What Was Forgotten (25 page)

Tascell motioned to Zayd that a sentry was to their right… fifteen strides… standing still. Cohvass gave them an angered, confused look, but Zayd simply motioned to the left, to the front of the column. That is where the carriages would be.

They moved up without making a sound, staying in between the two rows of tents closest to the edge of the camp. Finally they arrived at the end, where there was open ground between where they hid and the next closest tent, which looked to be Praene’s. Zayd stood just enough to look over the top of the tent and saw the line of carriages. He counted six carriages, and second to the front of the line was the one carrying the monolith. On the carriage behind that Zayd could see the iron and gold chest.

A full laugh erupted from nearby. There was a fire lit in front of Praene’s tent, creating an oddly familiar feeling in Zayd, as though he was reliving the plan that he and Barrett devised. Things would be different this time, though. He would not allow any man to take him by surprise.

Zayd was pulled back to the ground and saw Tascell, alarmed, looking at Cohvass. But the Dramandi was pointing at a figure walking around the command tent towards them. It was Devon Rindus. What light seeped through the command tent reflected off his bald head, and Zayd would have recognized the portly stature of the man even if he could not see in the dark. The knight strode to the edge of the plateau and stopped a few short strides from where Zayd, Tascell, and Cohvass were kneeling, completely motionless. Rindus had only to look to his left and he would have seen them. Then they heard the sound, and Rindus exhaled.

“Rindus! Where have you gone?” someone called out.

“Be quiet, you damned oaf,” the knight grumbled. “I’m taking a piss.” Drunken laughter was the response. Rindus was humming as he relieved himself, and without saying a word, Cohvass stood and walked over to the knight as if he was waiting for him to finish. There was no attempt to conceal himself as he approached. Rindus turned, looked at Cohvass and furrowed his brow as he tried to understand what he was seeing. And in a moment he understood. Zayd saw his eyes widen, and as the knight inhaled, Cohvass clamped both hands around the knight’s throat and wrestled him to the ground.

Tascell looked at Zayd. “What is he thinking?” he whispered.

Rindus had already stopped struggling. Cohvass looked at them, his hands still around his victim’s throat, and he smiled at them. A childish smile, like an infant recognizing a loved one. Zayd and Tascell hurried over to him.

“Do you know what you’ve done?” Zayd asked, his voice barely audible. What was this fool thinking? Praene would find the body, see that Rindus had been strangled, and would know that there was an enemy close by. He would come looking for them. But Cohvass only smiled wider still before he finally spoke.

In Zayd’s tongue.

“We thought our kind had been wiped out. It is… pleasing to know part of us lives.”

“How can you speak our tongue?” Tascell asked.

Zayd motioned for silence. They were still within earshot of the enemy, and even if they were drunk, they could still hear.

“Every river goes to the ocean from which all this owe their origin,” Cohvass stood slowly and looked around as if he did not know where he was. “Crude. We will be whole again. Have you returned to serve?”

Zayd went to cover Cohvass’s mouth with his hand, but the Dramandi slowly grasped Zayd’s wrist and pulled it away, easily overpowering him. He looked at Zayd with amusement. What had happened to the anger?

“Rindus!” a voice called. Familiar. “Rindus, we all know you can’t hold that much wine!” It was Praene.

“We know you did not find it. It matters not. We have the other key. It is across the ocean in a great city. We are there with it.
Velskotahn
is there.”

“Who are you talking to, you fat fool?”

Cohvass pulled Zayd closer, and Tascell tried to wedge himself between them to free Zayd from the grasp, but it was no use. “Take the portal to
Velskotahn
. Across the ocean. Unite the keys and release us.”

Shadows stirred from the side of the tent, and Zayd could hear someone approach.

“Let me go!” Zayd whispered. Cohvass did, and walked towards the approaching shadow, still possessed of some unnatural calm.

“By all of the night gods,” Tascell said, “what are we going to do?”

“What we came here to do.”

Cohvass turned the corner of the command tent. There was confused cursing, then shouting. Zayd sprinted towards the carriage that held the iron chest and, planting one foot on top of the rear wheel, leapt on top of it. He ran his fingers along the sides until the found the grooves which released the lock, as Sera had told him. When Zayd looked up there was a knight laying on the ground, dead or unconscious, and Cohvass was stepping towards a circle of them, their weapons drawn. The end of a sword was protruding through his lower back, and Zayd watched the Dramandi pull the blade free of his own flesh and advance against the Ryferian knights, unfazed, one steady step after another. The Ryferian knights looked upon him with terror, unsure if they should attack or flee.

One sword struck another and the sound piercing the night stirred Zayd into action. He found the releases, pressed them both in, and lifted the lid and looked into the chest.

Empty.

He stuck his hand inside and felt the bottom of the chest to make sure his eyes were not being deceived.

“
Vahr,
” Tascell said, standing beside the carriage, “where is it?”

“It’s not here. Damn them, it’s not here!” He flung the chest down and looked frantically for another one. Tascell climbed atop the carriage and did the same. They could hear a tide of voices awakening as Praene’s knights began to call for help. Zayd glanced up to see Cohvass covered in his own blood but still swinging his sword at the knights.

“We’re out of time,” Tascell said as he flipped open the lid on another container. “Did she tell you what the damned thing looked like?”

“Only that I’d know it when I saw it.”

“And?”
“And I don’t see it.”

“The Tauthri!” another voiced shouted. “The Tauthri have returned! They’re stealing from the loot!”

Tascell jumped down. “
Vahr
, we must go!”

It was all wrong. That cursed Dramandi relic was supposed to be here. They could have found it easily, could have taken it without any confrontation. Whatever it was that had come over Cohvass had robbed Zayd of that possibility. What of his men? What would become of them?

Zayd jumped down and gave a final look to Cohvass, though he regretted it; the Dramandi had nearly been cut to pieces. Most of one arm had been hacked away, the flesh of the other was it tatters, and his chest and stomach had been pierced and slashed into ruin. Only when his head was taken off at the neck did his body finally quit.

With the pounding of footsteps approaching, the two Tauthri ran to the edge of the plateau and through the gap in the palisades and down the hill. It was too steep, though, and Zayd was running too fast. It took only one misstep and he was tumbling, the world spinning round him. He heard Tascell call to him from somewhere farther up the hill, heard the Trueborn’s cries, angry and panicked, echoing off the trees. His left elbow struck something hard and his arm immediately went numb.

Tascell was standing over him, lifting him up. “Come on, they’re coming.” Zayd winced as he began to run again. He tried to move his left arm but couldn’t. The whole world seemed askew, tilting this way and that, the sound of approaching horses getting too close while Tascell ran ahead and looked back at him impatiently. How far had they gone? It felt far, but the sounds of pursuit told him it was not nearly far enough.

He fell to his knees, tried to put out his hands to steady himself, but failed and grunted loudly.

“They’re this way!”

His dizziness was so strong that Zayd had to fight the urge to vomit. Tascell threw something through the trees to confuse the Ryferian and was once again lifting Zayd to his feet. He touched his head and felt it warm and wet.

“It’s nothing,” Tascell said. “We have to keep moving.” Zayd nodded and began to walk as quickly as he could, not sure if he was getting weaker or stronger. He wanted only to stop and rest but he knew, even in the dark, the Ryferians might find them. Sera might think they had been killed. The rest of his men might die. He was getting weaker, but he forced himself to move faster.

They went down into a shallow ravine – did they cross this coming here? – and began climbing up the steep bank on the other side.

“They’re crossing water!” Zayd recognized the Garinus’s voice.

“We need to go faster,” Tascell whispered as he tried to hurry Zayd.

“This way!” The voices were closer. Much closer. Tascell pulled Zayd over a fallen tree at the top of the bank, and he fell onto his back. He closed his eyes; it was the only way to control the reeling he felt. Even with his eyes closed he could sense Tascell hovering about him.

And then, without a word, he heard him padding away through the forest. Gone.

It was alright, though. Zayd caught his breath and the sway of the world subsided. He was on the edge of consciousness and, for one merciful moment, heard nothing except the forest. He, too, was completely removed from it. To hear it the way it was before men and the way it would be after was a rare gift.

And like the rarest of things, it was also the shortest lived. There were footsteps, not heavy, but impossible not to hear. Then, he heard the breathing. He realized, suddenly, that he was cold. Had he slipped from consciousness? Was the light he saw approaching daylight? No… a flame. Coming closer to him from the ravine. It climbed the bank…… a mailed hand was on the tree trunk and the flame was nearly in view when there was a familiar exhale from further away.

Zayd did not need to see it to know. A black arrow took the knight in the throat and sent him and the torch down the bank and into the shallow stream. No one called out. Praene’s men must have spread out to look for them. When it was clear that no one else was approaching, Zayd turned his head towards the figures approaching: Tascell and Sera approached him cautiously. Daruthin stood behind them, his eyes sweeping the forest, bow in hand, an arrow at the ready. Together, Tascell and Sera lifted Zayd to his feet and helped him through the forest. Zayd could feel her eyes on him and could feel her questions burgeoning like water behind a weak dam. They would need to be answered. Even if he was not battered and disoriented, Zayd doubted he would be able to make sense of what he saw, what Cohvass said.

Or what it meant.

Chapter 15

Zayd stood alone on the footpath that led to their village. It was the only visible route, though the Ryferians, who had gone through the effort of surrounding the village, could have approached from elsewhere if they were inclined. He doubted they would since this was likely to be a confrontation more ritualistic than combative.

He did not know why they had bothered to surround them. Maybe it was just a show of strength. Perhaps they were wary of the Tauthri, that they had not fled did not actually mean surrender. It could be a trap, meant to lure in the Ryferians and catch as many of them as they could in a final spasmodic outburst that took them into oblivion.

But it was just surrender. Any who had second thoughts and stayed had nowhere to escape to, even if panic got the better of them. That’s why, Zayd thought, some were having fits. Others quietly wept.

The Ryferians took a long time to send an envoy. It could be that they were waiting for the arrival of an interpreter, but Zayd thought that was not the case; every action was probably charged with significance, if not aimed at the Tauthri, then it was significant to the Ryferians themselves. Gestures to the soldiers who had suffered and bled so much, whose physical injuries were only a shadow of damage that the Tauthri had done to their collective consciousness, to their notions of primacy. But that would return to them once their victory over the Tauthri was formalized.

Zayd looked over his shoulder at the sound of a sword hilt against a scabbard and the sound of arrows knocking together in a mostly full quiver. Wenniam stopped beside Zayd and looked down the path as though he expected the Ryferians to come charging up, swords drawn.

“Why are you armed?” Zayd asked.

“Why are you not?”

“The fight is over, Wenniam. This is the only way we will survive this war.”

Wenniam put his hand on Zayd’s shoulder and forced him to turn and look at him. “Is it worth it, Zayd? Is it worth surviving if we have
nothing
after? Because that is exactly what we will have. All that we hold sacred will only live on in memories, memories that we will not be allowed to share with our own children! What kind of life is that? To be ruled in body and mind? How many generations will it be before everything that you and I know, that our fathers have taught us that they learned from their fathers, going back generations – how many generations will those memories survive?”

“I don’t know,” Zayd said. “Three. Five. Perhaps no more than ten.” He shrugged. “What does it matter to me?”