***
Dorthea had insisted that the group stop. Ngare was annoyed, Raahi was nervous, Robert wasn’t sure what was going on, and Yaris was exactly the same as she always was. They had come across the remains of a large fire, still smoking, with glowing embers beneath the ash.
“It’s six hours since we’ve been goin’, and they’ve had naught but two meager rest breaks and about a gallon of water between ‘em,” Dorthea said. “You say the nearest river is fifty miles south of here, and we don’t have time for the detour. So’s we’re stuck to what store of water and such as we got for now. Right?”
“Yes.” Ngare was unimpressed. “And what shall we do about this?”
“Well, I just happened to talk to my friend Raahi earlier about his flute and his musical training, and I bet he’s got a song or two that might brighten the spirits of a tired horse.”
Recognition leaped to Raahi’s eyes. “I might.”
“Meanwhile, I am going to cook up a stew.” Dorthea began rummaging in her knapsack.
“Stew?” Ngare asked.
“Yes, my grandma’s grandma’s recipe. It’s for horses when they need a little extra and for people when they need a lot extra.” She looked up at the mid-morning sun. “And I figure if you expect these horses to make it back from this trip, and if you all think you’re going to accomplish anything in the confrontation that’s to come, we’re all going to need somethin’ extra.”
“Don’t try to re-ignite that fire,” Raahi said. “It’s bad. Start a new one.”
“Bad?” Dorthea said.
“Bad.”
Dorthea busied herself with the new fire. “Won’t take me ten minutes. We’ll suck it down and be on our way.”
The matter seemed to be settled. Robert was uneasy with stopping, but even less easy with moving on. What were the Phoon really? And what did it mean to be held captive by them? The Elite Guard were off in a group talking to each other and going over tactics. The wounded woman, whom Robert learned was named Sala, had been expertly bandaged by Dorthea and seemed to be doing well after sleeping several hours in the carriage. Her color still was not good, but her hands were steady. She, too, had listened to one of Raahi’s songs.
“Slave!” Yaris screamed from her place in the lead carriage; no one had bothered to untie her or let her out. “Slave! Come here. Come here right now!”
Robert acted as if he didn’t hear her. He had already told her several times that his name was not “slave” and that he would not answer to it. He looked at Raahi, who just shook his head and walked off to play for the horses.
“Slave!…Slave!…Slave, slave, slave, slave, slave!”
Robert began walking, whistling as he did so, toward the circle of Elite Guards. He could feel Yaris’s aggravation like boiling oil on the back of his neck. It felt wonderful.
“Oh, fine. Robert!” she called out.
Robert wheeled around, wearing a huge grin. “Yes?” he crooned.
“Come here.”
Robert walked over to the carriage and swung wide the sturdy wooden door. He considered waiting for her to say please, but felt that he had already won a victory and needn’t be cruel.
“What can I do for you?” Robert said sweetly.
“You can tell that horrible peasant that I won’t eat any of her dreadful stew,” Yaris answered.
“Okay.” Robert turned to leave.
“Wait,” Yaris called after him, just a little desperation in her voice. “You don’t have to leave right now. She’ll get the message one way or another.”
“Uh-huh.”
Yaris dripped sugar into her voice. “Um, do you think you could untie my hands?”
“I don’t know,” Robert said. “I can ask Raahi or Ngare and see what they say.”
“Oh, come on,” She said, batting her eyes clumsily, “I’m sure you’re capable of making a little decision like that on your own. Take some initiative.”
“Initiative?” Robert said.
“I mean, take some control of the situation; be a man…”
“I know what initiative means,” Robert said.
Yaris smiled. “Of course you do, scholarly, young gentleman like yourself. It’s just that my right hand has been asleep for something like four hours, and I’m afraid my thumbs are going to fall off, and so on, and… Where am I going to run to anyways?”
“Well, I sympathize,” Robert said. “I’ll go talk to Raahi.”
“Ugh! Slave! Do as you are told and untie me right now!” Yaris glared her most royal glare. “I am the princess, you are the, the…”
“Slave,” Robert interjected.
“I shall be obeyed!”
Robert turned and walked off. She kept yammering on behind him. He figured she would run out of breath eventually. He contemplated talking to Raahi about Yaris and her sleeping fingers but saw that he was busy playing for the horses. The music that passed across the dusty plain was lively and full of bubbling notes. It did make the day feel better. He started to go over to talk to Ngare and the Elite Guard, hoping they would comfort him with their fierceness in these times approaching turmoil, but Dorthea stopped him mid-route with a bowl of piping-hot stew.
“Ready already?” he said.
“Not much time for art and careful simmering,” she said. “In fact, take it up to the carriage. We’re going to eat on the road, I think.”
They piled into the carriage; Dorthea asked Raahi to drive this leg as she intended to feed Yaris whether she liked it or not.
The stew Dorthea made was very hot and smelled sweetly in a way that Robert could not identify. The concoction reminded him of the farm outside Song, of the light and flowers there. When he drank it, he felt his body opening up and drawing more air out of the sky, as if he were learning for the first time what it meant to take nourishment.
“This is great stuff,” Robert said.
“Well, thank you,” Dorthea said. “You should have seen them horses take to it. I raised Darius on the stuff, and you’ve seen him. Wish he were here now.”
Dorthea stood up in her seat, a steaming bowl of stew in her hands. “Alright, princess, time for breakfast.”
“I, uh, what’s in it?” Yaris asked.
“Lots of good stuff. Most of the store of food that the soldiers brought along. Also some special ingredients from the farm back home.”
“Could you unbind my hands so I can eat it myself?” Yaris asked.
Dorthea looked at her incredulously, remembering the last time Yaris threw food at her.
“I promise to be good,” Yaris said.
Dorthea relented. She unbound Yaris’s hands and gave her a good-sized bowl of stew. Yaris sniffed, nose full of wrinkles, stuck her finger in the bowl to test the temperature, very carefully took a sip of the hearty substance and pondered it a good long time.
“It’s not awful,” she said, perhaps surprised.
“Well, I’m glad to hear it,” Dorthea responded.
9. The Mountain Pass.
The Narlith Mountains rose up on either side like the brown fangs of some elemental titan. The range moved on in both directions, crawling to the south all the way to the River Sole. The pass itself may have been a riverbed at one time, having dried up through the years. On the other side of the mountains lay the Phoon wilderness, a dense jungle of green and black, with biting snakes and all manner of alien creatures within.
The Phoon knew the mountains but did not like them. They had slick skin and needed the humidity and rain of the jungle beyond the western slopes. As the day progressed and they approached the pass, it became apparent that whoever was following them was making incredible speed. They would not come close to the eaves of the forest before they were overtaken. They would have to hide and fight amongst the rocks.
The Phoon caravan entered the pass, the wide opening leaving about twenty feet of flat land on either side. Acheron pulled Esmeralda out of the Crawler, placed her on the ground next to a great red boulder. All but
the key drivers of the vehicles exited and stood, not really at attention, off to the side. Acheron bunched his right hand into a fist and raised it into the air. “Down, down,” he called out.
The three spidery vehicles shook, rose up and plunged their wide middle sections into the earth. The ground seemed far too tough to dig into, but the metal legs stabbed and spun with such menace that the earth surrounding them was chewed up, and the vehicles sank lower and lower until they were completely covered with dark, gravelly soil. The drivers of the vehicles crawled out from these tombs, grey soot over gleaming eyes, ghosts from the stone.
Acheron looked out over the plain. “How many are in this scouting party?”
Esmeralda sat silent.
He turned, his red eyes ignited. “How many!”
“I don’t know,” Esmeralda said. “How would I know?”
Acheron paced before her, tense. “We lost three in the escape, one more wounded. That leaves us twenty-one. You have no idea how many they would send out front?”
“No,” Esmeralda said. “I could make something up, if you would like.”
Acheron turned his full attention onto her. “Let us not forget our positions in all of this, princess. Your disgusting father did a strange thing, sending out a small force immediately, on horseback. The way they tracked us, they must have left almost before the kidnapping was achieved. Very unexpected for that bloated monstrosity of an army. But I still have you. You are not going to get out of this. Do you understand? You had better pray they don’t come with overwhelming force. Because they are not taking you alive.”
Esmeralda returned silence.
Acheron raised his fist and shouted in a booming voice: “Up.”
The Phoon scrambled up either side of the pass, finding clever hiding spaces at different elevations. They slid behind and under boulders and within barely surviving shrubs. The Phoon may have been of little mind, but they were well trained; by the time the commotion had ceased, they were all but invisible among the stones.
Acheron grabbed Esmeralda and slung her bound body over his shoulder, holding her in place with his left arm. He clambered up the northern slope of the pass, incredibly agile for only using three limbs.
“We are the Phoon,” he said as he went. “Your people don’t have a chance. I don’t care how many they bring. We will rain arrows upon their heads and storm down out of these hills to clean up what’s left.”
He set Esmeralda down behind a large bolder and tore a strip of cloth from his shirtsleeve. “Have to keep you quiet.”
“I could just promise not to make a sound,” she said.
“That you could.” Acheron tied the gag as if he’d done it many times before.
Esmeralda looked at him with fierce hatred.
Acheron smiled.