(Sorry, some how this chapter got deleted off, found out when I was doing the jump links for serialized stories. I promise to chastise the guilty fingers severely later, after I get done with the blog design issues I'm dealing with today.)
(sorry, it got deleted off)
The thud of my onagera's hooves on the packed earth of the trail was matched only by the wind racing by my ears. Few creatures can tax a drako in its chase for food, but onageri are there on that list. While in the air, a drako can fly faster than the onageri can run. But the turns, the fast changes in directions, that was the thing that let the onageri survive the predations of dragons.
And she was starting to show those skills, things we called cuts back in the days I served in the Custodi. Mainly as it felt like one's saddle was cutting one in half, when those six legs changed directions. It was like the ground was off to the side, not below one, pulling one to it even where it wasn't. I worried she would not see a burrow of some desert creature, but her instincts were truer than her ancestral line as I remembered them. I could feel her twisting from some I was sure.
She cut back south suddenly, my face catching the sun, and with the burn of the recent exposure on it, it reminded me of the pain from that night in my past, awakening my fears of fire. I hoped this was not from our pursuer being close. Vainly.
The hairs on my arms, neck and head stood up with that uneasy feeling one gets when stranded alone on the open prairies during a thunderstorm. The drakonis of the Grey Mesas don't breathe fire, but a air so full of power its like the lightings, but a ball that rolls out, dancing along in strange ways. I remember seeing one bounce down a canyon and then launch into air above, without hitting its mark, others had the skill of one playing a gave of pins, to send that ball of power curving along lines of the powers of the world, striking their targets with deadly accuracy, despite the touchy nature of their weapon of destruction.
The mare knew that feeling too, and unleashed again her speed, as we returned to the Via, giving her purchase on the earth to unleash her fastest paces. I wished for the softer ground above the Rima, in case I was tossed aside, but knew she could still show her paces here on the sun-baked pavement of the desert.
The ball of death missed, as my hair lay down again, but my nerves stayed fired up as I had no way to know if this was a young beast in pursuit, or a mature one. I prayed it was one of the older beasts, who would decide the thrill of the chase was not worth the smallness of the meal. To that end, I tried to melt into my onagera's neck and back, pressing as firmly as one dared. The smaller we seemed, the better chance I had to convince the drako or draka to give up on a snack.
This one was either very young, or very hungry, as it did not give up right away. I could feel moments of fear again pressing on my mind as it let its aura pour out in an attempt to subdue us with fear, not knowing we had not ran in fear but to avoid being crushed by its now dead companion's fall. It tried several tactics to bring us in, including stooping upon us from above, but not grabbing us in its talons. I began to wonder, were we being hunted or herded, after a while.
Knowing that I needed some knowledge, I let my inner eye gaze upon her, steeling my anima against the aura I was looking upon. I could see only the power of it, raging anger at something, and a ring of smoke and fire around the lightning of the ball. Like a collar or chains, that ring seemed. I could not get much in the way of detail, due to the nature of the brief glimpses I could get inside my clearest range. Despite the brightness of the auras of the drakonis, the finer points still eluded my observation by lack of clarity. I could sense there were larger details, like that bond upon it.
That made me almost sit up. The flame and smoke, a bond upon someone, to make them do as some mage wished. I was seeing proof of a beguilement, the very powers that were magic, laid upon a being to force them to do the bidding of another. I dared not pursue this inquiry further, I somehow knew. Any sorcerer powerful enough to bind a dragon to his or her will would certainly be able to sense one tracing those spells, and perhaps have set trap enchantments into the main spell.
So running was the only option, short of turning to fight, and I dared not trust to my truly blind luck in a fight. Nor did I have a weapon capable of letting me fight such a beast. Taking on a dragon with a knife is not my preferred way of ending my own life. Then again, I was sure Ringelius would be able to share a tale of his doing so and living, if he were with me. Or he would have taken the suggestion that we try such foolishness.
My few glimpses had told me a bit by this time, that the one giving chase was older than the one I had slain, more focused, and aware it was bound, struggling with the spell trying to free itself. On one swoop, it had missed to the side of us, furrowing the Via with its claws, like a plow through a long dormant field. That close pass had let me see those details, as well as coat me in the dust and dirt it had thrown up into the air. The beast was male, and thus very upset at being controlled, for the blue scaled drakonis were a male dominant race, the females being more passive, allowing the males to take the risks, and the greater rewards that came from them. Not that a female would not pursue one to the ends of the earth if starving.
The ride went on, and I could feel the dust sucking the moisture from my skin, my mouth, and everywhere but my bladder. How much of that fullness was just the fear, I could not tell. But I dared not stop to relieve the conditions. The best I could do was use the canteens I had on my gear with me to let the onagera take what moisture she could on the run from my hand, and toss the empty skins aside, as a trail if any survived the battle we had fled, while praying it had not been a slaughter. Not being able to see, I had no clue as to distances traveled by the landmarks, and with the many swerves and detours the mare took, even twice daring by the echoes off the walls some of the washes to escape the drako, seeking safety in the draws that cut into the Rima. One the drako wisely sensed and denied us. Then herded us with little subtlety back to the westerly course and the road.
I felt the sun slowly fading from view, as the light washed out the world as I saw it, leaving me blind to what lay ahead, for as of yet, I had not seen an aura cast a shadow. I had to trust the onagera, let her run the race we were in, and pray with the fall of darkness and cooler air, we could lose the flying lizard in the sands. The hope may have been vain, but it was all I had at the moment, short of finding a wandering slayer of dragons in between jobs and willing to do a low budget killing. Then, night dropped her blanket on the world, leaving it in the bleak hands of the darkness.
At least, to others. For me, the world bloomed into a place of moving lights, as the creatures and plants of the world were passed by. A passing that told me it was not hunger, but some other motivation driving our foe to keep us moving west. The onagera's strides had begun to falter from time to time, even the best endurance racers would by now. That she had lasted for this long amazed me. That I had stayed in the saddle was a miracle.
As the air cooled, the onagera began to slow her pace, fatigue at last showing in her steps more often as we moved onward. The long run with only the few licks of water worried me deeply, sooner or later we had to find a waterhole, and unless it was well inhabited by heavily armed and alert knights, we would be a meal. The cooler air meant that soon the rising columns of air the drako rode would die down. And drakonis hated having to work at flying, which is why so few flew at night, unless there was a volcano, lake or some other terrain feature that gave off heat all night nearby to rise up into the air, and lift their massive bodies without extra effort.
One could even hope the beast would give up on such a small meal. But that band of smoke and fire around its aura nagged at the corners of a memory that refused to step out. The feeling about it told me something, but my brain was still not functioning the way it should. Finally we went quite a while between stoops, and I noted as it steered us to the desert the most recent time his breath was very labored. We would be safe from a stoop again, I was sure, or it would come to ground. And if it landed to follow us, even an exhausted onagera could outrun a fresh drako on the ground over time. It would be those first few moments of burst speed lizards can use that would be the tale if we survived to tell it.
Then a hint of verdant green and blues appeared in my aura vision, a broken line just to our right, towards the Rima and the canyons leading up to it. As I was learning more of my vision now that it became apparent. I was hoping at first, as I gave a gentle touch to the reins, and finally my mount trusted me. Soon brush was smacking me in the face, despite the height I sat at, with that rich smell of fresh earth washed down from above, and I could not hope in my blind state to find a draw too tight for the drako. vegetation was the only reason I could tell where this wash from the Upper Lands the Jai' was part of.
Then came the smell I hoped in her dehydrated condition the onagera would not succumb to. Any who say water has no smell, have never been in the area of a stream, lake or water fall. The water may not have its own odor, but everything it touches, even the air, is enhanced by it being there, wafting out the siren call to come and drink deeply.
We were not deep in the desert, so at least I did not have to worry about the alkali waters and other bad waters of the lands to the south of the Via. And my faith in the intelligence of my mount increased as she found a small channel of water that ran separate from the main wash, well shrouded in trees and scrub. I was just happy that we were not open to attack from above, but still, if it wanted to, I had seen drakonis in many a strange place over the years. We would not be truly safe unless it gave up, or he was dead.
When I tried to lower the remaining skin to the water, the onagera flicked it up from the water, taking the empty bladder of hide in her teeth, then moved quietly upstream a ways before letting it go. Most times, horses and onageri could care less if your canteen is filled. She had learned the reason for the skins. But having only one left made our flight more predictable to any who knew it. I could only hope the drako was not very observant. Vainly, I was sure.
After the skin was filled, I fumbled in my saddlebags, finding a compressed bar of seeds and grass, a thing we called a pabulum later, for just such journeys. It was the onageri equivalent to a bag of dried meat or hard traveler's biscuit. She took it from my hand as I held it out, after stopping to drink again. Inside was something I had not expected to find, two empty water skins, and in the one on the other side, two wrapped sets of biscuits and smoked meats. I cared not for the day of the kalend, tearing into one of them myself quickly, but wrapping the others up before some predator caught the scent and came to investigate. Then again, only a desperate beast would challenge a drako for its prey.
Above us, i could faintly sense the aura, circling, almost confused. The onagera wanted to run again, but I held the reins tight, taking control of her, whispering to her calmly as I studied our foe, and tried to calculate how far we had come. At least four washes, and once we had turned into the desert for a long time, taking advantage of a place the sands had retreated well back from the road to turn back west. While there was hope to the west, in the form of the Knights of the sands, there was also a grave danger, in the form of the Queen of Flame. I could only pray she was in one of her torpid periods of minimal activity, not the manic burst I had faced her in before. Four washes would have been thirty leagues as the knights measure them, nearly a full hundred of our milles. but if we had passed another canyon mouth area, then it would be nearly a hundred and twenty-five milles.
Stade are the normal way of measuring distances in my folk, until the distances became too far to count easily, then came the milles, and of late many of the gens had adopted the league of the homani for sea and long land journeys. It was an astounding distance for maybe two thirds of a day and night cycle. And nearly half the distance we had planned to take a week to cover. Turbator would have been pressed to have done the same. I took a moment to try and figure which draw into the massif of the Rima we were before. I tried to sniff out the plants and touched the trees to determine types. But when I found crying woman trees, I nearly fell out of the saddle. Six draws we had passed, the crying woman trees never occurred in any of the draws, save the Canyon of the Weepers, six draws west of the one we had descended, and the only other one that anything other than a goat or man without a horse could travel from the desert to the upper lands. And it was another thirty milles west of the draw we had descended. My mind whirled. She had the speed, and something Turbator had not had, endurance over a distance.
Which meant we were getting close to the territory of the Queen of Flames, and our foe would be able to follow us only at grave risk to himself. I chuckled at the thought of my bane being my savior, especially if word could be leaked to her later, after I was safely hidden from her anger. With my own weapons, a guard of all the Custodi and half the Knights of the Sands, as well as thirty to forty of the short folk and their axes.
I sighed, and waited. wishing I dared rest this vision I was blessed with as its curse arose, in the form of a hellish headache. The drako circled above us, each circuit his aura dimmed a bit, as the struggle to stay in the air without updrafts took its toll. Still not close enough, until a sudden swerve made the onagera tremble with the desire to leave this place. He landed across the wash, I would guess, by the darker green auras that his still startling bright one nearly consumed in its glow.
Then came a thing I had never dreamed of. The damned lizard spoke to itself, in frustration. Dragons tend to be arrogant about the senses of lesser beings, like elves and humans. This one was contemptuous of my senses, but had he known of the aura sight, he may have been more cautious.
"Cursed Majesty of Conflagration, and damned fools as gave us to her. Secure the one with wrappings on its face, bring to the Fires for her vengeance." Dragons give a snort when disgusted, that some have compared to a blast of storm winds crossing a cesspool. That smell traveled across even the still moving waters from the storms of the night before, making the onagera move, and me gag. This beast had either eaten rotten carcasses of late, or swum in that oubliette I compared its breath to. "Mine is the power in Sands, but she give commands. Crush the eggs of spawn of Hatha-grewu-Lanko for making this bargain. Eat spawn as hatched, feed her to half-beasts of sands in bits."
Not a happy drako. The talk of binding made me look hard at his aura, as he was now within the stade I could detect some details within. The ring around his aura was not a band as I thought, but two claws, one dark, shadowed with smoke and the other bright with fires I knew all to well.
Somehow, someone had found a spell to enslave a dragon. I had friends among the drakonis, but that friendship gave me no power over them, save that of the normal bonds of friendship. But this was servitude, forced upon an unwilling drako, many by the sounds, though dictated by the decision of the leader of the clutch of the Grey Mesas drakonis. She was gambling on something she should know better than to hope for. The spell of draconic enslavement had been used only by one being until now, that I had heard rumors saying something of
We were being herded. Separated and guided like sheep. My anger was up, I tucked my hand into the bag, to pull out the smoked meats again, just to show the creature I was no longer rattled by it. My hand did not find it, but something else. Something Numeni made and rarely let out of the Centuries, even in the Custodi, you had to turn this thing in when the mission was over. A hand crossbow. and the chablys shafted bolts with the perfect diamond heads to penetrate even the scales of the toughest dragons. I had no idea where the family or those with me had gotten this weapon, for they had been recalled I had heard, by the Decemviri to prevent them from being used against their partisans in a civil war.
I dared not trust to the touch of the gods of luck, or even more of the touch of my dark mistresses in the Parcae. Still, the Numeni crossbow made a sound that dragons feared, and that could be used to stir him, make him give pause as to if I was the one he sought. I spent a while stringing the small and deadly device, and more trying to gauge distances. I would need to charge him across the open, and the device, once fired, would take a great deal of time to wind back and reload while riding. A task my blindness could make impossible if things went wrong, causing a rearrangement of the saddle bag.
I used the crank slowly, encouraging the onagera to stir beneath me through the brush in a circle. I trusted this mare after the ride we had made so far. She was smarter than any save Turbator, full of courage, and best of all, she responded to me as if we had been together for years, except in that insane charge. I was not sure if she was one of the many animals I have made some connection with over the years, or just the best kind mount, one that knew the rider had to be worked with. Whatever the truth was, she made noise, as if I was off her, fighting her to get back on.
The drako fell silent, and began one of those slow stalks only a reptile can manage, with their cold blood allowing them to move slowly as they closed on prey, with no twitching or false steps to give them away. I watched, using the closer, still darker auras to judge his approach by. The game he spooked as he did so gave me the noise cover I needed, as I finished the winding and set the bolt in place. He must have taken a few moments to devour one of the beasts, as the onagera tried to make her move. I wanted his hunger taken down a few notches. Freshly fed and in the cool desert night air, this foe would soon be slower than us by a ways. It would take him longer to heat up in the morning while digesting as well, so he might not set out by wing to catch us until the midday. By which time I hoped to be approaching the keep of those who maintained the road we traveled.
Once the bolt was nocked in, it took a bit to get her facing the suddenly silent dragon who was waiting for us to give some sound. I ignored all the training I had gotten the one time I had been issued one these before to take care with sighting, ways to breath as one squeezed the release lever, and to avoid the desire to lift it vertical to start cranking for the next shot before the first hit the target. Blind luck would be my only way of striking, that and getting as close as stupidity of my mount and self could achieve before breaking downstream to find the Via again. Leaning in, as a gust of wind filled the wash, I whispered the words, "Charge, shot, left, road, run west."
As the breeze died, and the drako was probably trying to freeze in an awkward position until a foot could find ground quietly, I bounced my ankles into the onagera's ribs, pretended I was one of those foolish tribesmen fom the distant east, yelling until it hurt my throat. She was not happy, but she took the commands, so father must have trained her. The onagera charged again, not the reckless charge of before, but one of a speed suited to the brush we had to break through, and the leap to the sandy bed of the that followed it. The burst of speed towards the drako's aura made me suddenly realize a hit was possible, this was not a young fool, but a nearly mature beast who was very large. I counted the steps then yelled again as I pointed my hand at the aura and jerked the release, not caring about the voice of my instructor in the back of my mind shouting "Squeeze, not jerk!"
The commotion of trees and brush snapping and being uprooted, and that same scream of primal fear and pain as at the ambush told me I had hit, I prayed for a vital target, but would be happy if I got even a graze to put some fear in the monster. Then with a hard turn that almost unseated me, we were headed downstream to the Via. Prayers that we found no holes in the bed of the wash as the onagera moved with many cuts telling me she knew that the ground was not her friend were answered. I had no clue again as to the passing of time, but with the hard right turn to follow the stars to the horizon and the climb out of the cut in the land made by the erosion of raging waters, we were off again on the full gaited run.
Behind us the aura of the drako lagged. The wound, the feeding and the cold were acting as I had hoped, slowing the beast until the sun could warm its blood. It had tried to make it to the Via with us, but failed. At the turn, its reflexes and muscles gave out, and we heard it collapsing behind us. Though I might want to check and see if it rose, the onagera wanted distance between us and the drako, so she raced again across the hard packed earth of the Via, seeking to get away. I heard no more sounds behind us, but was not willing to ask the onagera to let up.
The night grew cold, and then the auras were slowly leached from my sight, as the sun rose at our backs. The onagera rode on, crossing numerous more washes as we came into the raised lands of the desert, and the Rima Magna slowly fell down towards the land here in the northwest corner of the arid lands. More washes, some falling now from the mountains I knew to be ahead of us. Twice the onagera had left the road, riding out in the ashes and sands, why I could not say, but only think some one had been on the road ahead, and she wanted to uneasy passing. It was the very thing we had done in the Custodi. Perhaps mother had spent more time than father with the mare. But for all the training and breeding my family had given her in my long absence.
As the angle of the sun rose in the sky, I counted the paces at last as the onagera was tiring enough that her legs could no longer keep up the run or gallop. A slow canter was all she had left, when at last we came to a wash with water, where she let me reign her in, as she drank her fill. I leaned on her at first, then my legs gave out, and I wound up sitting in the flow. Her head nudged my chest gently, so I lay back in the water to wash off some of the dust. The cool water was sweet, tasting of sage and cedars, telling me we were almost clear of the Margo Fatalis. I could smell the cedars, and knew their scent would protect us if the drako had yet to catch sight of us from rising on the building thermals that sucked the wind down to the desert floor.
I sat up slowly, cupping water into my mouth with a hand, trusting the onagera to alert me to danger. At last I had not choice, as she wanted to get out of the stream, so I pulled the reins down and brought her head down to help me up, leaning on her, as we entered the cedars, to rest. The grove was on an island in this wash, with many fluff trees, the cedars and a good stand of grass. She took to grazing in the shade, as I snuck under a tree I hoped had no blood thirsty ticks or other things in, and took a short nap.
When I awoke, the air told me it was still afternoon, as waves of heat came from the kiln floor called the Grey Desert even up the normally cooler washes in the foothills of the Rima. I have heard the lies about dry heat, and how its better than humid heat. The fools who say those things never stood on the edge of that arid expanse. I was dry from the dust of the ride so far, and was glad to have the onagera there to guide me to water. She seemed to have figured out by my groping for her reins that I was unable to see. I dunked myself in the stream fast, rinsing off what I could of the dust, still fearing it would turn into the stone with the water's touch. But it felt better.
Mounting up proved more difficult, as my old injuries were talking a lot at the time, but we went back into the trees, waiting for the first hints of cooling in the air to ride. There was no tension in the mare, beyond that of wanting to move around. Even the onageri stiffened up if they stopped too long after a hard ride. Dismounting was painful, but easier on us both. I was tempted to wait here, but Norbanus would not look for me alond the way. So soon we would have to move on as he had told me to, steering west to the mountains and Kralazinth, the keep of the Knights of the Sands.
At last the air cooled a bit, and the sun was not beating down as hard on the wash. I gave the clicking noise my mounts had been trained to respond to this time, and the mare came to me. I thanked the gods and my mother for the training this onagera had been given in my long absence from my herd. I would have to do something very nice for my family on my return.
Before going further, I lifted Soludrin's stone, and whispered briefly to him of the events, promising more later, but telling him to be patient. And found I could still sense his impatience and worry over the distance from the stone. It gave me pause as to if it was all the stone, or some other donum rising up in my mind, far-speaking being a gift common in my family, but not one I had shown before. It faded though after a few moments. Perhaps it was just some sensitivity to the stone's endowments.
Getting into the saddle was tough, but I managed, settling in never really happened. Once I was on her back the onagera decided it was time to move out, and she worked her way through the tangled mess we had hidden in, costing me only a few spines form a prickly pear cactus, and two small branches in the face. More scars to show someday to disbelieving children around the campfires of winter when such tales as this can be told. I had a bad feeling this would not be the only tale to come from this journey of mine.
Being alone when blind is a fearful thing, even with a mount as good as this one. I had no one else there to aid me in navigation. I was trusting to the sun on my face for direction, and that grew weaker too soon. Clouds was my hope, another sandstorm my fear. A worry with no foundation in my prayers. We moved slower than before, but she still showed her desire to put more distance between us and the drako. A feeling I sympathized with, but wished she would stop for a short moment for me to settle in better, as certain parts of my anatomy that were very sensitive were taking abuse they disliked.
I suffered, and prayed I could get my right foot in the stirrup firmly enough soon to stand in them. It took a while of riding but at one point on the road she slowed to a hesitant walk, sensing my discomfort, and I achieved some relief with a quick grab of the saddle's horn to stand, and a shifting of my weight. As I sat, she did a circle then took off at a full gallop once completed. The roar from the sky told me why. Luckily, I had the crossbow loaded again, and opened my vision to see the aura falling from above in a stoop. I got off another shot, then had to hold on for a while, glad that bolt tossing device had a wrist loop I had gotten my hand into.
I became grateful for the reseating I had gotten. She found the Via and we were off at break your neck if you fall off speeds again. The drako had not liked the buzzing of the bolt I had loosed, and remembered the hit from earlier. His aura was still weaker than before the lucky shot. He did not stoop again, as we fled away, and seemed to have trouble climbing up on his own power. I could pray I stung a wing, as we raced into a colder breeze, loaded with the smell of rain suddenly. With every stride the fear grew that one of the washes would be full of racing waters, but from here to the keep the road had bridges. But a bridge limited one's choices, something I did want, but had to accept as the draws in this part of the Fringe were really ravines, deep with sharp cliff sides.
The sounds of stones under hooves told me we had reached the first stone bridge, sending fingers of fear into me. Fingers that missed their grasping motion, as she crossed before the drako realized the edge the bridge gave him. Speed, it seemed, was indeed life in this little chase. There is only a few stade between the ravines, thus we were crossing the next one about the time his pain and spell fogged mind could wrap itself around that idea. Again, the hooves found packed earth on the other side of the bridge, as the beast began his own race, to reach that last bridge between us and the keep.
Then he roared in rage and hate, as we made the bridge, crossing fast, joined by horses trying to keep pace with the onagera as we did. The onagera slowed at last, her body wet to the touch, hair matted with desert sands and dust mixing with the sweat.
“Halt, rider. State your name and purpose upon our road at this hour.” Annadari, the tongue of the homani of the old fallen empire. I could not tell who made the challenge, as I had lost my aura sight for a short while just moments before when the mare had tossed her head violently, knocking my head with her thick skull. The same spot I had found the overhang with days before too.
My aura sight tried to flare up, and was so wild it left me disoriented, then died away. I was too exhausted from the ride to even challenge them back. We slowed to a walk, one she did not stop direction on, despite attempts of those around me. The air was thick with the smell of rusting iron, an odor I had long associated with human knights and warriors. I hoped these were not brigands. Finally, the mare let herself be stopped as they surrounded us.
“Its an elf, men. Don’t touch him, your armor will cause him pain.” A voice with that ring to it that only command gives a speaker. “One of you squires, lose anything metal on yourselves, get him down and watered, he looks all done in. He is hurt if that bandage on his head means anything.” Mercy on a traveler gave me hope, and their ranks told me they were Knights of the Shifting Sands. The ones who kept the road safe for travelers. I could trust them. Their code of honor would make them, for once I took water from them, I was under their protection.
They were very careful, keeping the armored ones away from me as much as possible, until the squire had me down. Several more moved to lead the mare into a cooling walk, giving water in a bucket slowly. The one helping led me a short distance to their camp. A stream that tasted vaguely of copper. There is only one such stream in this part of the road. Gods. The mare had run that distance, two hundred stade, and won through. I was amazed. Turbator had not that stamina to cover the distance in that time.
Again their leader came to me, as I began to recover a bit. “Now, may I please have your name and purpose?” His voice was stern, but without anger. He was just doing his job, to protect the approaches to Kralazinth, the keep of his order on the western end of the northern caravan route. Only on the road to that fortress of theirs was there a stream that ran across copper ore rocks.
I gathered myself as best I could, and but still found I could not sit up straight, or speak without pain from the time without water. “I am Billenius, and I flee a trio of drakonis that ambushed us three days ride west of Varus Draw.”
No sooner than I spoke these words, than a call came from some member of his party.
"Captain! Flash signals on the Rim!"
The leader grunted as I heard another approach. The leader addressed him. “Galen, check him out, carefully. He has some old scars on his face, I think.”
The warmth of a lantern’s contained flames warmed my visage. I heard the gasp of the one called Galen. “Gods Above, Sir! He is Billenius Varus. The one they said fled in the rebellion two greater moons ago.”
“Carsus, get to the keep, fast! Tell them we have the Augur! Now!” He strode to stand before me. “Majischa’s crown! Galen, you’re right, its Billenius the Blind. Augur, forgive my rudeness, but lone riders of late have...”
He was cut off before he could finish by the one who had called about the rim fire signals, those lonely outposts of his order that used smoke and fire signals to relay messages. “Sir! Report of party of the elves ambushed five days ride west of Varus Draw! Twenty six survivors, some dismounted! His story checks out.”
There was a long silence. Then the captain spoke. “He out rides the fires, and keeps course when blind. The gods truly do have their hand upon him. No horse or onager has ever beat the signals before.” I could sense by the creaks and pops his armor made that he had squatted now before me. “That onagera must be fast indeed to carry you ahead so far. And from your past reputation in Pelori, I would ask her name, so I know the horse not to bet against.” He was laughing now.
There was only one thing faster than anything else, so at last I gave the mare a name. “Gerrae.” His laughter was the last I remembered as my fatigue took me. Laughter that I knew only rumor could move faster than news.
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