Hamasa paused outside the door, eyes darting in every direction, sweat dewing his forehead. Hamasa wasn’t always great at reading people, but it was obvious Vacero knew there was something off. If a squad of Lances came here, there was no telling what the sharp-eyed barkeeper might say to them.
Should he just… leave? Just start running down the Great Road that wound through the country? Keep running and not stop? He gnawed on his bottom lip until he drew blood and flinched at the sharp, unexpected pain. Hamasa wasn’t really good at making smart decisions, book learning or not. But maybe worse than his bad decisions was his indecision, and that particular trait had him waffling outside the cantina. His borrowed sandals shuffled over the dusty road that would lead him to the Great Road, and his eyes unconsciously tracked the shifting crowd of villagers. Where could he even go? Further north, to San Yamarasu? Head to the nearest port city and get the first ship off Mekshi entirely?
The door behind him swung open, almost smacking right into his back, only for something to actually smack into his back a moment later. Hamasa grunted as he jerked forward, a hand on his shoulder barely keeping him on his feet.
“Whoa there, Hamasa. You trying to leave without me?” Marya said with a short barking laugh. Obviously a joke. Hamasa winced.
“I… I’m not feeling well,” Hamasa hedged, warm hands rubbing against the rough cloth of his trousers. Marya squinted at him before her eyes widened in worry.
“You kinda look like you’ve been puking your guts out. Or you’re about to. Let’s get home,” she said, patting his shoulder. Hamasa nodded miserably and let Marya lead him from the village, two battered tin pails swinging from one of her big, farmer’s hands.
“I’m sorry I ruined your night out,” Hamasa whispered, head hanging low.
“Hey, nah, Vacero was acting strange, and Mamá will be excited about the gossip, anyways. Lances coming here. She’ll be coming into the village every day to wait for ‘em.”
Hamasa swallowed painfully. “Won’t you be coming, too?”
Marya frowned. “What, and leave you alone? I can tell you don’t like it here,” she said, eyebrows rising when Hamasa skittered away from a passerby as if to exactly illustrate her point.
“That doesn’t… I mean, I shouldn’t be a factor, Marya. I won’t be much longer, so while I appreciate your concern—”
“What d’you mean you ‘won’t be much longer’?” Marya interrupted, voice rising and brows arching up.
“I can’t stay here, encroaching on your family’s hospitality. I should leave. Soon.” Hamasa hissed the last word while dread crept down his spine.
“No chance! You ‘sploded yourself with magic fire or something! You should stay as long as you need to!”
“And it cost you weeks of work before you could finish plowing! I’m just another mouth to feed,” Hamasa argued with no small amount of self-deprecation. “I can give nothing back to the farm. I can barely weed a garden.”
Marya stopped in the middle of the road, her iron-hard hand on his shoulder holding Hamasa in place and turning him to face her. Black eyes gazed seriously into brown.
“If you think my Mamá and I care about getting our money’s worth more’n giving an unlucky boy help when he needs it, you haven’ been paying attention. You ain’t gonna make or break my farm, only how hard I work can do that. Got it, buddy?”
Hamasa blinked, eyes and nose stinging suspiciously. “Buddy? We’re friends?”
Marya grinned widely and gave Hamasa a little shake. “Yeah! A’course we are!”
“Thank you,” Hamasa choked out.
He reached up to rub awkwardly at his burning eyes. They stung like salt had been sprinkled in them, and his voice sounded wobbly and ridiculous. Weeping was such a useless act, but it also felt as if he were suddenly cleaner. Marya made an embarrassed sound low in her throat while Hamasa hiccupped the last of his few tears away. With his eyes closed, his other senses were minutely stronger, and, as he was pulling himself together, he picked up the sound of something frighteningly familiar.
The clanging of iron.
The stamp of hoof beats.
The snap of cloth in the wind.
Instinctively, Hamasa tilted back his chin and his tongue flicked over his lower lip as his nostrils flared. He could taste the salt of sweat and tears on his lips, but not much else. His nose was clogged with mucus, rendering any scenting his nose could have done utterly impossible. Not that he really needed it to know what was coming down the Great Road towards Elorra. Towards them.
“Hamasa, are you all right? You’re whiter’n a ghost.”
“We need to get off the road. Now.” He snapped the words past lips that quivered, his hand clutching Marya’s bony wrist tightly to drag them towards the dusty underbrush.
“Why? Calm down, you’re gonna trip and take us both down, and the food, too!” She froze, jerking Hamasa to a stop. Her head turned towards the commotion down the road and Hamasa’s stomach dropped. “Do you see that?”
Shaking his head mutely, Hamasa tugged harder to get off the road. Off the road and away from the small party of riders on huge, expensive horses and wearing outfits that glinted in the dark golden rays of sunlight. Above their heads, a cloth on a tall pole whipped in the strong autumn breeze. They finally got near enough to make out the iron breastplate they all wore, the bright trappings of the horses’ gear in weather-beaten hues of silver and blue, and the banner on the pole: a silver lance on a field of blue.
“Óra,” Marya said breathlessly, dark face flushed ruby and black eyes wide and glittering. “Lances of the Realm, knights of Sovereign Aneya herself. Hamasa, are you seeing this?” she said, swinging around her arm to lightly punch Hamasa’s ribs. Unfortunately, she forgot about the tin pails in her hand and they thudded into Hamasa’s gut.
A loud, involuntary groan followed the thud, and he doubled over, almost kneeling, one arm around his waist.
“Sorry, Hamasa! That was my fault.”
“I know,” Hamasa said through gritted teeth.
Where the Lances might have ridden past two nameless young farmers at the outskirts of nowhere, Marya’s fumbling and Hamasa’s pained sounds had them turning in their direction. Hamasa kept his head bowed, his arm taut around his middle and his other hand twisting in the loose fabric of Marya’s tunic. Just keep going by. Stop looking! Please, in the name of the eternal Sun, stop looking!
Most did just that, unimpressed with two obvious Mekshan peasants. For a moment, Hamasa felt the tension loosen in his shoulders, his knees almost vibrating in place. Until a single rider halted a few paces away from where Marya and Hamasa stood. Silence stretched as Hamasa’s heart stopped beating. The other Lances halted, too, calling back in puzzled voices to their comrade, but the words, in their too familiar language, were drowned out by a roaring in Hamasa’s ears.
Saddle leather creaked and well-oiled steel rattled. Two, heavy, ironshod boots hit the dust and walked towards them.
“Who is this?”
“Who? Me? I’m just Marya, Marya Garsia. I own a farm up a ways with my mamá,” Marya babbled, tongue-tied and giddy.
“Not you. Him.”
Hamasa inhaled sharply, eyes closing, body too tense to flinch.
“A friend. Ha—”
“No one. I’m no one,” Hamasa said harshly. “Sorry for w-wasting your time.”
He shoved at Marya, ignoring her squawk of confused outrage, leading them past the too-nosy knight. There was a quick thudding of footsteps and he could feel the abrupt looming presence of a threat. A large gauntleted hand fell on the shoulder furthest from Marya, turning him away from his ally and towards the threat at his back. His heel spun over dirt and his vision sharpened with a clarity he had missed for weeks.
A stern-faced young man, a few years older than Marya, stood proud and straight-backed on the dusty road. His armor shined, but the leather of his gloves and boots was well-worn and supple from use. The helmet mostly covered his face, but the opening in the middle revealed oddly familiar and smooth-cheeked features glowing pink with warmth under sweat and made older by the fierce scowl and dark ageless eyes. Eyes that were wide with shock one moment and triumph the next.
“My lord.”
Hamasa flinched and his vision blurred again, eyelids blinking rapidly. But he could too easily make out the knight kneeling suddenly and gracefully, helmet off and tucked under his arm. Inky black hair tied back neatly shined in the late afternoon sun from where the man bowed his head. There was an outcry from the squad, but Marya’s reaction was much more distracting.
“What’s he doing? Why’s he bowing? Hamasa, a lord?”
“You should not be so familiar with the Shield of the Sovereign,” the knight said with a displeased scowl up at Marya. Marya and Hamasa paled at the glance. “He is my lord or his Lordship.”
“I am no rord,” Hamasa snapped, hands shaking at his sides. He grimaced at the ill-timed impediment.
The knight made a puzzled frown at Hamasa. “It has been many years since I’ve seen you like this, but I would never forget. You are exactly who I think you are.”
“The Shield? He can’t even hoe a garden!” Marya exclaimed, both hands gesticulating wildly through the air. She barely missed thumping Hamasa with the pails again, but she did smack herself in the chest hard enough to wind herself.
“You hoed a garden?” the knight asked, incredulous and furious.
“Valerius, what is happening? You’re scaring the squires again,” spoke yet another knight. This one was tall, very tall, with blonde hair shorn close to his head, a honey-brown goatee framing his sweet-lipped mouth, and his pretty face still boyish despite a few scars on his cheeks and ears. He looked more from Harenae than from this side of the Ajul Mountains.
“It’s the Shield. We found him,” the knight, still kneeling, answered. His dark eyes returned to Hamasa. Again, somehow, he seemed familiar. The bile in Hamasa’s stomach churned. “He’s alive.”
Silence fell again.
“You think… you think this tiny kid is the Shield of the Sovereign, Kana’iro the Red?” the tall knight asked, hazel eyes on Hamasa’s grey face.
Hamasa stepped back, stomach heaving, and abruptly turned to vomit into the dust. The bile stung his nose and scraped the back of his throat.
“Get away from ‘im!” Marya bellowed moments before her arm wrapped around Hamasa’s shoulders. It didn’t escape his notice that she had put herself between him and the knights. “Are you all right? Hamasa?”
“I’m fine.” Hamasa tried to smile up at Marya, only to gag and press his hands to his mouth.
“His name is Hamasa. That’s neither Mekshan nor Riyukezan.”
“Yeah, and the Shield’s name is Kana’iro. That’s not proof, ya block of wood!” Marya snarled over her shoulder. The first knight, Valerius, stepped forward, mouth thinning into a white line, eyes flashing. Marya stood up straight, shoulders squared, and glared right back.
The tall knight grabbed Valerius’ shoulder, pulling him back and whispering in his ear. His jaw ticked and, with another glance at Marya and Hamasa, let himself be walked back to the group of knights whose voices rose as soon as he got close. Marya and Hamasa were finally left alone, kneeling in the dirt. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, Hamasa stared around Marya’s torso at Valerius, watching as he calmly and steadfastly argued with what looked like every other knight in the small squad. The taller knight, who towered over everyone there, looked torn, his eyes darting between Valerius and the others and over towards Hamasa. Another man, not quite as tall, but as powerfully built and broad, was the loudest.
“I’ve seen the Shield like this before, none of you have. My word should be enough,” Valerius said in a tone of finality.
“We all know how little your word matters when it comes to recognizing people, Kaecus. We’ve had to deal with that particular problem for the past five years,” the shorter, disapproving knight retorted sharply.
Valerius actually rocked onto his heels, eyes flashing and mouth pulled into a thin, white line once more. The creaking of metal and leather from his suddenly tight fists had a few people edging away warily.
“Maryo, Valerius is your superior in every way, you can’t speak to him like—” the tall knight began.
“Except he can’t see mirda right. He wouldn’t be able to recognize you if you so much as shaved your beard, Kelso. There’s no proof that some peasant is the Shield and I won’t be made a fool of in front of the Sovereign.”
There was an awkward shuffle until a less aggressive but similarly stern knight stepped forward. “I’m sorry, Sir Kelso, but Sir Maryo may be right. Sir Valerius is an amazingly skilled knight with more than eight years in service, however... recognizing someone, especially one he hasn’t seen in over a decade, is not one of his strongest skills.”
“Let’s get outta here before crazy tin can man starts brawling over your honor or something,” Marya whispered, tugging Hamasa to his feet.
He had to hold onto Marya’s arm until he regained his balance, but they managed to get away unnoticed. They ran through the sparse forest, neither stopping to look back. The moment they got to the farmhouse, Hamasa went straight for the well. Marya slumped next to him, dropping the pails of food to the ground and rubbing at her sweaty face. Hamasa washed his mouth out with water from the well and spat into the grass. Then, with a pained glance around the farmyard, he started towards the forest.
“What are you doing, idiot?” Marya shouted, exasperated. Hamasa almost smiled at the return of her favorite word, but she yanked Hamasa to a stop by the back of his shirt and he choked instead. “You’re just gonna take off into the wilderness with nothing?”
“I haven’t anything to take with me,” Hamasa answered simply, eyes on the distant mountain range.
“You’ve got me! Friends, remember?”
Hamasa gaped at her. “Even after—”
Marya crossed her arms over her chest and rolled her eyes. “Even after some lunatic thought you were some lord or something? Yeah!”
Hamasa sighed, relieved to his very bones. “Thank you so m-much, but… but I have to go. They’ll come here again. When they hear about the crater,” He gestured needlessly towards the bare, shallow depression still all too obvious.
“We’ll just tell ‘em the truth. Your spell went wonky, and you blew yourself up,” Marya told him with a reassuring smile.
Hamasa shook his head. “I can’t.”
Marya snorted loudly. “I know it’s embarrassing, but you don’t got a choice.”
“That’s not it,” Hamasa tried again desperately, but with Marya’s stern glare, he knew he would have to convince her this time. He wracked his brain for something believable. “There’s a very good chance they won’t believe me, or they’ll take me back to Riyushu to face a trial. Reckre… uh, reckless use of magic, property damage, and human endangerment? They’re very serious charges.” And some of that wasn’t even a lie.
Marya’s eyebrows rose. “I ain’t gonna blame you. It was an accident. Why do they care?”
“It’s how it works. Riyushu is built on proper procedures and protocols.” Hamasa wrung his hands, his heart beating too hard as his eyes rose to the sunset. Twilight, and his window of escape, was closing in quickly.
“We’ll go face ‘em together.”
“No! I can’t go back!” Hamasa shouted, red-faced and panting. Even more desperate, desperate enough to choke and heave. Worry took over Marya’s righteous indignation, and she helped Hamasa sit by the well, rubbing his arms briskly.
“All right, all right, we won’t go to Riyushu. But you can’t go off with a burr under your saddle. We’ll leave in the morning. They’ll be too busy fighting to come this way for awhile, I bet.”
“We?” Hamasa wheezed. Marya nodded.
“We.”
“No, but your mother, your farm—”
“Mamá can take care of this place on her own for a bit and I always wanted an adventure,” Marya interrupted firmly, winking for good measure. The heaviness weighing Hamasa down lightened even while shame colored his cheeks. “We’ll come back when that crazy Lance gives up on you. He looks like a real stickler, no chance he’d try to do anything on his own. His friends will be dragging him outta Elorra soon enough.”
“You’re sure?”
“Sure I’m sure.” They shared a small smile. Then, Marya looked away and rubbed her nose. “All right, your lordyship, let’s break the news to Mamá. We’ll pack tonight and take off first thing in the morning. Didja have a plan in mind?”
“Not really…?” Hamasa admitted sheepishly.
Marya burst out laughing. “A’course not. We’ll get Mamá to help. She travelled a while with Papi before they settled here. Before Sangsierpe.”
“I’m so grateful, Marya. If I could repay you somehow, I would,” Hamasa said fervently, getting to his feet alongside Marya.
“I know, I know. I’ll trade it in some day. Let’s finish our dinner and get to planning.”