Parabolis (31 page)

The sky above the Ancile was set ablaze. A momentary evening sun. As the explosion dissipated, it rained fire. And as if the favor of the Maker were guiding its descent, the hull came crashing down directly on top of the Ancile. Over the shower of flaming debris, a collective cheer could be heard erupting from the resistance on both ends of the fortress.

Dale didn’t see any of it. Even as he sat right under the explosion and ensuing crash, he did not take notice. He sat hunched over the body of his dead brother.

The skyship’s fall on the Ancile halted the Balean soldiers streaming out of the gate. They looked up and then scurried away from the burning debris. Under Bixby’s orders, Christoph and Barrett were already mounted and retreating across the field to regroup with the others. Bixby jumped on a horse and rode over to Dale.

“We best be moving, Little Sunday!”

Dale did not respond. Clutching Darius, he slumped onto his side. Bixby jumped off his horse, grabbed Dale under both arms and forcefully pulled him away from Darius. Dale did not release his grip. Seeing that he was dragging both bodies, Bixby lowered himself over Dale. He grabbed him by the collar and shook him violently.

“He’s dead! And soon we be joining him if ye nay get on your feet!”

Dale turned to him with his eyes peeled back like a lunatic. He beat Bixby off him with a flurry. And again, he plopped down next to Darius.

Bixby looked back toward the gate. The Balean soldiers were beginning to regroup. Even as the darkness of night was restored, at such short distance, standing near the platform, Bixby was in plain sight. And from the commotion, he knew he had been spotted. He could see a wave of soldiers starting toward him. Some even from a distance began to discharge rifle rounds. Bixby stepped around Dale and kicked him in the side of the head followed by a punch. Then he hoisted a dazed Dale over his shoulder, slipped him onto his horse, and saddled up. As Bixby turned his horse toward the tree line, he looked back and saw that the Balean soldiers had stopped running toward him and were instead taking aim. Behind them, he saw Shaldean Riders on their Saracen Gliders speeding out of the Ancile.

With a yell, Bixby gave the horse a strong kick. Bullets whizzed by his head as he made himself as small as he could. Curled over Dale, Bixby rode toward the tree line.

We’re not leaving him!”

“Listen, Prioress. The kid wasn’t part of the agreement. My job is to get you and the Champ safely to Valorcourt. If you want to compromise that, that’s your call. But don’t expect me to wait around here for Baleans in a fury to find us. Especially harboring a Meredian resistance fighter.”

Dale’s eyes opened. When he sat up, the commotion in the room ceased. They all turned to him. Selah and Valkyrie were in the center of the tent and Alaric stood at the door. Selah walked over to Dale, crouching to look into his tear stained face. The tears had smudged the blood and dirt. His eyes were swollen and his lips dried and cracked. He was still half-dressed in his battle raiment, tree branches and leaves hanging off his body.

“By the Maker’s grace, you’re alive,” said Selah. She sat beside him. “How do you feel?”

Dale was sore in so many places that his head was throbbing.

Selah sat beside him and studied his barely opened eyes. “It appears you were grazed by a bullet. We dressed it. Your hand as well. You may have broken it but we can’t be sure.”

Dale looked at his hand. It had been bound in bandage.

“We don’t have time for this!” barked Valkyrie.

“Time for what?” Dale mumbled through clenched teeth.

“They’re gone, Dale,” Selah replied. “The resistance. They’ve scattered. They said if and when you woke up, to tell you that they were planning to rendezvous with the others along the South Pass.”

“You smell that? That’s smoke,” said Valkyrie. “They’re setting fire to this forest as we speak. They’ll send the hounds next. We can’t afford to sit around and explain all of this. We need to move, now.”

“He’s right,” said Alaric. “Can you walk?”

Dale rose to his feet. He was dizzy. Although he could barely stand, he looked at Alaric and gave a nod. Valkyrie tossed him his backpack. Dale slipped it on and emerged from the tent to an empty camp. There was a smoke in the air. Ashes were already beginning to fall from the sky like early winter snow.

“The Berserker left you this,” said Selah, handing Dale his sword. “You have him to thank for your life.”

Taking the bloodied sword, Dale remembered that Darius was dead. He closed his eyes and let out an exhausted moan. His legs went wobbly.

Selah reached over and grabbed his arm. She went to his side so he could lean onto her arm.

“Dale, I’m so sorry about your brother.”

Dale said nothing.

“What’ll it be, kid?” Valkyrie was antsy. He knew how pressing the situation was. “You coming with us or regrouping in the South Pass?”

“I don’t care. I’ll go with you as far as the ridge.”

“And after that?” Selah asked.

“I don’t know.”

Valkyrie and Alaric gathered their things and led Dale and Selah back into the Wilds. They started north, hoping to make a run for the Borderland Ridge. Within an hour, they heard dogs barking in the distance.

“Shit.” Having to abandon the run for the ridge, Valkyrie veered out of the Wilds and started east toward the Lowers.

“Where are we going?” asked Alaric.

“We’re doubling back. They won’t come searching for us near the tree line.”

“Wouldn’t it make more sense to go west? Maybe back into the Deep?”

“The spores won’t clear for another two days. It’s the dogs I’m concerned about. We’ve got less than a mile on them.”

Valkyrie studied the leaves around him. As he walked, he ripped some off, rubbed them between his fingers and smelled them. Then he did the same with others.

“If I can just find the right one,” he mumbled to himself, while continuing the pattern. Suddenly he stopped. “Here!”

He stood next to a small tree that didn’t look any different from the countless others they had passed. As he began to rip its leaves off he instructed the others to do the same.

“Get as much as you can. Chew it up and rub it all over yourself. Like this.”

Valkyrie demonstrated and the others followed suit. The chewing left their mouths tingling and numb. Breaking up the leaves and mixing it with saliva resulted in a bitter paste.

“It’s the stuff metholine is made of,” Valkyrie explained. “Hopefully, it’ll throw them off our scent.”

“If not?” asked Alaric.

“Then our journey’s going to end real quick.”

When they had fully lathered themselves with the paste, they continued out into the Lowers.

Dawn was breaking.

Where they stood, the forest was intact. Just a mile to the south of their position, the land was scorched. The fire burned out of control, blackening the sky. An entire legion of Balean soldiers was lined up along the edge of what was once a lush forest. The cavalry on horseback stood with torches in hand. Between them, the Shaldean Riders on their Saracen Gliders, led by their
Rajeth
, Haddu.

“Wait, do you hear that?” asked Valkyrie.

“Hear what?”

“
Shh.
Listen.”

Dogs.

“Bloody hell!” cried Alaric. “The stuff didn’t work.”

“Move!”

They followed the ranger northbound as he weaved between the trees. The pack of dogs gave close chase, and the Shaldean Riders responded to the barking. Under Haddu’s command, all twenty-four of them kicked their horses into a full gallop. A detachment of Balean cavalry joined the chase from a distance.

The party ran as fast as they could, but with each minute, they gave ground to the dogs, and now to the Riders. Dale tried to keep up, but he kept trailing back. Still dizzy and exhausted, he could not find the will to struggle. Selah kept looking back to see where Dale was. She slowed just enough to spur Dale on. When he saw that he was putting Selah in danger, Dale pressed harder to keep pace.

They reached the base of the Borderland Ridge. A steep incline of solid stone that led to the top where the ground was level—a plateau at the end of which was a waterfall overlooking the Hesperian Highlands to the north. Valkyrie sprinted up the slope with the ease of a mountain goat. Dale collapsed just a few steps up. Selah and Alaric picked him up and slung his arm over their shoulders. They steadily climbed as Valkyrie watched from above, his bow drawn.

The dogs emerged from the Lowers and raced up the ridge. As soon as they were in view, Valkyrie fired his arrows in rapid succession. It only slowed the pursuit. Just as Selah and Alaric got Dale to the plateau, the Shaldean Riders rode out of the Lowers.

The party continued running along the ridge toward the waterfall but the Riders were already cresting the plateau. With nowhere else to go and no chance to outrun them, Alaric and Selah drew their swords. Though he could barely stand, Dale also drew his sword. Valkyrie fell to a knee, drew an arrow, and leveled it along the horizon.

They appeared one by one in his line of sight—twenty-four Riders. Valkyrie held his breath and aimed for their
Rajeth.

“Charles! Wait,” said Alaric. “We can’t take them all.”

The Riders came up to them and rode around them in circles, waving their scimitars in the air. Alaric stepped forward to meet them.

“Durmaq!”
Haddu finally shouted. Immediately, reins were pulled to a stop. When the dust settled, he pointed his scimitar at Alaric Linhelm. “Are you a templar or a member of the resistance?”

“Neither,” Alaric replied.

“You carry a templar’s sword.”

“I am Alaric Linhelm, former Marshal of the Vail Templar, Exile of the Royal Crimson Knights.”

“A Crimson Knight? You are Balean then?”

“Aye.”

“Tell me, knight. Why were you running?”

“We were running from the fire. And then we were running from the dogs.”

“And where, exactly, were you running to?”

“Valorcourt.”

“That’s quite a run. Why?”

“To make an appeal to the duke.”

“What kind of appeal?”

“To end this senseless war.”

Laughter broke out among the Riders.

“Even if I believed you, Champion Alaric Linhlem, former Crimson Knight, your traveling companions, they raise much questions. You, there. You’re an Emmainite?”

“By blood only,” Valkyrie replied.

Haddu dismounted and walked up to the ranger.

“Blood is everything,
shadiq
,” he said. “What are you doing with these
ostra?”

“You ride with the Balean invasion force,” Valkyrie replied. “You tell me.”

“I bring our people justice. You?”

“I do as I please, Shaldea.”

Haddu scoffed. Then he looked at Selah.

“And you, woman? What business have you traveling with Champion Alaric Linhelm?”

“I am a cleric, nothing more.”

“And yet, you are armed. What cleric serves the Order as if she were a templar? This war is not against the Benesanti, Sister. You would be safer in your robes within temple walls. Why risk your life out here in the wild?”

“She is my attendant,” said Alaric. “She is here under my leave.”

“An armed cleric working at the behest of an ex-templar, guided by an Emmainite who thinks himself a peach. A most peculiar party, indeed.”

Then he looked at Dale, still dressed in what remained of his ghillie suit. Haddu leaned in and closely examined the twigs and foliage hanging from his outfit.

“This looks a lot like what the Meredian dogs were wearing last night. Those natives fighting for the liberation of their land against foreign occupation. In their terms, terrorists. You wouldn’t happen to be one of them, would you? A terrorist? Tell me, peach, what’s your name?”

Dale’s eyes were vacant, his expression weary, and his voice flat as he replied.

“My name is Dale Sunday and I
am
a terrorist. I am a former lieutenant of the Republican Guard and I killed five Emmainite villagers while deployed in Loreland. Last night, I was with the resistance. We brought down the skyship.”

There was silence. Protruding his neck, Haddu took a close look. Then he smiled.

“Such insolent bravado. Is this courage or foolishness?” He removed his cape and handed it to one of his minions. Then he began twirling his sword in his hand. “To boast of your exploits insults me, Dale Sunday. It is only fitting that you should die by the hand of an Emmainite. Draw your sword. You’ve killed villagers. Let’s see how you fare against a proper warrior.”

Selah, knowing Dale’s condition, tried to intervene.

But Dale had already unsheathed his sword and turned to face the
Rajeth
. He stood straight up, barely holding the sword out in front of him. With a puzzled look, Haddu casually slapped Dale’s sword with his scimitar. Dale’s sword went flying out of his hand.

“Is this a joke?” asked Haddu. “Pick up your sword.”

Dale picked it up and again, it was quickly struck out of his hand. This time, Haddu struck it in anger.

“What kind of a Republican Guard were you?”

The Riders burst into laughter, jeering and taunting Dale.

“Pick it up, Lieutenant. You terrorist. Fight!”

Dale sighed and stood upright, his sword still at his feet.

“You think I won’t cut down an unarmed Republican dog?” Haddu continued, “You are an ant. An insignificant mark. I will remove your head and roll it down this ridge.”

“So stop talking and do it,” Dale said.

“Dale!” cried Selah. “What’re you doing?”

Haddu shook his head. And with a shrug, he swung his scimitar. It was stopped short by Selah’s saber. She followed the block with an upward thrust, driving the blade under the
Rajeth’s
sternum, piercing his lung.

He collapsed and died. After a moment’s shock, the Riders burst into an uproar. They dismounted and drew their scimitars. Alaric pulled Selah back behind him. Dale and Valkyrie formed a feeble shield around them.