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Graveground
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RETSI (MAY) 21, 1538
Eighty days into Prince Terosh’s Kireshana journey
Kireshana Path, Resh Grasslands
Winter officially concluded at the end of Enis (April), but the snows remained for another few weeks. Prince Terosh Minstel and Ranger Reia Antellio could have left on the first of Retsi, but they waited until the eighth day to allow the prince’s hands to continue healing. After bidding farewell to the grateful zalok queen, they left the caves laden with two korver skin pouches filled with purple scales, gifts of dried berries, and enough korver jerky to last until the end of the year.
Reia chose a gentle path through the Riden Mountains to give the prince’s hands time to heal. He didn’t complain much, but she knew that they still stung whenever he moved them. While in the zalok cave, he’d let Reia wrap his hands in toom leaves soaked in corlia. The treatment helped, but once they started moving, the prince refused the wraps, claiming they made his hands clumsy.
They reached the Resh Grasslands on the twentieth of Retsi. The next day, they awoke to a sky full of storm clouds, but since it wasn’t time for the acid storms, they didn’t worry. They hiked steadily for a few hours before meeting Derna and Irek Praem, a sibling pair of tretling herders headed home for a short leave. As the main herding season stretched from Lanolin to Temen (February to July), wealthy flock owners hired herders in cycles. About a meter in length and sporting white, gray, or beige wool, tretlings are blobs of dull color when viewed from a distance. As they possess the constitution of bears and the brains of pill bugs, handling them could be exhausting.
Ten minutes after encountering the herders, Reia halted and seized the prince’s left arm to keep him from taking another step.
“Graveground!”
The prince looked confused.
“Wallays, right?” he asked slowly. “Small, furry, brown things. I think Master Sedir mentioned them. He said they were dangerous.”
“Well, farmers hate them, but they aren’t directly dangerous ...” Reia answered, letting the sentence trail. She pictured one of the creatures. Wallays grow about a quarter of a meter in length and have small, beady eyes and blunt noses. They’d be adorable if they weren’t so destructive. She took a cautious step, angling left, and motioned for the prince to follow. Leaping over a seemingly solid piece of ground, she landed on a patch of slightly taller grass two feet away. “Except when they leave.”
“How does that work?” asked Terosh.
She waited until she’d identified the next dangerous section before answering the prince’s question.
“Wallay colonies can have several hundred members. They maintain underground tunnels by coating the walls with a viscous substance called cradul. The cradul hardens in a half-hour, forming a tough, waterproof wall. No one knows how the beasts learned to make doors, but the system of sliding cradul-treated dirt slabs prevents their homes from flooding.”
“Why do farmers hate them?” Terosh asked.
Reia chuckled and jumped another section of grass.
“Hate is too mild a term. Wallays consume crops and soil, but the worst part is when they leave because without the cradul, the tunnel walls crumble, resulting in graveground.”
Reia continued to lead the way through the dangerous sections.
“You’re stepping on the thicker, darker grass,” the prince noted.
“Exactly,” Reia confirmed.
A web of lightning brightened the gloomy day, followed closely by a huge thunder crack. The ground trembled. Reia looked up surprised. She had almost forgotten the storm. A minute later, the first raindrops plunked down onto her head.
Not hearing the prince’s footsteps behind her anymore, Reia paused and looked back.
“What are you doing?” Reia shouted to be heard.
The rain fell faster and faster, thoroughly soaking them both. The prince looked giddy. He held out his hands to catch the rain, tipping his head back and letting the rain pour down onto his face. At first, Reia didn’t understand, but then she remembered him talking about his mother’s fear of acid storms. The queen had kept him palace-bound during every storm, harmless or not. More lightning and thunder showed off, and the wind ripped at their cloaks.
Before he could answer, Reia cocked her head and closed her eyes. Then, she stepped forward until she reached the prince’s side and listened hard. The sound of swiftly moving water reached her. There were no rivers or streams near here. Wind whipped hair against her face, but she didn’t acknowledge the discomfort.
Another boom drowned out other sounds.
Still listening carefully, Reia stood next to Terosh as tense as a wallay hosting korvers. Suddenly, she took off in the direction she had been looking, behind the prince and to his right, roughly in the direction they had just come from. Without hesitation, he sprinted after her.
Casting off her cloak, Reia dropped her bags, boots, and leather belt holding her banistick and jumped over a ledge that suddenly appeared.
No!
Ignoring the anotechs, she swam at the two dark masses hurtling down the stream formed as the downpour collapsed the graveground. With the current propelling her, Reia reached the pair within seconds. Luckily, they had attached themselves to each other. She grabbed a handful of soggy cloth and held on tightly, fighting the current with her legs and free arm. Her efforts slowed their pace, but they were still headed downstream at unsafe speeds.
“Reia!” Terosh shouted. “Catch!”
Reia twisted around and searched for his voice. One of the ropes smacked the water by her left ear. Grabbing the rope, Reia silently prayed Terosh would pull them in by the time her strength disappeared.
The rescue went well until a fossa tree careened toward Reia and her limp charges. It was a blessing that the tretling herders were unconscious, for the current and debris gave Reia plenty to worry about. The tree’s rapid approach almost made her faint. She had seconds to make a move—any move—to avoid certain death. Diving underwater, Reia twirled so that the rope wrapped around the unconscious herders. The rope cut into her hands as the current jerked her back and forth, but Reia kept twisting, entangling her arms in the rope.
Use us!
How?
A tree branch clipped Reia’s left shoulder as she surfaced for breath. She angled her body to protect the herders, but the blow nearly tore her away. Her arms throbbed as the korver rope dug in. She fought for consciousness and kept enough wits to roll away from another tree.
We can slow the current.
Then do so! Reia snapped.
Can’t. Need direction.
Reia imagined the flood slowing and strength pouring into her from the surrounding water. With massive effort, she broke the surface, dragging the herders with her. More debris came at them, but the pace seemed slower. Reia could see where she needed to be moments before the need arose. Doing this saved her some worry and pain. Still, it took several awful minutes of tree dodging before Terosh pulled them ashore.
Once finally safe, Reia closed her eyes and rested.
***
TEROSH CROUCHED BY Reia and the two young herders, scarcely daring to check their vital signs. His hands burned. The anotechs had shielded and strengthened them while he pulled on the rope, but now that the crisis was over, the pain returned ten-fold.
Lightning, thunder, and thoughts of his pain faded as rain wash mud and debris off Reia. A leaf clung tenaciously to her forehead just above her left eye. Terosh removed the leaf and traced the side of her face. Gently, he wiped mud from her face with a clean section of his cloak.
Reia remained unconscious while Terosh carefully unwound the ropes holding her to the herders. The wound on her left shoulder looked ugly and leaked blood. Her eyes fluttered when he checked for a pulse. She gasped and tried to sit up, but he caught her and eased her back to the ground.
“Easy. I don’t know how badly you’re injured,” he said.
As suddenly as it had started, the rain ceased, leaving everything strangely calm.
“Are they all right?” Reia shut her eyes, clearly exhausted.
“The anotechs will tell me in a minute, but are you all right?” Terosh didn’t bother explaining that since the korver attack he had been practicing directing the anotechs. She had witnessed his clumsy efforts to move rocks and dried leaves.
“I’ll live.” Reia didn’t sound too pleased with the idea. Several deep scratches decorated her face. The left shoulder wound still bled. The anotechs were already knitting the wounds together, but the gashes still looked painful. Both her sleeves were shredded and deep red marks crisscrossed her forearms.
Terosh grimaced at the rope burns. He placed a hand on each of her arms and thought, Heal her wounds.
No.
Shock nearly knocked Terosh over. He jerked his hands back.
“What’s wrong?” Reia asked, opening her eyes.
Sorry, bad joke.
You fix her wounds right now! And that scar from the korver attack, if she wants it healed.
He received the mental impression of a shrug, but slowly, Reia’s arms looked less irritated. Terosh watched as her shoulder wound slowly closed. He didn’t know how long he sat there holding her cold right hand. He only interrupted his vigil long enough to build a fire and check on the other two. They were fine. Reia had caught most of the things flying down the river at them.
Are all Rangers that reckless?
Most, answered the anotechs.
Terosh frowned. He didn’t like sharing every thought with them. That night, he learned to shut them out by creating a quiet space within his mind. They had already shown that they would accept directions from him, so he shifted thoughts into sections they could access and private areas they could not. Anotechs could be powerful allies, but sometimes, a man needed to be alone with his thoughts.
***
RETSI (MAY) 21, 1538
Same Day
Maledek’s Safehouse, City of Azhel
Prince Taytron Minstel gripped his kerlak pistol so hard his whole arm shook. Having traveled southeast of Rammon through the Kevil Plains, crossed the Kala River, dodged part of the Ash Mountains, and raided three different possible Maledek hideouts today, he had only rage and determination keeping him on his feet. Still, he hesitated.
This isn’t right.
The sweet voice within his head almost made him groan. He yearned to hear the real thing but knew he would never hear Deanna’s voice again.
“No, Taytron,” called a different female voice. “Not this way.”
He almost didn’t recognize Captain Kelter’s voice without its usual bluster. Tate blinked. Tears blurred the ragged figure at his feet. The man propped himself up on his left elbow and used his right hand to probe a swelling knot on the side of his head. The chase through the klipper factory to this dirty, forgotten corner and the ensuing fistfight had exhausted both of them.
“He planned it. He executed it. He murdered Deanna.” Taytron’s accusations flew out like bursts of gunfire.
“He may have carried out the murder, but he is not Maledek,” said Captain Kelter.
Tate’s head whipped toward her, but his pistol remained on target.
“How do you know?”
“Can you not feel it?” the captain challenged.
She is right.
Tate swung his eyes back to the man. He didn’t want to listen to the anotechs or face the Melian Maiden captain. She reminded him too much of his mother both in appearance and demeanor. Besides, he couldn’t feel anything. He was done feeling. Feeling became synonymous with pain these days.
“Look at me,” she ordered softly.
He did so, and his resolve crumbled under Captain Kelter’s even gaze. Her stiff posture and sad expression said she would do anything for him but simultaneously begged him to listen.
“Do not do this.”
Tate’s finger tightened around the trigger. The slightest twitch would release a red bolt into the man’s face. The muscles in Tate’s right arm trembled, despite the extra support of his left hand.
No story is what it seems. Reach out with us. We will learn the truth.
Tate jerked his arm up to prevent accidentally shooting the man.
“Will you let me inside your mind to verify your story?”
“I don’t have a choice,” the man replied, “but I’d rather you not.” His expression flickered with relief and worry before settling on defeat.
“Why not?” Taytron asked. “Don’t you want to live?”
“If I’m right, he’s been ordered to die,” Captain Kelter answered. Her voice rumbled with rage.
“I have a family, too,” the man whispered. He struggled to sit up and leaned back against the wall. “If you’re going to crawl around my mind, you might as well be prepared for what you find. I am not guilty of the crime you think I am, but I am guilty of another.”
As Tate touched the man’s mind a name and a series of images slipped into his brain.
Niktrod Keldor.
“It’s true!” The man’s voice shook.
Feeling sick, Taytron forced himself to watch dozens of scenes. He paused on certain ones. He saw Deanna’s broken body but felt only the curiosity of a stranger. He saw a shadowy figure demanding Keldor settle an old debt. Terror gripped him. The man would not hesitate to kill Keldor’s wife and son or even his young grandson. They were faces and names that meant little to Tate, but his heart seized with Keldor’s fear. He wondered who the shadowy figure could be and why he hadn’t heard whispers of him before now.
Could this be the true Maledek?
Tate’s heart nearly stopped when his mind locked upon a scene he remembered very well: his mother’s death. The perspective wasn’t right. The pristine place settings and excited banquet chatter were perfect, but this time, the small vial of comaladon mixed with gully fish poison rested in his hands. A deft hand flick and the deed was done. His eyes locked upon the smiling queen before turning and walking away. As the first alarmed scream reached his ears, Taytron wrenched his mind free of Keldor’s.
Both men panted but said nothing. Tate released his grip on the man’s head and let his arms fall to his sides.
“Do what you will,” Keldor rasped. His voice sounded like wind over dry leaves.
Tate stumbled to his feet and ran from the room. He had to escape. He didn’t trust himself not to kill the man. The man deserved it to be sure, but justice was not his to dispense. That honor belonged to his father.
