——— 3 ———

⁠—⁠—⁠— III ⁠—⁠—⁠—

“Guin… please, I need to rest. I don’t think I can walk one more step.” Rinda, panting heavily, collapsed on a small rock to the side of the path. Remus trudged over and sat down beside her.

How far had they run? Their raft had splintered on the boulders, and the knights were yelling from the other shore, ordering them to come back. One of the crossbow shots meant to warn them hit a rock right next to Remus. The drenched companions had started running, and never looked back.

By the time the twins’ legs were threatening to give out from exhaustion, the sun had long since fallen below the horizon, and the night was thick about them. Guin and Istavan exchanged glances⁠—even the hardened mercenary’s shoulders were heaving. He sat down without waiting for Guin’s nod of approval.

“We’ll be fine, nobody’s going to cross the Kes River by night on horseback!” the soldier declared, catching his breath as he pulled a vasya fruit from the leather satchel at his waist. Eagerly he began to eat. Their gati⁠—the ground flour balls used as rations in the Marches⁠—and the dried meat they carried had all been soaked in the noxious waters of the Kes and had become inedible.

For a short while the companions rested in silence, Suni and the twins breathing heavily and rubbing their tired legs. After a time Istavan looked up from his fruit. “Let’s make a fire,” he suggested. Guin looked as though he was going to stop him, but Istavan waved his hand. “I told you, we’ll be fine. Or do you plan on spending a night in Nospherus huddling here in the dark?”

Guin had to agree, the mercenary had a point. They went about collecting armfuls of dried moss and soon had enough to start a fire. It was small, but, gathered around its warm light, they felt safe for the first time since the attack on the river.

“Well, well, well,” Istavan, who had to be the first to comment on anything, spoke as he chewed on his vasya fruit. “Our raft is a fine bundle of bigmouth toothpicks, and we’re being chased by the Gohran army. This puts a bit of a damper on our plans, eh?”

Rinda snuggled up next to Remus and pulled Suni close beside her. She stared at the fire. Somehow, sitting here stroking Suni’s furry head, she could forget where she was and everything that had happened to them. And looking at Guin⁠— the firelight illuminated half of his leopard face, strange and powerful as a myth⁠—she felt that even if she had no one else to turn to, she was safe here with him.

Istavan’s chattering continued: “Well, we can’t go back to Gohra, that’s for certain. Especially without a raft. Then again, we’re not going to have an easy time making it through the no-man’s land as unprepared as we are. Flaming torqrats! Jarn’s really got it in for us this time. Unless you got a plan, leopard-man?”

“Maybe,” muttered Guin, “but it’s not worth talking about now. Our path is clear: we cannot turn back, so we must go forward.”

“Hunh!” Istavan scoffed, and sounded as though he was going to tease Guin again when he made a choking noise and waved his hand as though he was brushing something away from him.

Rinda looked up. “What’s wrong?”

“Doal! Blasted angel hair! Stuff came floating up and stuck to my face while I was talking.”

“Be careful,” Guin warned. “Angel hair is harmless enough in small amounts, but if enough of it gets on you, it’ll go up your nose and choke you to death. Those floating strands are the most common living things here in Nospherus.”

“You seem to know a lot about this place,” said Istavan, sullenly. “And why not? You came from here, didn’t you? You’re probably happy to be home, eh?”

“Why do you keep saying that? You don’t know Guin’s from Nospherus!” Rinda protested.

“Cause every freak’s from Nospherus, little girl,” said the mercenary. “But that doesn’t help us now. So! We go forward. Fair enough. Care to let me know how you plan to keep us alive while we’re doing that? And tell me also where exactly we’re headed out here in the middle of this no-man’s land without enough food even to make a single decent meal? To Kanan?”

“Yes.”

“You know how many tads there are between here and the Kanan Mountains?”

“I think so.”

“So let me get this straight.” Istavan began to draw in the sand with the point of his knife. “We cross over the Kanan Mountains⁠—just a few ranges of pathless mountains. Fine. Simple as whacking a louse. Then there are the jungles and the rivers to cross; and once we’ve done that, we have to make our way through the strange countries of the Eastlands and find a ship to take us to Cheironia. That all part of your plan?”

“I see no other way.”

“Okay, let’s get started then,” said the mercenary with forced gaiety. “That would take a soldier on foot… hmm, about a year without rest. Even assuming we eat what’s left of this scrawny Sem girl⁠—”

“Istavan!” Rinda’s eyes opened wide and she hugged Suni to her protectively. “Y-You can’t eat Suni! Barbarian! Beast!” Shocked, she could barely get the words out straight.

Istavan’s black eyes twinkled mischievously. “You don’t eat monkeys where you’re from? In Valachia, we used to roast them on festival days… Mmm! Now that was a feast!”

Rinda, realizing too late that she was being teased, bit her lip and fell silent, glowering. Suni looked back and forth between the humans as though she half-understood what was being said. Then she wriggled her way out of Rinda’s embrace and went over to Guin, where she began chittering loudly in a high, worried tone.

Guin tilted an ear towards Suni. With an air of surprise, he began to talk back to her in the same high staccato language. Suni responded, more urgently than before.

“Hey, Guin. What’s that monkey chattering on about?”

“Don’t call her a monkey, you⁠—”

Guin raised a hand to silence the indignant princess. “Suni says she does not forget the life-debt she owes. She says it is dangerous to wander Nospherus this way. We should go to her village. The Raku tribe will thank us and give us safe passage through Sem territory to wherever we wish to go.”

“Really, Suni? You can help us?” Rinda’s face melted into a smile and she enfolded Suni in a joyful hug. The little Sem girl chirped and returned the embrace.

“The Sem, save us?” Istavan looked incredulous. “By the fiery tongue of Doal, I’ve never heard a finer idea. Why don’t we just run ourselves through with our swords right now and save the fiends the trouble, eh?”

“Really!” Rinda glared at the mercenary. “To use the Dark One’s name so freely, and on his very doorstep no less! You shouldn’t swear so, or you’ll have us all suffer for your impudence!”

“Hah! You don’t get anywhere as a mercenary hiding your head under a rock every time someone says ‘Doal’! Why, in the betting pits of Valachia, that’s one of the nicer words you hear!”

“My!” Rinda hastily made the sign of Janos. Both the twins looked genuinely shocked. “If we weren’t already in the wildlands of Nospherus I’d say you’d cursed this journey! Why, you’d curse any journey!”

Istavan grinned. “You might not be too far off. You know they call me Istavan ‘Spellsword,’ the Crimson Mercenary of Valachia, but there are some who call me by another name: Istavan ‘Calamity-Caller.’ The man who brings trouble wherever he goes.” Istavan’s voice rang with a sort of brash, perverse pride.

Remus grimaced. “I can believe it.”

Chuckling, Istavan went on to elaborate. “That’s why, wherever I go, noble lads pick fights with me and get killed, while proper ladies have affairs with me and are thrown out of both court and house⁠ ⁠… and even great castles fall, like Stafolos, eh? My talent, of course, lies in the fact that no matter what calamity I bring about, I’m able to escape by the skin of my neck. I’m the only one that seems immune to the calamities I bring! I think that’s got to be some sort of divine power, don’t you? Someone’s watching over me, and it’s not high holy Janos or that old geezer Jarn. No, I think the big bad guy Doal himself is looking out for Istavan, and as allies go, that’s none too shabby.”

Remus’ face was pale. “Why don’t you just sell your soul to Doal right now! Your jesting is⁠—”

Remus stopped. Guin and Istavan seemed transfixed; even Suni sat motionless. Everyone was looking at Rinda.

A change had come over her. Her face, gleaming in the light of the campfire, had ceased to be her face at all. Gone was the youthful innocence that had played among her noble features. There was a new power there, and she was a true princess now, almost holy, like a shrine maiden at the temple of Janos. Her eyes were dark and shimmering, and looked as though they held the wisdom of a thousand years. The others held their breath and waited for her to speak.

Rinda lifted a hand, her movements seeming too graceful and measured for one so young. She pointed at the mercenary from Valachia.

“Soon…” Rinda’s voice was not her own; it had become older, hoarser, wiser, and almost terrifying. “Soon, you will know, O bringer of great calamity, you will know that misfortune does not spare the messenger. Your disaster is always nearby, and it will come to you in time. When the Lionstar rises victorious, bright enough to erase the star of your misfortune from the sky… only then will you know peace. All of the Middle Country suffers the calamity you carry on your endless wanderings… it will not release its grip until your star fades in the dawning light… it…

“You will know that the light of that unlucky star falls on you, too.”

Her pale eyelids closing like heavy shutters over her eyes, Rinda slumped abruptly, the strength seeming to run from her body. She leaned onto Remus beside her.

“What was that?” Istavan began, ready to have some fun at the seer’s expense, but he could not find the words to continue. It was not fear, but a strange kind of numbness that had come over the young mercenary, as though he had witnessed an eternity that stretched forever, too vast to comprehend. He stared at Rinda.

Here, in this corner of the no-man’s land night, it seemed that time and space had stopped and tilted all their weight upon him. The gloom was never-ending and the night showed no signs of breaking. An intense loneliness came over Istavan, a feeling of isolation that froze his heart. He looked around confused. He was searching for someone, anyone, a living body, an inhabitant of the world of man. What he saw instead was a darkness and night that gave him no respite from the eternal void. Floating before him was the face of the otherworldly shrine maiden who spoke of his fate, her eyes half-closed like those of a mask. Across from her the half-man half-beast warrior sat erect, her guardian angel he seemed, or perhaps an idol from some bizarre cult.

The faces of the Sem girl and the heir to the throne of Parros were swallowed in darkness, so that all he could see were the leopard-headed warrior and the young Farseer who seemed to Istavan’s eyes disturbingly close right then to being a goddess.

And time stretched on forever⁠—

Istavan shuddered. The young, reckless mercenary had been promised an unusual fortune from birth, and it had given him an indefatigable sense of humor and self-assurance, but now he could not stop trembling. How many blood-curdling adventures had he seen? Was he not invulnerable⁠—the Spellsword? Still…

Time was stopped, frozen. This was a place which those in the hands of fate, mortal men doomed some day to die, should not trespass⁠—should not even look. The chill tremors that crept from the bottom of Istavan’s soul and shook his body like a leaf were nothing more than a manifestation of his realization that he was seeing what he should not be seeing. He did not belong here!

“I…” Istavan pried his tongue from where it was stuck to the roof of his mouth and made to say something. Then, in the campfire, a brand split with a loud crack, sending sparks up into the night air.

The spell was broken. The campfire wavered, and time began to flow again. In the light of the fire were four creatures of flesh and blood, all walking the threads of Jarn’s loom, all mortal.

Istavan quietly took a deep breath. He exhaled, trying to get out the last of that horrid feeling of loneliness that had come over him a moment before. Get a grip, Istavan!

Guin leaned forward and prodded the fire. The lack of expression on his leopard features made it seem as if he had not even noticed the anomalous moment. He turned his shining yellow eyes towards the others and spoke.

“When dawn comes, they will send riders after us. That is what I would do, were I lord of Alvon. It is certain that they have made a connection between our presence on the river and the fall of Stafolos, and if their eyes are sharp, they may have seen Suni. Should they then think that we are part of some raiding party, enemies of Gohra returning to our Sem allies, they may come in great force indeed. It may be dangerous to travel by night in the no-man’s land, yet travel we must. We need to put more distance between us and the river.”

“Yeah…yeah, you’ve got a point,” Istavan agreed. There was still a trace of the chill in his voice, but he quickly perked up. “We should get moving. But what I’m still wondering is what Torus white knights are doing in the red knight territory of Alvon. Something fishy is going on, I’ll bet my sword on it.”

“Do not wager your sword, we will need it,” Guin growled. “We must make haste to find a place where we can hide. Then we can plan what to do next.”

“Plan?”

“Yes. We cannot run from the Gohran forces forever. They cast a wide net, and their scouts’ eyes are well trained.”

“You saying we should fight back?” Istavan scoffed, giving Guin an incredulous look. He seemed to have forgotten entirely the strangeness of a few moments before. “By the long forked tongue of Jarn, what do you intend to accomplish against the might of Gohra?”

“What will you do in Cheironia?”

“Well, I was thinking I could find some warlord, pass the tests, and disappear among the ranks of his mercenaries.”

“That may be fine for you, but what about Guin?” Rinda demanded. Her face had gone back to being that of a young girl, Gone was the mysterious, divine coldness that had surrounded her when she spoke just moments before. It was as if her brief transformation had been no more than a dream. “How do you expect him to just disappear among a bunch of soldiers, looking like he does? He would be caught, and questioned, and sentenced to some horrible fate! And what about Remus and me?” Rinda bit her quivering lip.

The mercenary grinned. This was familiar territory!

“Listen, I have enough trouble just watching out for myself. I can’t go worrying about every freak that happens along, and besides, I think he’s perfectly able to look after himself.”

Guin nodded, cutting off another outburst from Rinda.

“The mercenary is right, I can look after myself. But we are in the middle of Nospherus, and there are many, many tads of travel between us and the nearest civilization, unless we are to return to Gohra, which would be walking into the lion’s maw. Tell me, Istavan, are you wholly against asking these Raku tribe Sem for their strength?”

“Their strength? I thought we were talking about a guide out of here.” Istavan smiled wryly and brushed the black hair out of his beady eyes. This boyish gesture reminded Rinda of how young he was⁠—barely twenty years of age. He’d be almost handsome if he weren’t so incredibly annoying.

“What’s going on in that leopard head of yours, I wonder? You don’t mean to suggest that we join up with those monkey tribes and invade the Archduchies of Gohra, do you? I thought that mask of yours was making the Sem girl sweet on you, but maybe it works both ways, eh?”

Istavan slapped his knee and laughed until he had to wipe the tears from his eyes⁠—an innocent display of mirth, but one that did not amuse Rinda. “Istavan! Of all the crude vagabonds I have ever heard of, you are the most insulting!” she chastised the still-laughing mercenary, not realizing that her anger was giving him more cause for mirth.

“If he doesn’t want to go with us, let him do as he pleases,” said Remus, eager to avoid yet another altercation. “Guin, we’ll go with you to Suni’s village. I don’t know about any invasion, but maybe they can help us get to Earlgos or Cheironia. We could hide there until we find some remnants of the armies of the crystal city, and⁠—”

“Remus!” Rinda cut her brother off, but it was too late. Istavan’s almond-shaped eyes widened, then just as swiftly narrowed. The mercenary chewed his lower lip with a satisfied look.

“Ah-hah. I knew there was something unusual about you two!” Istavan pointed at each of the twins in turn. “Let’s see… that would make you, and you, the orphans of Parros. So you survived the fires of the Black Dragon War!”

“Remus, you idiot!” Rinda hissed. Her violet eyes burned with an indignant rage, but they were glaring at the Crimson Mercenary. “That is correct, mercenary. I am the prophetess Rinda, of the true holy line of Parros. And this is indeed my brother, the sole heir to the throne. So now you know. What of it? Sell us to Gohra if you will, simply run back and tell them where we are. I’m sure those at Alvon Keep would overlook your desertion if you did. Why, they might even make you a knight. But you would be cursed from here to eternity by the royal line of Parros and all those faithful to it! Go ahead⁠— choose!”

“Now just hold on, little lady,” Istavan said with a wry smile. He didn’t want to admit it himself, but bearing the full force of Rinda’s wrath head-on like this was enough to make even his ready wit reel back in temporary retreat. At the same time he couldn’t help admire the beauty of her flashing violet eyes, and her proud cheeks, scarlet with rage. She was a princess, all right. Of course, he was as stubborn and cantankerous as they came, and he had a mind to let her know that.

“State your intentions, Crimson Mercenary!” Rinda demanded, heedless of his internal conflict. “There is little we can do. We cannot kill you to keep you silent, as much as we would like to, and there is not much that two orphans without throne or country can offer in the way of rewards or favors. All we have is our royal blood and our pride. We are powerless! What would you do with us? Speak!”

“Well…” Istavan chewed on his lip. His initial satisfaction at having learned the royal twins’ identity had been replaced by unease as he realized the weightiness of the situation.

Guin slowly stood, his eyes on the mercenary as he spoke to Rinda. “Princess! You are not as powerless as you may think. While you may have lost your armies, you have a faithful knight by your side, and it would be a simple matter for him to reach out with his bare hands and twist the neck of any traitor that might seek to sell you to your enemies.”

“Hey Guin…” Istavan protested.

Rinda and Remus rushed to the side of the leopard-headed warrior. “Guin!” Rinda, forgetting all her royal pride, buried her face under the curve of his powerful arm and wept for joy.

The leopard warrior did not move to comfort them nor push them away. Instead, he fixed his yellow gaze more intently on Istavan standing across the campfire.

“Don’t cry, Rinda.” Remus rubbed his sister’s shoulder. Below, Suni grabbed onto Rinda’s leg and stared up with a fixed expression of worry.

Istavan couldn’t decide whether to laugh out loud or to scream in exasperation. Finally, he slammed a fist into the open palm of his other hand and cursed so loudly that Rinda stopped crying and turned around.

“By the fat arse of Janos that spreads over the realms of this world and the next, what’s gotten into you people? From now on, I’ll have to remind myself never to throw my lot in with miserable little girls and leopard-headed freaks. When did I, Istavan Spellsword, ever say I was going to sell any orphans, royal or no, to the Gohrans? By the black bladder of Doal! How can I get you to trust me? Suppose I just stay with you, eh? Would that satisfy you? Nice and close, every bleeding minute? You can scrub my arse and tuck me under my camp blanket at night. Then you’ll know that I’m not off selling your secrets. Fine! Lead on! To the stinking monkey village or the far heights of Kanan, wherever! Take me to the den of Doal, or to bed with the wildlings; I don’t care, damn it!”

Guin grunted once in approval, and turned his leopard head to the campfire. He concluded quietly, “We should leave as soon as we may. I will ask Suni how far it is to her tribe’s village.”

The warrior spoke with the tiny Sem in her language for a while, then addressed the others again. “She says it’s a full day-and-a-half’s journey⁠—but that is on Sem legs. For us, perhaps a day at most.”

“I hope she’s right,” Istavan replied. “We’ve only a bite of vasya fruit left among us, and our water is nearly gone. If we don’t get more food⁠—even stinking wildling grubs⁠—I swear I’ll eat our furry little friend.”

“You just try it!” snapped Rinda. Guin held up his hand to silence her.

“Let us leave then. Make torches from the campfire. We head east.”

It was as though an unspoken agreement had been made that the group would follow Guin’s orders. Quickly they stood and made ready to leave, lighting torches and then dousing their fire. Soon, preparations were complete, and they set out into the gloom, moving as one⁠—the leopard-headed warrior Guin, Istavan of Valachia, the twins of Parros, and Suni of the Raku tribe of the Sem⁠—five companions bound by the will to survive.