They bandaged each other the best they could. Hamasa was much better at magical healing than this. The mess made it hard to see just how bad some of the wounds were. But terrible patching up done, they stole yet another horse. The dappled grey resisted a bit, but it might’ve been the smell of them more than anything else. They plodded down the road, both of them grimacing with every jostle. They barely made it to the main avenue when the sound of a horse’s thundering gait met their ears. They froze, staring ahead in terror, only for the familiar sight of Nerva’s buckskin hide and black mane to come barrelling around the next bend. Nerva and Valerius astride her, his face intense and grim.
“Valerius!” they exclaimed at the same time. Relief and hope bloomed in Hamasa’s chest, an exhausted smile curving across his lips.
“Where did you—What happened?” he demanded, shock and horror spreading over his face.
“The centurions,” Hamasa said, his chest suddenly expanding on a breath he didn’t realize he hadn’t taken.
“The centurions? Where are they?”
“Back thatta way,” Marya sighed, thumbing over her shoulder.
“We need to stop and bandage her up probably. And I need something to eat. A lot of something to eat,” Hamasa said, even though his stomach rebelled at the idea.
“What?”
“I have this,” Marya said, holding up the token. Valerius’ eyes widened again. “It’s time for the spell, but he already used up some magic.”
“I think I have a concussion, too,” he muttered.
Valerius’ jaw ticked. Gently, he took the reins from Marya’s hands, and, clicking his tongue to his teeth, let Nerva set a steady, slow pace towards the bridge and the Falls.
***
They sat below the cypresses swaying in the mist of the Falls that roared through the too-still autumn afternoon. It was beautiful, tranquil despite the thundering Falls, the world a blaze of gold and red and a few hidden gems of green among the branches, and Hamasa barely saw it. There, in the rippling glassy water that lapped at the sandy riverbank, they had washed up as best as they could. Now, Marya sat patiently through Valerius carefully bandaging her, wan and pale after the knight’s crude, if effective, stitching. Hamasa gnawed without appetite on a stick of dried goat meat, the last of what he needed to choke down for energy. He was already washed up and had changed into clean clothes, though it had been a wrench to admit saving his poncho would be impossible. He almost missed Marya and Valerius finishing up and making their way towards him. The second Marya got within earshot, she began,
“We get this spell done fast. It’s been maybe an hour since Arash led ‘im off. We can find the rock and go help him before sunset,” Marya said eagerly.
Hamasa got to his feet, swallowed painfully, and turned. “No, we won’t.”
Marya stared, mouth falling slack. Valerius scowled.
“You can’t change your mind. This is the only choice.”
“I’m changing my mind because this is the only choice,” Hamasa interrupted. “If we go after my emblem, Arash will die.”
“What are you saying, Asa?” Marya whispered.
The undigested food in his belly writhed, his knees knocked, and his voice shook, but he lifted his chin and licked his lips.
“We’re going after Arash now. We know the direction they flew, and I can feel Arash if I try. I don’t need a true spell for that, just concentration,” Hamasa said, fists tightening at his side. “Just like he could find me. We’re… we’ve known each other our whole lives.”
“That’s a death wish,” Valerius exclaimed. He stepped forward and grabbed Hamasa’s shoulder. “You couldn’t face him with your emblem. You can’t go after him now without it.”
Hamasa closed his eyes, inhaled deeply, and let it go on a sigh.
“My emblem is too far away. No matter what Arash tried, he couldn’t sense it, which means it’s probably on the other side of the mountains. The Serra Falls pass has been impassable since they collapsed it after the Merciless destroyed Sangsierpe,” Hamasa said slowly, clearly.
“We’d have to climb the mountains to the other side, and then climb back,” Marya realized, eyes widening. Hamasa nodded at her.
“It’s why Arash and I decided to come here before using me as a focus for the spell. It’ll take days, at least, to get through. And that’s if we can beat winter. Then, it could be more than a week. Arash doesn’t have that kind of time right now.” Hamasa choked, but he forced out, “This is what a Shield is meant for, right?”
Valerius spun on his heel, stalked a few steps away, and stared out at the natural golden beauty around them. It was hard to believe it was still morning, it felt like eons since Hamasa had watched Arash drop from the sky. Blinding. Brilliant. And dead, if they didn’t go back now.
“The Merciless is thousands of years old. Their power is indescribable. Arash isn’t even four hundreds years old and he’s not as fast as I am,” Hamasa said, lips trembling and voice quavering. He met Marya’s terrified eyes. “I can’t do it again. I can’t leave him behind, not to die for me. What kind of person would that make me?” His eyes turned to Valerius, traced the rigid lines of his shoulders, down to where his fists shook at his sides. “What kind of Shield?”
One long, horrible minute longer, Valerius said nothing. Stood silently, his back a wall clad in metal for the first time since the first time they met him. Then, he turned. His black eyes were fathomless, his Lance’s expressionless mask in place.
“What is your new plan, Hamasa?” Valerius asked.
Swallowing, Hamasa nodded.
“Marya, you have something that can help,” Hamasa said first. Marya started, gaze snapping to his.
“What? You mean…?”
“No, not the token. The Salvatropas gave you a boon. Remember?”
“Oh, yes!” Marya dug in her pocket. Both braid and token were pulled free.
“All right. You head out first, use the boon and find Sitlal, or the first Salvatropas you can find. Do you remember the way Arash flew?”
“Of course, to the southwest. But I should come with you!” she protested.
Hamasa smiled; she could barely stay upright, she was paler than he’d ever seen her, the dark hue of her skin a sickly grey, and her eyes deep pits in her face with darker smudges under them. The bruise had discolored her entire cheek and it had puffed so badly she could only squint. Her arm hung uselessly at her side and her spear might still be in that centurion’s shoulder.
“Marya, you’re too injured. Go and follow after us as fast as you can. If you need to, follow the token to find me,” Hamasa said, smiling ruefully. Marya gulped and nodded.
“And I, my lord?”
“I’m sorry,” Hamasa whispered, wringing his fingers as he turned to Valerius. “I need you to… I need you to come with me. I’m sorry.” His chin dropped, eyes closing, shame and loathing clawing their awful talons deeper. “I can’t do it alone.”
A hand, wearing a metal gauntlet, set heavily on his shoulder.
“It would be my greatest honor, Hamasa.”
He choked, laughed a weak, damp laugh, and gasped when an arm flung around him. The smelltaste of medicine and blood and wool, the brush of curls over his nape and ear.
“I’ll bring them to you. Just hold on, you and that icy lizard,” Marya vowed fervently.
“I have faith,” Hamasa whispered, peeking up to smile crookedly at the knight and farm-girl.
Plan set, they hurried to their horses and mounted. Marya swung up first. She wrapped the token around her neck and tucked it out of sight, and then lifted the braid. She scowled briefly with narrowed eyes.
“Sitlal, I need you, please, Sitlal, help me,” Marya finally begged.
She blinked as it began to glow. A shimmering dark blue, the same deep blue of the Réo Largo, burst from the copper bead. It lifted off Marya’s hand, hovering in front of her eyes, and rocketed away. Heading west.
“Sovereign’s luck! Don’t die!” She whooped and tapped her horse’s side. She and her horse thundered out of view. Distantly, they heard the clatter of hooves over the bridge, and then she was gone.
“Hamasa.”
He startled and spun. Valerius stood at Nerva’s side, reins wrapped around a fist, and his other hand held out.
“More riding,” Valerius said quietly.
Hamasa huffed, mouth twitching. Squaring his shoulders, Hamasa stepped up and… hesitated. He licked his lips and bit his bottom lip before slowly raising his eyes. Past the trees, the Serra Falls still roared. The iridescent rainbows still flickered in the mist. And even farther, higher, the Manos Sagradas reached towards each other. Hands protectively cupping the enduring and unfeeling beauty of Vallepidras and the Serra Falls. He closed his eyes and reached out, stretching as far as he could, for the other half of him.
There was nothing. Only that emptiness inside of him that had ripped open a little wider.
His hand grasped Valerius’, the metal reassuringly solid rather than foreboding. Hefting him up, Valerius set him in the saddle and swung up after him, as easily and neatly as he did without the layers of steel.
“We’ll come back for it, Hamasa.”
“Yeah,” Hamasa muttered.
And their own journey began. Southwest. In the wake of shadow and ice.
***
Vallepidras was devastatingly easy to ride out of. The Lances had already gone, the bloodied and torn up field they’d fought on outside the city was the last vestige of them. Instead of following the Great Road, Valerius guided Nerva into the forest. Through the trees, Hamasa had seen the crowds and lines of people trekking north, perhaps even saw a flash of blue of a Lance’s banner. Then, they were too far from the Road to see it or its travellers. They rode on for hours, trying their best not to exhaust Nerva, but never quite stopping. The sun rose overhead and beat down as hot as summer until at last they found the wake of the dragons. Entire swatches of forests destroyed. Frost dripping from shorn branches or crunching under Nerva’s hooves. Massive trees centuries old toppled to the ground, smoking and hissing, the rancid smell of something not quite burning, not quite rotting rising all around them. Hamasa’s fingers dug into the leather of the saddle between his thighs and he closed his eyes. And like below the Falls, he reached. It wasn’t the same, it was harder, because it wasn’t a missing part of himself out there.
But Arash was his friend. His sibling. His family. Arash could always find Hamasa.
Baring his teeth and hissing in annoyance, Hamasa flung his awareness farther and further. Reaching out for the hand that always reached back. I’m coming. We’re coming.
White. Shining and alive and bright white light. Hamasa gasped.
“He’s ahead. Keep going, head more west. He must’ve been trying to stay away from Riyushu,” Hamasa breathed, elated.
Valerius nodded and did as Hamasa directed. They would catch up. And Arash was still alive, still flying, maybe they could—The ridiculous burgeoning of hope died a swift death before it could be fully formed. The enraged and triumphant roar of a monster that had caught scent of its quarry at last rattled the trees around them. He hung on as Nerva reared up, neighing wildly, backing away from the predator’s cry.
With a lowly muttered curse, Valerius held Nerva in place. He lifted the canvas-wrapped trident, his scowl as fierce as ever, and yanked the canvas off. The prongs glinted in the noon bright rays of the sun filtering through the trees. And then it came. The shadow, immense and overwhelming, a dragon of the grandest kind. If they weren’t so terrifying, Hamasa would’ve been awestruck by their majesty. Valerius cursed again and Nerva shuffled side to side while backing up.
But where’s Arash?
A streak of white darted through the sky. Hamasa let out a cry as the familiar and beautiful and so small body slammed into the Merciless’ side. Ice crackled and popped in the air, falling like hail as green slime hissed and spit against Arash’s ice breath and dazzling white hide. Both their teeth and claws glinted like swords, tearing through scales and the softer vulnerable flesh beneath. Arash definitely looked worse, bloodied, as he snarled and frosted the very air around him. Wings snapped open wide and snow flurried around him just in time to catch the worst of the green, frothing liquid the Merciless spat from their maw. It sizzled and burned, dripping like rain to the ground, and made it past the flurries to splatter over shining white scales. Arash’s scream had bile rising in Hamasa’s throat.
“Stop it, stop it!” Hamasa shouted, almost falling off the horse as he leaned forward.
“They’re too far to hear you,” Valerius said, gently holding him in place. When Hamasa looked back, Valerius was pale and frowning. His hand tightened around the trident’s staff. “We can’t let him fight alone.”
“We need to hurry,” Hamasa agreed. Valerius spurred Nerva, who fought back before plunging forward with a desperate whinny.
The Merciless lived up to their name. One powerful ebony wing spread wide, knocking Arash away. As Arash reeled back, an enormous claw swiped with breathtaking speed. Blood splattered over the trees from the slash across his breastplate, almost the base of his long throat. Shock fell over them, the sound of Nerva’s hoof beats matching Hamasa’s heart beats. Arash’s wings stilled, his flurries whisked away in the sunlight, and the Merciless’ long black tail, spikes gleaming at the tip, whip-cracked through the air and hit exactly where they’d clawed. Arash plummeted to the dirt without a sound leaving his throat. Steam from his cold body in the warm autumn air rose around him, frost flowering over the grass and dirt, crawling up the trees, unchecked and uncontrolled. Nerva skidded to a stop, and Hamasa saw ice filming Arash’s jaws and eyes.
“Arash!” Hamasa shouted.
Without waiting for Valerius, he jumped down and ran. The sheer cold slammed into him like a wall, tears freezing on his lashes and cheeks. He would’ve pushed through, forced the innate warmth of his frail human body to fight Arash’s encroaching end, but the sky blackened over him.
Like a mouse under the eyes of a cat, he froze, arms over his face to block the chill radiating from the dragon in front of him. And another dragon, the dragon, landed behind him.
“I hope this one doesn’t die, so he may fight me again one day,” rumbled the deep, nonchalantly brutal voice. “Not like you, the spineless mouse that got away.”