Esamne opened her legs to him, touching the back of his head as he kissed up her thighs. She giggled at the way his lips tickled her. Her thighs were so ticklish. It was endearing.
"Tell me you love me, Esamne," he whispered. "Tell me you'll be mine."
"Oh, Moonbeam," she sighed, a smile on her face. "I will never love you."
Farek awoke on the muddy ground of the cave that he used as a shelter during the passing rain. The world smelled like petrichor. The rain was a welcome relief, ending a dry season in Pescel. Having a puddle as a bed, however, left Farek feeling incredibly low about his situation. He rose so high and plummeted down so low.
His muscles ached from the uncomfortable night's rest. It took an effort to get off the ground, bending stiff joints from their cramped position. The rain departed. So, Farek needed to get moving again. He looked forward to getting out of the stale air in the cave. He picked up his staff from the ground, careful not to damage it, though he felt tempted to snap it in half.
"I warned you…" it told him as if it had known how close it had come to its destruction.
Farek sneered at it, but sighed because it was right. It did warn him. It told him that Esamne didn't truly love him yet and would use him to get her throne. The problem was that he didn't mind. He thought he could play her game and come out on top. He thought, if he made everything perfect, eventually her performance would become the truth. In the meantime, he enjoyed her lies. He made love to her whenever he wished and savored every moment of planning his wedding to her.
Picturing it now, it did seem like a pipe dream that they would sit side by side as the King and Queen of Pescel, with their beautiful children running around The Palace, some with her copper hair and some with his moonlight hair. She would be the Sunray to his Moonbeam. He knew that she suspected for years that he had something to do with her parents' death. He tutored her once and knew she wasn't a dumb girl. She was right. He poisoned them when they had threatened to separate him from Esamne forever. He couldn't let that happen, could he?
Farek stepped outside of his cave and took a long look at the morning scenery. The landscape was becoming more mountainous as he approached Hicares. Though Farek's body was in decent shape, he was more of a plotter than a doer, and was used to bending over books instead of running around like other young men his age. His sore muscles complained as the terrain became steeper. After hours of this, Farek didn't know if he should continue any further. He felt exhausted, thirsty, and ravenous.
What really held him back was losing his motivation to continue. What was the point? Where was he even headed, other than away? The Statue of the Goddess Winds called him, but he wouldn't make it past one Pescelean guard as a wanted man. He had no plan, and that was unlike him. More than anything else, this is what shattered his confidence. Even when he held no power at all, before he even earned his position as Esamne's tutor, he had some plan. Now, he only had the urge to be in Hicares. He lost himself.
Farek was ready to give up. It wasn't even mid-day, and all he wanted to do was wallow in his misery. His entire body ached and his stomach screamed out in hunger. He hadn’t eaten anything but a few berries in days. As he searched around for a place to get some rest, he heard hooves in the distance. He darted behind a bush. Soon enough, a procession of soldiers marched past him, mostly a bedraggled looking bunch. Pescel scraped the bottom of the barrel for these recruits. Farek wondered if these were the troops he ordered a few weeks ago.
“Is this the best my military officials could find?” he muttered to himself, and then corrected himself. “Not my officials anymore.”
They belonged to Pescel, and perhaps they took advantage of Esamne's naivety on military matters to push this group through. These soldiers looked like they would fight to the death over a scrap of bread. Desperation like that might work in the short run but had no longevity.
As he impatiently waited for them to pass by, it hit him that these soldiers would have plenty of food, water, and other travel necessities. Perhaps he could manage to steal some and learn some information about the state of The Capitol in the process. Years as a simple tutor in The Palace taught him how to be sneaky. So, he had no difficulty in tailing the noisy troops at a distance. Flitting like a bird from one bush to the next, he kept the last soldier just on the edge of his vision.
He watched from the brush as the soldiers made camp for the night. His stomach growled when the aroma of stew filled the air. He knew he would have to deal with his hunger, however, at least for a few more hours. The soldiers were all still awake and alert. So, he made himself comfortable where he was and settled for a long evening of self-denial. Instead of satiating his stomach, he filled up on whatever information drifted by him. A couple of soldiers sat down within earshot to eat their stew.
"You scared?" a young Pescelean soldier asked one that looked even younger somehow.
Farek wondered if Pescel's military officials recruited children.
"Nah," the younger one answered, slurping on his stew and speaking around a full mouth. "I heard they got mages and priests and stuff keeping the bases locked up from attack."
"Sounds like we might not even have to fight at all then," the first soldier replied. "Just occupy what's already won while the Kandumes struggle outside."
"That's what I'm thinking." The younger one nodded.
"You're both wrong," grumbled an older soldier of obvious higher rank. He looked world-weary and beaten. "They've taken down three camps already."
"But…how?" the youngest soldier asked. "I thought we had domes that kept out anything nasty?"
"They can be knocked out with lightning," the older soldier answered, his eyes growing distant. "Somehow, when the Kandumes come, they bring a storm with them."
"How would you know this?" the first soldier asked.
"After the second camp fell," the older soldier explained, "a messenger came to my camp to tell us what happened. When the Kandumes came to our camp, and the storms started falling, they sent me off to watch from a distance and report back to Pescel if they fell. I wasn't quite quick enough, though."
"What do you mean?" the youngest soldier asked.
The older soldier held up his right hand, or the remains of it anyway. Half his palm was gone, leaving just his singed thumb and index finger. "Lightning. Good thing I'm left-handed. Though, I'll never manage a bow and arrow again."
Farek's eyes widened. The Kandumes could harness the power of lightning. The lack of magical barriers would force the mages and priests to act as the last line of defense. It sounded like the Kandumes could tackle those easy enough. Pescel couldn't recruit more magic users. Farek spent years finding the ones in Hicares now. Thinking back on how he wiped out that remote Cult of Pecu, Farek could kick himself. How many magic users did he squander there? Pescel could use them now.
Telverin was just opening its eyes to the reality that magic was more than party tricks. Magic users kept mostly to themselves, hiding in cults for centuries. For some reason, they didn't like having their abilities used for the gain of others. Without Farek's incredible efforts to earn the trust of entire hidden magical communities, Pescel wouldn't have the world's most advanced magical warfare.
Now, Kandum made all his efforts look pathetic. Farek knew King Retam was a believer in the old religions, but did he put his own magic users to war as well? What kind of magic called on lightning? Farek's staff hissed at him then. He pulled it closer to his ear.
"The Embodiment…" it whispered, "rides with Kandum…"
Farek thought long and hard about that. All his research to harness the Statue of the Goddess Winds' power led to his discovery about the Embodiment. She was supposed to be a young woman with dark hair and silver eyes. She could channel the abilities of the Goddess Winds, which presumably meant she could control the weather. Her sole purpose was to free the Goddess Winds and destroy the seat of Pecu's power.
As Farek's main objective was to take the power of the Goddess Winds for himself and serve at the right hand of Pecu, The Embodiment was his natural enemy. Whoever this woman of prophecy was, her entire existence was in direct opposition to his goals. The staff had told him that his fate was with the Goddess Winds, that it was the key to all his wishes. Yet, it was this woman's fate to deny him that.
After reading this, his first inclination was to seek her out and eliminate her. Unfortunately, after more research, it became apparent that she was also the only one who could unlock the Goddess Winds' power. If Farek wanted this power for himself, he would have to find a way to use her just long enough to open the Statue and then assassinate her.
Was it possible that King Retam allied himself with this woman of prophecy? Could she be the one calling on storms to destroy the Pescelean camps? Without their magical advantage, Pescel didn't stand a chance against the superior military of Kandum.
Farek ruminated over this for hours, waiting for the very last soldier to go to sleep. The fires were out, and the night was black as tar under the new moon. Silent as a ghost, Farek crept into the camp, crouching as low as he could get. He stole some stew first and shoveled it into his mouth, practically choking on it in his haste. Then, he crept around the tents, looking for loose items that could be helpful. He managed to grab a dagger, a blanket, and a bladder of water.
Still on his knees, he made his way out of the camp and into some bushes higher up. He let out a long sigh of relief, setting down the items he stole and laying back onto the blanket. He allowed himself a bitter chuckle at how luxurious a blanket felt now when he once slept with the most beautiful woman in the world in a feather bed covered with satin sheets.
"Who's there?" a scared voice squeaked out.
Farek froze in terror. He heard rustling nearby and realized someone must be up here to relieve his bladder or keep guard over the camp. He hoped that if he stayed very still and quiet, the young soldier would give up. Yet, in the darkness of the night, Farek's long, silvery hair acted like a beacon. The boy found him quickly, locking eyes with him. Farek saw panic in the soldier's face, and, worse than that, he saw recognition.
"I've found the Regent!" the boy called out at the top of his lungs, and in an instant, torches lit in the distance. "Come quickly!"
Quick as a flash, Farek was on the boy, a dagger to his throat. He usually wouldn't hesitate to dig it deep into the soldier's throat, but Farek saw an opportunity. While the dagger distracted the young man, Farek knocked him unconscious with his staff. As soon as the soldier's body slumped to the ground, Farek stole the clothes off him. He didn't have much time. He could hear soldiers in the distant brush, searching for their brother who sounded the alarm.
Farek rolled the uniform up in his blanket, hoisting it under his arm. He tied the bladder of water to his belt and sheathed his dagger next to it. He took one last look at the soldier lying naked on the ground. Without his uniform, he looked even younger. It would be more merciful to kill him now than to leave him here, but Farek didn't have time. So, off into the night, he fled.
He ran North for another hour, trying to put as much distance between himself and the Pescelean soldiers, not keeping track of where he was on the mountain anymore. He found a stream and drank from it, filling up the bladder a little more with the cool liquid. There was a cave nearby, just a small dugout, really. For the most part, it was open on its Western side, which would expose him to the elements, but he didn't have a light source to find anything better. So, Farek laid out his blanket inside its shelter and fell asleep quickly, succumbing to the fatigue he fought since mid-day.
Farek slept long and deep. When he opened his eyes, he saw the sun stretching for its zenith, almost midday. The hot and humid air caused his expensive silk robes to cling to him, his sweat acting like glue. Looking at his muddled brown rags, you couldn't tell the Pescelean court considered it beautiful and fashionable with painted moons and stars on a pale blue background. He took off his robes in disgust and walked to the nearby stream to cool his sweaty, pungent body in the clear water. He kept his dagger handy and his staff close by in case he encountered anyone.
Farek plunged as deeply as he could into the water. It wasn't as shallow as it looked, and its flow pulled at him with surprising strength. Coming up for air, he struggled against the current. His muscles were still weak from hiking the last couple of weeks. However, he found an area in the water near his staff, where he could sit still and enjoy a relaxing moment at last. He stared into the rippling water, watching the way the light bounced and sparkled off of it. Every once in a while he could make out a blur that could be his reflection. The anonymity of his mutated appearance in the broken reflection of the waves comforted him. He could be anyone, no longer a hunted man.
If only he were not so remarkable in reality. What served him well in the past was a detriment now. His long, moonlight hair and crystal blue eyes once won favors from many that found him attractive. It even brought him close to Esamne when they met. The thought of his Sunray stabbed him. Up until now, his thoughts were only about escape and survival. After a night's sleep with a blanket and the comfort of a stream bath, he now had time to process the betrayal.
He wouldn't have killed the viscount over a dress. He didn't kill him over a dress. Farek only lashed out when he heard the viscount whisper under his breath, "That bitch lied to me again."
Esamne played him for a fool. That became clearer than ever with the viscount's slip. That caused his heart to sink, but what sent him into a rage was that the viscount thought he could talk about Esamne in that way. His Sunray was perfection, and she had every reason to treat him with cruelty. He did murder her parents, after all. He valued her as his prized possession, and this noble pig thought he could talk about her like this?
Farek's reaction was swift and unwise, but he didn't regret it. He didn't regret killing Esamne's squire spy either. He needed to escape, and that was his only option. He only wished no one had witnessed it. He remembered Esamne's expression as the viscount sailed through the broken glass of that window. He saw her true feelings then. She thought of him as a monster.
If she thought that was bad, imagine how she would feel if she witnessed what he did to that monastery. He imagined what her face would look like staring in horror at the rivers of blood flowing through the avenues, hearing the hysteric screams of countless priests, and smelling their dying bodies defecate one last time. He couldn't do that to such a delicate creature. She should never have to face anything that horrific. That's why it had to be Farek to do the dirty work.
Farek considered again what a waste it was to kill all those priests. Pescel could certainly use any of the magic users from that cult in their mostly futile fight against Kandum. Why did Farek even care what happened to Pescel now? He was no longer its acting ruler, and it no longer served his purposes. If he wanted to take the power of the Goddess Winds for himself, he would be better off working with Kandum. With that thought, he froze. What was to stop him? He worked his way up from obscurity to become the Regent of Pescel. He had more to leverage now with his depth of knowledge regarding Pescel's military tactics and state of affairs than he had as a young, impoverished scholar trying to live off scraps in the competitive streets of The Capitol. Gaining the confidence of the Kandum leadership would get him closer to The Embodiment, as well. This plan would make it far easier to use her for his own ends.
How would he do it, though? How would he make it to Kandum? It would take him at least a week on horseback to reach any ship sailing to Serenchea, the sea-bordering country that kept Kandum landlocked. Passing through The Capitol was also out of the question. It had been hard enough escaping, even with all the hidden passageways his staff brought to his attention. His other choice was to pass through Hicares without getting recognized by Pesceleans and Kandumes alike. He didn't know which one seemed more impossible.
“Disguise…” the staff whispered from the bank of the stream.
“The uniform, I know,” Farek replied. “I’ll just look like me in a uniform.”
“Cut…your hair…disguise yourself…”
Farek considered the staff’s advice while looking at his broken reflection. He remembered stumbling upon it when he was just a day past his fifteenth birthday. His older sisters were whoring in The Capitol, but they didn’t send home any money to the family. His parents worked themselves to the bone providing what little they could for their only son. He knew from a very young age that it was up to him to support his parents as they grew old and frail.
So, Farek became a thief, one of the best in The Capitol. He snuck around like a shadow and no one even noticed their empty pockets until he was long gone. He graduated from pickpocketing to breaking and entering pretty quickly. Still, there wasn’t much he could take from other people living in The Capitol. Most of them were just as impoverished as his parents were. That’s when he noticed the priests.
They tried to be secretive, and for good reason, it turned out. They were hiding a cult up in the mountains just North of The Capitol. However, for all their hushed tones, Farek spotted their heavy purses right away. If that was what they felt comfortable taking into the darkened alleys of the neighborhoods Farek haunted, they must have real treasure at home. So, he followed them all the way back to their cult.
Farek located the treasury without issue. He had an eye for things like that. In the dark of night, while all the cultists slept, he crept inside. It was more than he hoped for. He opened drawer after drawer to find gems organized by type, quality, and size. He stuffed handfuls into his pockets and then targeted the pots of gold coins on the other end of the room.
From just beyond a nearby door, he heard a whisper. It shocked him at first, thinking a priest had caught him in his thievery, but then it repeated itself.
“Free me…” it pleaded.
Farek wasn’t the altruistic sort. He couldn’t afford to be. Still, the voice compelled him, and he opened the door to see the most beautiful treasure he had ever laid eyes on, resting on a golden pedestal and encased in glass. The mahogany staff with its breathtaking sculpture of a maiden and serpent in a lover’s embrace called to him.
“Free me…” it repeated.
“Yes,” Farek agreed, entranced, picking up a pot of coins to crash through the glass.
Farek didn’t even hear the panicked voices of priests waking. He only heard the staff making its promises and directing him during his escape.
With the staff’s help, Farek managed to gain a spot as a scholar, and then as a royal tutor. It helped him provide for his parents during the last few years of their lives. It told him how to win Esamne’s heart. It spurred him on to win the Statue of the Goddess Winds, even if it meant a war. Farek always followed this staff’s advice, because it always turned out to be right, even if it aged him in spirit and body.
Farek knew the staff was right this time, too. His beautiful hair was no longer serving him, just as his love for Esamne no longer brought him happiness. He didn’t know why he hadn’t thought of this earlier. With his dagger, he cut through his silken hair. The first cut brought a tear to his eyes. Farek couldn't help being a little vain, and his hair was such an integral part of his identity. Still, hair could grow back, and it was putting his life in danger currently. Ragged chunks of moonlight colored locks fell into the stream, carried away and out of view forever. He did a crude job. It looked like his hair was cut as a punishment, but it would have to do. Farek dipped his hand into the silt below and rubbed it into his hair, making it look light brown.
He lifted his beautiful pale body out of the stream, grabbed his staff, and made his way to the temporary shelter slept in the previous night. He forced himself into the soldier's uniform he stole. It was a tunic made from coarse fabric and slops made of the same. It was also a little small on him since it belonged to a soldier who didn't qualify as an adult. It would have to do since soldiers didn't roam around in robes. He planned to move from Pescelean camp to Pescelean camp until he came upon the Kandumes and infiltrated them somehow. A battle would be the perfect opportunity. Of course, he wouldn't participate in the fight, but he would hang around the edges like a vulture waiting for its dinner to give up its struggle.
The only trouble he had now was his staff. It was a dead giveaway and eye-catching. Farek couldn't just get rid of it like he did his hair. It was his guide, his companion, and an incredibly useful tool. Farek used his dagger to shred up the beautiful royal clothing he discarded in favor of his ill-fitting Pescelean uniform. He tied his dagger to the head of his staff tightly. Then, he proceeded to wind the fabric around the top of his staff so that no one could see the serpent and his lover. It now looked as though he was just a poor soldier who improvised a spear with the only tools he had on hand. Satisfied with that, he packed up and set out to his next destination.
He continued his climb up the mountain and to the other side. Perhaps the stream where he bathed contained some healing element, because he didn't find that day's long trek as brutal as the much shorter one the day before. He almost felt invigorated. Just as the sun touched the horizon, he could see the Eastern-most Pescelean camp, lit up with campfires and the glow of its magical barrier. Looking at the dome, Farek found it hard to imagine that the Kandumes could take it down with a simple bolt of lightning. He looked forward to witnessing it for himself and learning Kandum's secrets.
He camped in a spot that allowed him to watch the Pescelean camp without anyone seeing him. He ate some mushrooms and berries that he foraged earlier in the day. Looking at the red berry stain on his fingers sparked an idea, and he saved some for the next day.
“Yes…” the staff agreed, sealing the idea as a plan in Farek’s mind.
Wrapped up in his blanket, Farek drifted off to dream of someone he was still trying to forget. He dreamed of her honey eyes and copper hair, her musical laugh and youthful spirit, and her long limbs and expert touch. He dreamed about her stunned appearance that shifted to disgust when it rested on his face. He dreamed about her on their wedding day that would never come to pass. When he woke up, his face was wet with tears.
"Trust…" the staff advised.
It told him long ago that, if he just followed its lead, all that he ever hoped for would become his. It promised that one day Esamne would love him again. It never led him astray before. Why would it now? He wiped his face with his unwashed hands, leaving dirty streaks on his cheeks, and got up. He almost packed up his blanket but considered how that would look for the scenario he formed in his mind. Reluctantly, he left behind his one source of comfort and traveled past the Pescelean encampment, making a wide circle around it, careful to remain unseen.
Once he was far enough west of the camp, he hid behind an outcropping of rocks and squeezed berry juice all over his hands and face. He placed splatters here and there, as if something had sprayed him. He didn't want to give the impression that it was his own blood. He didn't want a healer inspecting his body for an injury that didn't exist. He threw aside the berries and ran, screaming with a convincing level of horror on his face towards the camp's Western gate.
"The Kandumes!" he screamed, remembering what he overheard the older soldier sharing with his younger brothers at arms. "They killed everyone! They brought a storm!”