were confined to their body of water; and the treachery of men. Given the incidents of tonight, everyone, including the king himself, was eager to put distance between them and the traitorous village of Sweetwater Trees.

Several torches were lit, so that they could navigate the road safely. The oxen seemed refreshed by their few hours of rest and ample watering, and appeared almost as eager as their masters to be under way again. As the army marched, Ben fell into step beside the king.

“Shalia vanished,” Ben said.

“You … didn’t see her among …” the king said, trying to be gentle.

“The bodies of those bastards?” Ben replied bluntly. “Fortunately, no. But that means that in the end she was just as much a traitor as the rest of them.”

“You don’t know that for certain. And she did warn us.”

“Yeah, about a minute before we would have found out on our own.”

“It doesn’t make sense, Ben. She didn’t have to do anything at all.”

“Yes it does. We were, uh, together in my tent. She knew if I found out about it I’d—”

“Kill her? You wouldn’t kill an unarmed woman out of anger, Ben.”

“No,” he admitted, “but
she
didn’t know that.”

The king had no argument to that and so fell silent. They walked on for a time, and then the monarch said, “Well … at least we’re alive, and we have our goods back.”

“Majesty!” It was one of the scouts who had moved on ahead. He had not had a torch; he had moved quietly, in the moonlight, and now was racing back. “The road ahead … is blocked,” he said, gasping for breath from his sprint. “Looks like … it has been for some time. Manned by … sand furies. Dozens of them!

“What?”
exclaimed the king.

“No doubt part of the pact between the villagers and the bandits,”
said Kalin. “If anyone such as we managed to escape the initial trap, they would ensure that we would go no farther.”

“Your Majesty!” came another voice, this time from the rear of the caravan. “Looks like we got ourselves a spy!”

The king turned to see Shalia, her hands tied with ropes, being all but dragged toward him. Ben’s lips thinned, but he said nothing.

“I am no spy!” the girl was saying as she struggled. She looked more angry than fearful. “Your Majesty! I was trying to come warn you!”

It was possible, the king admitted to himself. Ben opened his mouth for a sharp retort, but the king silenced him. “If that’s true, why did you flee with the rest of the villagers?”

“Do you not remember that Pahket is my father?” she said. “I was forced to accompany him. I have only just managed to get free. There is a—”

“Blockade ahead, we know,” said Ben. “That’s twice now your warning hasn’t really come in time.”

“This one will,” she said quietly. The king nodded to the men to release her. They cut her bond, and she straightened, rubbing her wrists and trying to gather composure. “The road is blocked at a critical juncture. The path is narrow, and tall cliffs rise on both sides. The sand furies have had years to perfect their strategy. They have the advantage of higher ground and familiarity with the terrain. Should you try to force your way through, they will send boulders crashing down on you while picking you off from above. You will never make it through.”

“Well that’s nice and cheery,” Ben said.

“I presume you have a suggestion,” the king said.

“There is … a detour,” Shalia said. “Through the mountains. It will emerge beyond the blockade. You will not be able to take any of your larger weapons through it, and it is a route
almost as dangerous as fighting the sand-fury blockade. But at least with this route, there is a possibility you will survive.”

“What makes this place so dangerous?” Kalin wanted to know.

“It is called, Asur-keh-la.”

The words were familiar, but the king couldn’t recall exactly what they meant—until Shan spoke quietly.

“It is the place I spoke of on the ship,” he said. “Asur-keh-la … The Place From Which No Living Thing Returns.”

“O
h, this is just bloody lovely,” snapped Ben. Our choices are death by boulders or death by a cursed, buried city. Wonderful.”

Privately the king was thinking the same thing, but he couldn’t let anyone know it. “Tell me more about the specific dangers,” he said.

“We … do not know,” said Shalia. “It is, as Ben says, a cursed city. The sandstorm that devoured it came so suddenly that hundreds, perhaps thousands, of innocent people died in a few hours. No one has ventured there in centuries. It is said that the spirits of those who died are angry and will bring any living thing into their doom with them.”

“So,” said the king, “it might just be nothing more than sand-covered ruins, as far as you know. This could all be legend and superstition.”

“Legends like sirens?” Ben said archly.

“Shan, what do you think? You grew up with the stories about this place.”

Shan looked as if he were about three seconds from sheer
panic. Kalin placed a motherly arm around him. “I … Majesty, please do not ask me to advise you on this!”

“I will make my own decision, Shan. I merely want to know what you know.”

His eyes fixed on Shalia, he said, “She is right. It is a terrible place, filled with pain and torment. And why not? How would you feel, dying in a sandstorm, your mouth and nose and lungs choking on sand, your body imprisoned by it after it had scoured the skin from your bones?”