MICHAEL JOHN HALSE ARTISTRY

Prelude:

Ascher Harma

​

Set ten years prior to the events in A Chronicle of Crowns

 

 

The cries of gulls rang in his ears like the endless screams of his nightmares. They twisted in his mind, bird to woman and back again. They were all he could hear, the screeching cries for help, the pleas for death, the weeping babes. He shut his eyes and among the shrill screams he could hear his own voice, that of a young boy, calling out for his mother. He remembered how his arm had stretched as he reached for her, the sinews and muscles taunt as his hand reached with hopeless want. He remembered how easily the tears spilled from his eyes. Salty tears. Salty drops. Salty water. The sea splashed across his face, drowning out the gulls’ screams with a hissing spray. He opened his eyes and forced the memories down.

 

The small boat jostled against a towering wave, climbing the height inch by inch before heaving and tipping forward. The sea was riotous here, where the green waves crashed against the sheer cliffs of the Drogotch Outcrop. Black rock towered towards the sky, piercing the clouds and the heavens above, dotted with thousands of white gulls darting back and forth from the waves to their shit-covered roosts.

 

The sea had fought them for days, pummeling them back, doing everything in its power to keep them from reaching land, but Ascher Harma and his men were determined. With beady eyes he watched the cliffs approach.

 

“Phromi bless us, do not throw us into the rocks.”

 

Behind him, he heard Rhyon whisper his prayers to the goddess of the oceans. But Ascher kept his tongue still and his lips tight. If the gods of the Eltani were real, they cared little for their children.  

 

“Not long now, Master Harma, no, not long now. Just as Varlyndas told you, do you see?” The fire elf pointed off to the cliffs. Ascher followed his slender, black finger but couldn’t see anything. The fire elf smiled in excitement.

 

“Do you think he can be trusted?” Rhyon asked over the waves.

 

Ascher wasn’t quite sure, but he nodded anyway. “If he wants his gold.” He eyed the fire elf. Varlyndas’s body was as thin as a reed, with skin as black as charcoal, but his hair was as white as fresh snow, decorated with bells and leaves and sticks. Ascher hadn’t met many fire elves before. There had been dignitaries from Mythos one year to negotiate trade between the elves and the Eltani, but aside from that they kept their distance from the Halfmoon Empire. The Eltani didn’t trust them; the elves were mischievous, calculating, and known for their bad luck. So far, this elf was all smiles and darting glances. Oh, he was a schemer, that much Ascher could tell, but he was the only guide willing to get them to the outcrop, and the only one who knew a way inland.

 

The Drogotch Outcrop, their destination, was a large island protected by the towering black cliffs that rose from the ocean at an impossible height. The cliffs were so high that they hung in mist, day and night, and few knew what treasures were hidden within. Somewhere on the outcrop the kingdom of Hyghdoria sat in a fertile basin, where the Hyghdorian’s tended to their griffins and kept watch on the sea, careful to bar entrance from unwanted visitors. But Ascher wasn’t after the Hyghdorians, he was after something much more secretive, something much more valuable. 

 

“Yes, not long now,” Varlyndas sneered.

 

Ascher turned to his men. He had hand chosen seven of his best soldiers to join him on this mission, seven of the strongest swords, seven of the sharpest minds within the Halfmoon Army. Even now, after days at sea, they seemed ready for anything. Hamoun Dangor and Kamuzu Seef were sharpening the group’s blades, making sure their curved sickle blades were well prepared for what lay ahead. Ze’hev Peleg and Aetes Nassor were counting the inventory, readying the group’s packs. Bel Nabu, the youngest sword of the group, still looked green from the voyage at sea, but Tufaelli Rasheedha, the healer, was tending to his sickness and mustering the boy’s courage. 

 

“Once we make landfall we should set up camp, weather out the night by the sea. We will not get far up the cliffs with night on our heels.” Rhyon Ghandir was Ascher’s commander, his confidant, his friend. For years they had served together in the Halfmoon Army. They had fought against the Essodi tribesmen, commanded a fleet on the Maze Delta, put down the insurgencies of the southern empire. Rhyon was his closest friend, his only friend. 

 

“I do not think that would be wise,” Ascher replied. “The night will be stormy and the rock will be slick.”

 

Rhyon frowned. “The elf said we cannot carry fire inland. The monsters will see it.”

 

“He knows the way inland. We will trust him to guide us.”

 

Rhyon shook his head. “I still do not think that we should bring him. We can find the way on our own. How hard can it be?”

 

Ascher snorted. “Have you ever tracked these beasts before? No, you have not, and neither have I. No one has seen one in hundreds of years. We could be chasing fables for all we know. Varlyndas says he can find them, so we will take him with us. Besides, we will need his boat if we are to get off this salt-licked rock. I do not expect the Hyghdorians will willingly give us aid. If they knew we were trespassing into their lands, we would have a squadron of griffin riders on our tracks faster than Varlyndas can spin a tale.”

 

“Griffin riders,” Rhyon spat. “Let them come for us. We are Eltani warriors! Hamoun’s swing is the mightiest in the entire empire, and who can string a bow as well as Aetes? Man or beast, we will defeat them.”

 

Ascher chortled and clapped his friend’s shoulder. “Rhyon, always the optimist,” he said.

 

“Someone must keep the company’s moral high, Ascher, to counter your gloominess.”

 

Ascher sighed. It was true; he was not a jolly man, not like Rhyon or the others. Ascher had always found more comfort in silence than anything else. He knew how to fight, and he knew how to plan a battle, but he had never been good at cracking a joke or inspiring his men with courageous words that stirred the heart. He had always relegated that task to Rhyon. Rhyon was the bridge between his isolation and his influence. But on this mission his mood had been extra grave. There was one thing weighing him down, one thing that hung heavy from his chest. He had avoided telling Rhyon for too long. Now, as they neared the cliffs, he knew he must share his burden. He pulled Rhyon close.

 

“Listen,” he began, “There is something I have yet to tell you. Something she has commanded of me, of us.”

 

Rhyon’s smiling face became stern. “Something to do with the quest?”

 

Ascher nodded. “No one knows she has sent us here. She wanted it kept secret, she has many enemies in the empire, and those enemies have many spies.” He sighed heavily, and his shoulders fell with the weight of his words. “I did not agree with her on this, but she commands it, and I will not stand against her.” He glanced back at the men; they were all preoccupied with their preparations. “Once we have found what we have been sent to retrieve, only you and I are to return.”

 

Rhyon frowned. “What of the others?”

 

Ascher shook his head. “She will not risk it. She wants as few people as possible to know about this. She commands that we kill them.”

 

“Kill them!”

 

“Shhh, keep your voice low!”

 

“These are soldiers of the empire! Valiant, courageous men, men who we have fought with countless times, we cannot just–”

 

“We must Rhyon, we must. She commands it.”

 

“I will not bare steel against my brothers,” Rhyon replied. “There must be another way. We can leave them behind, take them to the Tropic Cay, leave them in the city-states, Shayba or Huangwru, there must be another way Ascher!”

 

Ascher shook his head. “She commands it.”

 

“Well damn her. Damn her, Ascher. Damn her and her quest.”

 

“She is your empire, Rhyon, hold your tongue. You will do as she commands; you will do as I command. I am sparing you, Rhyon, do you not see? She wanted me alone to return, but I told her I could not… not after…” His words were choked in his throat. Still, after all these years, he couldn’t bring himself to say it out loud. The memories flashed through his mind again, the screams, his mother… they flickered like flames in his mind, threatening to engulf him. “Rhyon, I command you,” he whispered. 

 

Rhyon’s eyes fell. He let out a defeated sigh and gently shook his head. “Yes, general,” he replied. “As you have commanded.”

 

Ascher clasped Rhyon’s shoulder. “Dear friend, there will be other men. No warrior is irreplaceable.”

 

“A warrior, no. But what about a friend?” 

 

“There! I think I can see the pass!” Bel Nabu’s voice cracked over the waves. The sick youth’s face shone with the prospect of dry land. One by one, the company stopped their tedious chores and looked towards the black cliffs. There, in the fog, the cliffs parted, just the slightest, and the water lapped at a steep stair that wound its way up the cliff. 

 

“Elf, is that it?” Rhyon called. 

 

“That it is, Master Ghandir. Varlyndas told you he could sneak you into the griffin riders’ lands, so he shall,” Varlyndas replied. 

 

The fire elf steered his little boat into the crevice between the cliffs, riding the high waves, careful not to scrape the boat against the black rock. Upon reaching the cliff’s edge they spent an hour tying the small elven boat to the rocks, careful to make sure it was well secured so the waves wouldn’t wash it out to sea.

 

“What happens if the boat slips away?” Bel asked as they knotted the last of the rope.

 

“Then we will die on this rock,” Hamoun grunted. 

 

The sun was setting as the company began their assent. It was slow going, the path was steep, and the winds tugged at their clothes, grabbing tight and pulling them towards the sea, down, down to their deaths. Varlyndas led them, the only one among them unhindered by the slope or the winds. He cheered them forward with wide gestures of his black hands and encouraging words that bit with hints of mockery. “Not long now, Eltani men. Varlyndas knows the way. Your bodies are weary with the weight of muscle and fat, and the wind tugs at your shirts like a whore paws at a prize, but you mustn’t tarry with the whore, and you must fight through the weight.” More than once he turned to Hamoun and sang, “Master Dangor, might Varlyndas shave a pound or two of your flesh so you might become as spry as himself?”

 

“The only thing as spry as you, elf, is my cock with those whores you tease us with,” Hamoun would growl back. Each time Varlyndas would double over with cackling laughter that mimicked the screeching gulls. 

 

As the night grew dark Varlyndas disappeared into the black cliffs. Ascher was left to follow his white hair that glistened with what little moonlight penetrated the hovering fog. It was well past midnight before they reached the path’s height, and still, on either side, the cliffs rose higher and higher into the black night. 

 

“Here, Rhyon,” Ascher said as he caught his breath. “We will set up camp here, get some sleep and continue on in the morning.”

 

Rhyon nodded and went about setting up camp with the others. Ascher felt frail, his legs were tight and cramped, his feet were bloody and swollen and his heart could not seem to catch up to him. He wanted nothing more than to curl up and sleep well into the day, well into the following night. He chanced a glance down the stairs they had climbed. It was so dark that he couldn’t even see the waves below.  

 

“You call that a stair, Varlyndas?” he asked into the night. 

 

“You asked Varlyndas for a way in, Varlyndas show you. There are easier ways into the outcrop, the griffin riders have many doors, but you asked for a way around their kind, you say they do not welcome you.” The fire elf tossed his hands in the air, “You men are all alike, warring with each other, quarrelling with each other. We elves, we walk where we like. The earth was ours once. It will be again.” The elf grinned in the darkness, and all Ascher could see was his white hair and teeth shining back at him. 

 

“I hate to think about climbing back down,” Aetes said from behind him. The archer was carefully peering over the edge, frowning at the height. “Coming up was difficult enough.”

 

Ascher shifted uncomfortably where he stood. What was he supposed to say? This man wouldn’t be making the trip back down. Ascher felt a knot in his stomach. 

 

“I will take the first watch, general, if it pleases you.”

 

Ascher was about to reply when the fire elf stepped in. “There is no need for that Master Nassor, not here on these cliffs. The beasts are far inland and the griffin riders roost for the night. There is nothing to watch, but where you place your foot. Best that you weary men get your precious sleep.”

 

Aetes eyed the elf suspiciously. “It is not the beasts or the griffin riders I mean to watch for, but rather an elvish knife at my throat.”

 

“Varlyndas would never! Oh, Master Nassor, how low you must think of me!” the fire elf cried. “Varlyndas is but a humble guide, my Eltani friend, not a murderer, sneaking around in the night.”

 

“Sneak all you want, I will keep an eye on you, night and day,” Aetes snapped back.

 

Ascher raised his hand and quieted the archer. “Varlyndas is right. We must catch our sleep. The climb was rough, I am sure we will all need it.”

 

Aetes reluctantly nodded and returned to the camp. 

 

“My thanks, Master Harma,” the fire elf said with a smile. “You have shown Varlyndas such kindness.”

 

“You are our only guide,” Ascher replied. “Without you the quest will fail.”

 

“Oh, it may fail yet, Master Harma. Your prize will catch a pretty price, if we manage to escape with it. A fortune large enough to ignite the greed in your men’s hearts. Such corruptible things, the hearts of men, how easily they can be bought. Count not one of these men as your friend, Master Harma, for friends make the most dangerous of enemies.”

 

The elf slunk off into the night leaving Ascher to watch his men gathering around the dark camp, sharing bread and salted fish before they settled into bed for the night. He caught Rhyon staring back at him in the moonlight. His friend was still frowning, still burdened by the command given to him. 

 

But the elf is right, Ascher thought to himself. I must not think of these men as friends. They must be nothing to me, not friends, not enemies – nothing.

 

***

 

The bones were nothing, but brittle remains charred black like delicate charcoal waiting for the wind to blow it away. Varlyndas’s long fingers gingerly danced across the bones as he muttered to himself. Four days they’d been tracking their unseen prey, over ridges and sand dunes, sharp cliffs and barren wastes. As far as the eye could see there was nothing but dust and rock and sand littering the landscape, painting it with hues of beige and yellow and brown. Back the way they had come, the black cliffs of the ocean rose to the heavens, their tops shrouded by ominous clouds. The weather on the outcrop was poor. The winds whipped the sand around the company, dusting them with yellow grit that stained their clothes and stung their eyes. The clouds above were dark and stormy, rippling with lightning, but never spilling. It was a desolate place. A waste of an island. Nothing, but craggy rock and piercing stones for miles and miles.

​

"Still warm…” Varlyndas mumbled. 

 

“Is that good?” Ascher asked.

 

“Yes, Master Harma,” Varlyndas replied. “We are close.”

 

“Good.” The men had become restless, even Rhyon was fouled by the bleak wastes.

 

“We are not used to these lands,” Rhyon had whispered to him the night before. “The wind, the dust, the darkness. The ground is singed, everything here has been marked with fire, and yet there is none in sight. The skies are volatile above our heads, and yet they do not spill. It is strange here. And the others, they do not believe the fire elf to be trustworthy.” Ascher had supposed as much. The looks they gave the fire elf were not painted with kindness. “They do not trust that he knows how to track our prey. Even Ze’hev says there is precious little to follow. Ze’hev, who stalked the last of the white lionesses through the Savannah Lands! How long are we to follow blindly on this ridiculous quest?”

 

“Hold your tongue, Rhyon,” Ascher had snarled. “We will turn back when we have something to show for ourselves.” He turned and faced the rest of the men, gloomily huddled in the dark. “We have not yet been out a week and weariness has taken you? You are the Halfmoon’s finest, are you so easily defeated by a gust of sand? She sent us here with confidence, we will either return with what she asks, or die here on her quest.”

 

“As you say, general,” Rhyon replied. But of the men, he was the only one with a voice. The others sighed and slunked off to bed, another cold night under the black skies with no fire to warm their bones. 

 

“…their bones. We have reached the edge of their territory.” 

 

Varlyndas’s voice pierced Ascher’s memory of the night before. “What was that?” he asked.

 

“The bones,” Varlyndas replied, crumbling what once was an animal’s jaw in his palm. “The beasts mark their territory with the remains of their kills. Not much longer now, no.” The fire elf stood and pointed a bony finger to a high ridge in the distance. “Does Master Harma see the mountains there? That is where we shall look for the nest. That is where we will find your prize.”

 

Ascher grunted his approval. “The sooner the better.” He chanced a look back at his men. They still carried their glum faces and vehement glances, all but Rhyon. 

 

More days passed, two, three, and the ridge in the distance slowly crept up on them. As they approached the ridge more charred bones littered their path, trailing soot into the wind. “It is a wonder these beasts find any prey at all,” Hamoun boomed when they stopped to inspect what seemed to be the remains of a large bovine. “I have not seen any living thing scurry past since the gulls on the cliffs.”

 

“Ahh, Master Dangor must listen more closely,” Varlyndas said. “The land teems with life. The scrapping feet of the lizards as they scurry from rock to rock, the gentle tap of spider’s legs on the hard rock floor, the moan of camels on the wind, the flapping of bird’s wings in the sky. There is life in these wastes, Master Dangor, if you listen for it.” the fire elf got a wicked smile that curved his mouth and exposed his pointed teeth. “Although from the look of your hammer and sickle-sword Varlyndas would wager that you know little of seeking for life, but know better how to snuff it out.”

 

Hamoun’s face turned scarlet, and he snarled as he reached for his hammer. “Watch me snuff yours, fucking elf,” he spat. He lunged for the fire elf with his hammer held high. It would have split the elf’s skull were it not for Rhyon and Kamuzu. The two threw themselves at Hamoun, trying their best to restrain the brute. Ascher stepped between the elf and the angry warrior, commanding Hamoun to stand down, but the brute seethed with rage and contempt, boiling with hatred for the fire elf.

 

“General, on the wind!” Aetes was standing on a rock nearby, his spyglass aimed to the sky. “Griffin riders!”

 

The tension between Hamoun and Varlyndas dissipated as all turned to Aetes. 

 

“It cannot be,” Varlyndas mumbled. “So far from their gates?” He pranced over to Aetes and gazed off into the sky. 

 

“How many?” Ascher asked.

 

“Two griffins,” Aetes replied.

 

“A patrol?” Rhyon asked.

 

“This far from Hyghdoria?” Bel wondered. The youth’s face grew hard, and he gripped the hilt of his own blade.

 

“Do not pray for a fight, Bel,” Ascher said. “They are on wings, we have only our feet to carry us.” He turned back to Aetes and Varlyndas, “Do they see us?” he asked.

 

They were both silent, watching the griffins drift across the dark sky. Varlyndas stirred. “They turn towards us,” Aetes said. 

 

Varlyndas licked a finger and lifted it in the air. “The wind is against us,” he muttered. “The griffins have our scent.”

 

"Shit,” Ascher mumbled. 

 

“What do we do?” Tufaelli, the healer, asked. 

 

There was nothing left to do. They could not outrun the griffins, nor was there any place to hide. “We stand our ground,” Ascher replied. “Aetes, string your bow. Down the griffins, we can not let them escape.” Aetes pocketed his spyglass and did as he was told. His bow was taunt and ready, poised at the sky. With a scrape, Ascher pulled his khopesh from its sheath. “Bel, Tufaelli, cover Aetes and Varlyndas. The rest of you form a circle.”

 

“Two griffin riders,” Hamoun boomed. “Ha! They do not stand a chance!”

 

Minutes later two specks appeared in the eastern sky. Gradually they grew and eventually Ascher could make out the wings, spread wide, gliding on a high wind. His hands tightened around the hilt of his khopesh, the leather molded between his fingers, its worn scent filled his nostrils. The men were silent as they waited for battle, but there was buzz of excitement. This was what these men were bred for, for fighting, for killing. Ascher caught Rhyon’s gaze, and his friend cracked a smile. From the sky, the screeching call of a griffin rang out and echoed off the barren land. “Steady,” Ascher commanded. 

 

The griffins and their riders were in full sight when Aetes’s arrow went ripping through the air and pierced one of the griffins between wing and shoulder blade. It fell from the sky, poised to crash right into the men. With a clamorous thud it slammed into their circle, stirring dust and ash into the air. The rider launched himself from the beast’s back, sword held high. He swiped at Kamuzu, who blocked the blow with his long knives, and swung towards Rhyon who met the blow with his khopesh.

 

The downed griffin flailed in the dirt, flapping its massive wings and clawing at the group of men with its sharp talons. Hamoun brought his hammer down on the beast’s wing and it screamed out in pain. 

 

On the rock Ascher saw Varlyndas flinch and hold his ears. “They will hear!” the fire elf pleaded with a wary glance towards the mountainous ridge.

 

Ascher advanced on the griffin, swiping at its legs and body while it snapped at Hamoun. Above them, the other griffin still circled, sending the dust and ash on the waste floor twirling around them in a sandy torrent that blinded all. Its rider was firing crossbow bolts into the foray with haphazard aim. “Aetes!” Ascher snarled.

 

“I know!” the archer shot back. 

 

Ascher’s khopesh bit into the griffin’s left flank and the beast batted at him with its front paw, talons outstretched, grazing his thigh with the sharp tips. He cried out in pain. The cuts weren’t deep, but they bled down his pants, spilling into the dust, watering the dry ground. On the griffin’s right Hamoun was still battering away with his hammer, deflecting the creature’s great beak as it tried to pierce him. Ascher lunged for the creature’s neck, opened it up and spilled the beast’s blood. It turned to face him now and let out a warbling, shrill cry, but before it could lunge towards him Hamoun’s hammer came crashing down onto the griffin’s skull. It shattered the skull with a heavy crunch and the griffin fell limp. 

 

From the sky, a crossbow bolt ripped through the air and pierced Ze’hev through the chest. He screamed and fell to the ground, gurgling blood and shaking in his final moments.

Nearby, Rhyon gave the fighting griffin rider one final blow to his helm, cracking the metal and embedding his blade in the man’s head. Another bolt whizzed through the sky and pierced Rhyon’s shoulder. Rhyon cried out and fell to one knee, gripping his shoulder and grimacing through the pain.

 

“Aetes!” Ascher shouted. 

 

“I cannot see through the dust!” Aetes shouted back. 

 

The griffin in the sky screamed as its wing’s continued to stir up a storm. Ascher could see its rider peering through the dust at the scene below. Slowly, the griffin gained altitude. The dust it had stirred began to slow. He is retreating, Ascher realized. “Aetes, shoot down the rider!” he commanded.

 

Through the dust, he could see Aetes’s silhouette as he strung his bow and aimed for the sky. The torrent of dust and ash had begun to fall back to the earth, and the thumping sound of the griffin’s wings became softer and softer as it rose in the sky. Then he saw Aetes twitch and heard the whistle of the arrow as it flew. Somewhere above them, a man cried out and moments later a body fell to the stony earth with a dull thud. The griffin screeched as it flew away from the scene, back east; back the way it had come. 

 

“It is headed back to Hyghdoria,” Bel cried, defeated.

 

“It is one griffin, without it’s rider,” Varlyndas replied. “It will not lead others to us.” The fire elf walked around the dead griffin, inspecting the growing pool of blood that turned the sandy floor to dark brown mud. “But we must away from here, and quickly. The beasts will smell the blood and come with hunger and speed.” He smiled and his sharp teeth glinted. “That will be good for Varlyndas. We must move fast. We shall find the nest while the parents feast.”

 

Ascher gingerly felt the scratches across his thigh and seethed at the pain. 

 

“How bad is it?” Rhyon asked as he clutched his shoulder where the crossbow bolt protruded. 

 

“I have had worse,” Ascher replied.

 

Rhyon eyed the scratches and nodded. “They will scar.”

 

Ascher nodded. “What is another?”

 

“What should we do with Ze’hev?” Tufaelli asked. The healer was knelt beside the body, looking at his friend with sorrowful eyes. 

 

“Leave him,” Ascher replied.

 

“Unburied?” Tufaelli asked, perturbed. “And without payment for Primoshan?”

 

Ascher reached into a pocket and fiddled about with the contents. He fished out two coins from within and tossed them at Tufaelli’s feet. “Here is his payment,” he replied. “Leave the dead. My thigh needs bandages and Rhyon’s shoulder needs mending. Varlyndas is right, we need to leave here, with haste.” 

 

The others looked at him with mixed disgust and sorrow.

 

“You would leave him here? For his body to be feasted on by vultures and jackals and these fictitious beasts we hunt?” Tufaelli asked.

 

“We should take him back to the Halfmoon Empire,” Bel suggested.

 

Ascher sighed. “We cannot.”

 

“We can hide his body somewhere, under rocks, and collect him when we head back to the cliffs–”

 

“No!” Ascher commanded. “We cannot carry all of our dead with us back the way we came.”

 

“All of our dead?” Aetes said as he scoured the earth for left over arrows. “Do you intend for more of us to die?”

 

“Of course not,” Ascher said.

 

“Then what is one man?”

 

“Do I look like an oracle to you?” Ascher snapped. “I do not have an eye for the future, a window into what lays ahead. None could die, or all could. This land is grueling, the dead should not burden our travels.”

 

Aetes clicked his tongue. “When we fought the Nupkonkwoes in the dessert of the Massau tribes scores of our own fell to the black skinned filth. You ordered that the dead be pulled from the sands and buried, each with their own payment, their own shrouds. And yet now you deny Ze’hev the same?”

 

Bel sniffed and said, “Governor Peleg would want his grandson returned–”

 

“That is enough!” Ascher snarled. “I have decided. We leave our dead where they drop. We do not have the time to waste on silly preparations. Let Primoshan ferry the dead or let him refuse. Tufaelli, my leg.” 

 

“What do you think, captain?” Aetes asked Rhyon.

 

For a moment everyone was silent. Rhyon’s gaze shifted between Aetes and Ascher. Ascher could tell his friend was conflicted. Rhyon wanted to bury Ze’hev, Ascher knew as much, but he struggled with his loyalty. “The general is right in this. We do not have the time to spare,” he whispered. 

 

Not another word was said about it. The others went about readying their things while Tufaelli bandaged Ascher’s leg and pulled the bolt from Rhyon’s shoulder. Once they had been mended, they continued on. Already the dust had coated the body of Ze’hev Peleg in a fine, orange film, blurring his features, hiding the identity of who he once was.

 

Ascher turned back once to look at the scene. Two dead Hyghdorians, their blood-soaked beast, and a warrior of the Halfmoon Empire. No, there would be no proper burial for Ze’hev Peleg. To bury and weep for him would mean to remember him as a friend. And these men, these warriors of the empire, were no longer friends of Ascher Harma. They were warriors. They were expendable. They were pawns. Their deaths would not haunt him, this he would guarantee. 

 

***

 

That night he dreamt of his mother. Still the image of her dead body, lying there in the rubble, in the fire, haunted his dreams. Years ago, the details of her face had faded from his mind. Try as he might, he couldn’t summon her features, her eyes, her mouth, the set of her nose, the curve of her cheeks. Instead, she was just a shape, a body, a familiar pose that evoked feelings of motherly loss. He cried over her. A boy, a man, overwhelmed with grief. Around him the fires still tore through the village, the raiders still trampled the ground on horseback. The shrill cries of the dying rang out. She would have no proper burial. Her body would succumb to the elements, to the fires, and turn to ash. He, too, would have been among the dead were it not for an outstretched hand, for a face similar to his, riddled with loss… 

 

“You have tracked these beasts before, you said?” The day was hot, and the wind was battering against them as they climbed up the cliffs. Rhyon had been pummeling Varlyndas with questions about the beasts all morning. There was a buzz of excitement as the company climbed higher and higher up the ridge, closer to the promised prize at the top.

 

“Yes, Master Ghandir, many times has Varlyndas tracked the beasts. But not in many years. There are few now, your kind saw to that,” the fire elf said. “Varlyndas always found that odd. Your people once worshipped them you know. The great Eltani emperors of the past would sit atop their backs and fly them into battle. And then one day they were gone… why?”

 

“There was a war,” Rhyon replied. “Much of the kingdom was devastated by their reckless fire. Our capital was scorched. Our people, ruined. Our culture was on the brink of extinction, so our emperor did what he thought was best and asked for aide from the Hyghdorians.”

 

Behind them, Hamoun spat and cursed.

 

“They agreed to give us aide under one condition: that we kill the beasts. The empire had fought wars with Hyghdoria in the past, and always we had razed their ships and lands with our beasts. The griffin riders feared them.”

 

“And still do,” Varlyndas put in.

 

“The Hyghdorians are not completely to blame, fire elf,” Hamoun huffed. “They came to your kind for steel. Only elvish blades could pierce the beasts’ hides. Did you forget your part in the eradication of these beasts?”

 

Varlyndas’s shoulders fell, and he turned away from the men. “Varlyndas had no hand in the bloodshed. There was a time when Varlyndas was… away from Mythos.”

 

“Where were you?” Ascher asked.

 

Once more Varlyndas shrugged. “Gworewen, Kosovia, the lands along the Messelian, the Empire of the Golden Sun… anywhere, but Mythos.”

 

“You are well travelled, fire elf,” Aetes noted. “I have never known anyone to venture to the Messelian. So far is it from our own borders.”

 

“The white-stone villages of Messenia, the dinomancers of Kosivia, the fires of Mindia Olba. The world is wide, Master Nassor. There is much to be discovered.”

 

“Perhaps if I had the lifetime of an elf,” Aetes replied. 

 

“Ahh, but what is eternity without truly experiencing existence, both in life and death?”

 

A guttural scream filled the air, a sound unlike anything Ascher had heard. It started high-pitched, wailing, like the song of a whale, and turned deep and booming, snarling and angry. Everyone pulled themselves close to the cliff, trying to make themselves as small as possible. Only Varlyndas ventured out to inspect the skies. A second call rang out, louder than the first, and two large shadows swept over the company. Ascher looked up, and above them two great drakes swooped from the heavens out across the land. They were larger than he had expected, thrice the size of a warhorse. Their hides were covered in scales and bristly feathers of varying colours and hues that rippled against the drab backdrop of the wastes.

 

“They know we are here!” Bel whined.

 

“No, no, Master Nabu, they will not sense us,” Varlyndas said. “The smell of the griffin’s blood has muddled their nostrils. We may yet go unnoticed. But quick, we have no time to waste my Eltani friends.”

 

Their climb quickened. They all found strength within them, either fueled by exhilaration or fear. They scaled the cliff and within the hour had reached the top of the ridge. Once there, they caught their breath while Varlyndas continued to look for clues as to where the beasts’ nest sat. 

 

“There is no way we can wrestle those beasts back to Kahiro,” Hamoun mumbled, looking off in the distance. “Even my hammer quaked at their call.”

 

“Their young are our mark,” Ascher said. “We will bag them and then make haste back to the cliffs.”

 

“And if their parents follow?” Aetes asked.

 

“Then may the gods smile on us.”

 

“Here, Eltani men! Varlyndas has found a clue!” It was the remains of an animal, half charred, ripped of flesh. The ash left a trail along the ridge, one they followed without delay. It wasn’t long before the bones and litter began to clutter the small ridge. They were getting close. Minutes later the nest sat before them, as wide as Ascher was tall. It was made with bones and mud and thistle-bushes, mashed together in a stinking circle that reeked of putrid blood and flesh. 

 

“Where are the young?” Rhyon asked.

 

“There is something in there,” Bel pointed.

 

In the centre of the nest sat five round eggs, each as large as a man’s head and coloured with a pearl sheen. 

 

“They are not yet hatched,” Hamoun noted. 

 

“Gather them up,” Ascher commanded. “Quickly.” He stepped into the nest with Rhyon and Hamoun, and they began carefully moving the eggs into large sacks. On the cliff edge, Bel was shaking nervously, glancing back at the valley below. “Find your courage, Bel,” Ascher commanded. 

 

“I am afraid it is all lost,” Bel shakily replied. “They could be back any minute.”

 

“Best we leave them something to keep them occupied,” Varlyndas said with a wicked smile. With unnatural speed the fire elf snatched one of Kamuzu’s knives from their sheath around his waste and dragged it across Bel’s throat, spilling hot blood down the youth’s chest. Kamuzu advanced on the fire elf with his second knife, but Varlyndas was too quick. The fire elf drove his stolen weapon into Kamuzu’s leg and with a flick of his wrist, managed to unarm Kamuzu. The fire elf spun the man around, and held him tight, the knife at the man’s throat. 

 

The others stood still, their mouths agape, staring numbly at Bel’s body. 

 

“The eggs, if you would,” Varlyndas sneered. 

 

“I do not understand,” Ascher said. “We had a deal. We were going to make you a rich elf.”

 

“Unfortunately, Master Harma, Varlyndas has accepted a much more lucrative offer.”

 

“You know how to track the beasts; you can find another nest to plunder.”

 

Varlyndas snickered. “There is no other nest. Not that Varlyndas has found.”

 

“You have been here before?” Rhyon asked.

 

“Too much talking for Varlyndas, hand me the eggs, or Master Seef will fall to my knife as well.”

 

“We told you he was not to be trusted,” Aetes snidely remarked.

 

Hamoun spat. “Nasty fucking elf. And what will you do once Kamuzu is dead? Kill the rest of us? Ha! Five against one? Your odds are against you. Perhaps you will experience all life has to offer after all.”

 

Ascher looked down at his feet, four of the eggs were there, snug in their satchels, where was the fifth? He felt Rhyon’s gaze on him and turned to his friend. He had the fifth egg in his hands. There was apology in his eyes, and immediately Ascher new what his friend planned to do.

 

“Do not,” Ascher mouthed with a subtle shake of his head.

 

Rhyon’s brows creased, and his face twisted with revulsion. He turned to face Varlyndas and shouted, “Fire elf! Here is your prize,” and tossed the egg over to Varlyndas. It went flying through the air like a ball, spinning… spinning. 

 

“No!” Ascher cried. 

 

Kamuzu struggled in Varlyndas’s grip and managed to get free as the fire elf caught the tumbling egg. Aetes strung his bow and let an arrow fly without a second thought. It whizzed over Varlyndas’s shoulder. He strung again and took a moment to aim. Hamoun lunged forward, snarling as he dragged his hammer behind him. Aetes let his second arrow fly, and again it whizzed pass Varlyndas without grazing him. 

 

The fire elf took a second to survey the men around him. Ascher watched as he calculated his odds. His dark eyes fell on Ascher, and he smiled his wicked smile, his sharp teeth glinting against his dark face. He took two steps backwards, towards the edge of the cliff, and with the smile still plastered on his face, stepped over the ledge and disappeared.

 

When Hamoun reached the edge, he looked over and shouted, “He is gone!”

 

“Impossible,” Aetes hissed. 

 

“Where could he have gone?” Rhyon asked.

 

Ascher grunted. “It does not matter. We still have four.” He scowled as he looked at Rhyon. 

 

“What was I to do?” Rhyon asked.

 

“It is over. What is done is done,” Ascher grumbled. “Come, let us leave. We will need to make haste to the cliffs if we want to reach the boat before Varlyndas does.”

 

“He would strand us here?” Tufaelli asked as he bandaged Kamuzu’s leg.

 

“If he is smart,” Ascher replied. 

 

“What of Bel?” Tufaelli asked, glancing over at the dead youth.

 

Ascher heard Aetes sigh before he responded, the archer knew what Ascher’s reply would be. “Leave him. He is dead. May his body delay the beasts enough to see us off this rock.”

 

He heaved the four remaining satchels over his shoulder and headed back the way they had come. Going down the ridge and the mountain was a lot quicker than coming up. An urgency drove the group, one that pushed them forward despite their injuries. Kamuzu limped behind as Tufaelli held him up, but the scratch across Ascher’s leg was no more than a constant sting now, one bearable if he put it out of mind. The bandage was rough against the cut, and blood had soaked the wool through, but still he pushed on. Behind him the others wondered as to the fate of the fire elf, but Ascher knew. He knew Varlyndas had survived the fall. The tricky bastard will beat us back to the cliffs, I know it, he thought. He chanced a glance at the men around him. Must lighten the load. Move swifter. But how? His glance lingered on Rhyon, but his friend was preoccupied rubbing his wounded shoulder. Rhyon winced, as he looked over at Ascher, but he managed a smile. Remember that smile, Ascher told himself. He will not be wearing it when what needs doing is done.

 

That night they didn’t stop to camp. Tufaelli protested, he said Kamuzu needed the rest, but Kamuzu held his tongue and obeyed Ascher’s command to march. 

 

“How can we see through the dark with no fire?” Hamoun grumbled as the sun drained from the grey land. “There is no moon in the sky, no fire in our hands. Are we to crawl about blind?”

 

“Crawl all you want. I will march,” Ascher said. He pointed to the black cliffs of the coast, fading in the dark. “There will be no rest until we reach those cliffs.” 

 

“The men need to sleep, Ascher.” It was Rhyon. He was close at Ascher’s back, pawing at his shoulder. “I need to sleep. I will not admit it to the others, but to you I shall. My shoulder itches, it is sore. My feet are weary, my mouth is parched, and my hunger grows.”

 

“You can sleep when we reach the cliffs,” Ascher groaned.

 

“Ascher–”

 

“The others will find their own eternal sleep soon enough. You can carry on for now. Sleep when we have the sea beneath us, and this cursed barrens behind us.”

 

Rhyon frowned. “She has made you calloused.”

 

“No more than I was before.”

 

Rhyon shook his head. “No, much more. There was a time when you had compassion. I remember it well. When you treated those men under you with the same respect and care that you would yourself. There was a time when you were loyal to your men, their needs, their words, but all that has changed.”

 

“She has my loyalty, as is her right.”

 

“She has your heart, tight in her fist. Do not deny it. I have seen your love-struck gaze more than once in the palace. Be careful where you walk, she is not the same stock as us. Your affections will never be returned. You will never have her loyalty or her kiss.”

 

Ascher spun around and clutched Rhyon by the collar of his shirt. “Do not speak so blasphemous,” he growled before tossing Rhyon aside. 

 

The others stopped and watched with curious glances as Rhyon collected himself. “You have changed much since laying eyes on her,” he whispered. 

 

Ascher grunted and continued onward. Night had fallen and with it the landscape became dangerous, a maze of stones and rocks and cliffs that fell without warning, scraping their sandals, slicing through their trousers, knicking their weathered skin. But still they pushed on until morning, and when the sun rose somewhere behind the ominous clouds, the black cliffs seemed much closer than they had the night before. They all let out a sigh of relief at the distance they had travelled, reveling in their progress. Ascher decided to let them rest for a while, drink and eat what little was left of their rations. The mood lightened, and for a second their grumbling from the night before dissipated with the day’s heat. And then their peace was shattered. The same high-pitched, guttural call broke their laughter and petrified the men. They froze, eyes wide to the sky, in search of the drake that hunted them. A second call answered the first, chilling Ascher’s bones. His grip on the bags containing the creatures’ eggs tightened.

 

“They have come for their brood,” Hamoun mumbled. 

 

Ascher looked around them, nothing but barren rocks and dusty land, there was nowhere to hide, nowhere to run. 

 

“There!” Aetes pointed to a small ridge in the distance dotted in dried shrubbery and windswept with swirling sand. 

 

“We will never make it!” Tufaelli cried.

 

“Not all of us,” Aetes replied. The archer grabbed his bow and pack and launched into a sprint towards the ridge. Everyone else followed suit. Ascher heaved the sacks over his shoulder and willed his weary legs forward. Above them the cries of the drakes rang out again as they sprinted, exhausted and sore, towards their only hope of safety. Kamuzu lagged behind, hobbling on his wounded leg, shouting out for the others to help him. Ascher turned back once to see how far he lagged, but the sight brought terror to his eyes. Kamuzu ran frantically, unaware of the horror upon him. The drake was massive, larger now than Ascher had surmised on the ridge. It came soaring close to the ground, wings stretched out wide, feathers flapping in the wind with it’s stalking decent. Its eyes were black pits in the centre of its dark face, all scales and feathers and teeth. It opened its mouth, and an orange light grew within. Fire tumbled from its jaws and scorched the dry ground, engulfing Kamuzu whole. He screamed, a horrible, blood-curdling scream that ended prematurely with the sound of crunching bones. 

 

No one stopped. They continued forward in their mad dash for the ridge. Tufaelli cried hysteric prayers between heavy breaths as he dashed beside Ascher. Ascher took another look back; maybe the beasts would be too preoccupied with Kamuzu to follow them, but they had no such luck. The second one was just as large as the first. Its colours shifted across its wings from black to emerald and back again with the movement of its feathers in the wind. Across its long snout, teeth glimmered white against its dark features. 

 

Ascher felt his pace slow as the burden of the eggs weighed him down. Tufaelli at his side was struggling with his robes, trying to hold them high and free his legs. Ascher grunted as he willed his legs to move faster. They would both die here if he didn’t, washed in the waves of fire from the drake’s mouth. Tears streamed down Tufaelli’s face as he hurtled forward. Ascher watched the healer for a second. There they were, neck-to-neck, bringing up the rear. 

 

Blood pumped behind Ascher’s ears in synch with his run. Adrenaline coursed through his veins, fueling his desire to live, his desire to return to her… the mission a success. Survive… Blood pounded in his head. I will return... He felt his free hand clasp the hilt of his khopesh. I will not die today… He pulled his sickle-sword free, brought it high over his head and then drove it down into Tufaelli’s gut. The healer let out a warbling cry as Ascher wrenched his khopesh free. Tufaelli fell to the ground, sprayed with blood, his cries as shrill as the drakes’. Ascher looked behind him as the drake pounced on Tufaelli’s fallen body, dousing it in flames. 

 

The ridge was close now, not much farther. Aetes had reached it long ago and was shouting from the entrance of a small cave, encouraging the others forward. The first drake had left Kamuzu behind and now circled the running group. With loud cries it lit the dry shrubbery around the ridge, engulfing everything in flame. From the rear Ascher saw Rhyon reach the entrance of the cave, and then Hamoun. He was almost free. But the fires raged around him. The heat pulsed against his skin, hammering against his resolve to survive. The flames reached out to grab hold of him, bent on searing his flesh. In the roaring flames he heard the sounds of hoofs beating on the ground. He could hear the cries of women and men, their last screams as life left them, slaughtered by the flames or the swords of their enemies. Somewhere above him the drake melted into the sky, it’s shrill squeals another sound on the battlefield. 

 

The flames surrounded him now. There was nowhere to turn. He found a large rock and pressed himself against it, cowering in its shadow as the world turned to ash around him. Smoke filled the skies, black and chalky. Fear overwhelmed him. He forgot about the eggs, snug in their sacks at his feet. He forgot about his love, waiting patiently for him to return. He forgot about Rhyon and the others. There was only death, waiting to swallow him up in its fiery embrace. 

 

Through the smoke he saw something on the ground before him. A body, crumpled, still, bleeding into the yellow grass of the burning village. Her eyes were cold, unfocused, lifeless as they stared back at him. He reached out to her, “Mother…” the words crossed his lips as hot tears spilled from his burning eyes. “Mother…” Around him the massacre still raged, but he dared not move. Fear, sorrow, defeat. It was all he felt. This moment would be his last. He reached out for his dead mother, felt his arm twist as he stretched it as far as he could… 

 

Out from the smoke and ash came a hand, soot-covered and blistered. It clasped Ascher’s shoulder. He spun to meet his saviour and the face of a boy appeared. “Come on,” the boy said. Ascher smiled. This boy he knew, he had watched him become a man. This boy had become a brother to him. This boy had come to his rescue in his darkest hour. And after all these years, he was there still. Rhyon pulled him up and shook Ascher from his nightmares. “Quickly, before the smoke clears and they see us again,” he said.

 

Ascher nodded. In one hand he gathered up the bags while Rhyon led him by the other through the smoke and the flames to the small cave in the ridge. The sacks were heavy in his grip. They dragged along the ground, snaking through the dust and the ash and the sand, leaving deep grooves in the earth. It all seemed like a dream, the way Rhyon pulled him forward, the way he stumbled on his weary legs, the fires, the screams, it was all a dream. He let Rhyon lead as he watched the tracks the eggs made in the sand. They had such weight, they were such a burden, but even in this dream Ascher knew he must hold them tight. But such weight… He felt hands on him. Pawing his clothes as they dragged him into the darkness of the cave. So dark… Such a burden…

​

***