Of Caverns and Casters ✓ [TLRQ #1]

Chapter 21 - Aster

The town of Crystys hosts a deathly hush. Though evening sunlight seeps into every crack in the dried dirt road, a darkness hangs in the houses, whispering of some catastrophe. Dust on the windows obscures the contents of the buildings.

This far into Draó, a lonely copse of trees constitutes a forest, and anything with more than one main road is considered a city. Tragedy, though, comes in many forms.

As Calista walks down the road, I see doors no one bothered to close swinging with the breeze and wildlife bones no one's moved resting in the shade of houses. No chatter drifts down the street; no peals of laughter ring from the houses. The only noise is horse hooves thumping against the dirt.

I've heard of towns like this before, where some disaster strikes and everyone flees. Whether because of some warlord, famine, or drought, broken towns like this lie scattered all throughout the war-ravaged and poorly tended land of Draó. Terror or calamity falls upon the people, and they run from their only home in search of some place they might survive.

Lips twisting, I dismount. From a distance, this looked like a prosperous place. I had hoped to trade for supplies here; what was supposed to be a month of travel has turned into over two, and my rations are all but gone. Whatever might have been here once, though, is no more. In the quiet, I feel it would be irreverent to speed through this shell of civilization. I walk Calista down the road, silently regretting whatever disaster happened to the people here.

If Draó was as organized as some of its lordships claim it is, this wouldn't happen, at least not nearly so much. They would have programs, plans, for when something goes wrong and be prepared to combat it. The towns that face constant attack from upcoming warlords would build walls and have soldiers provided for them by their leader. Instead, the warlords pretend and connive in order to get towns to trust them, just so they can claim taxes and larger borders. They do nothing to help the people.

Before she became my nursemaid, Jeanna lived in a Draón town just outside of Morineaux's border. She used to tell me the stories people would carry into her town, stories of danger and despair. The people's old towns had been taken over by some tyrant, or bandits had ransacked their homes and left nothing but the buildings for the townsfolk. She'd talk about how the warlords wouldn't send help because of their greed or distance from the town it happened in.

Then she'd remind me how, when I grew up, it would be my job to help predict, prevent, and resolve the tragedies in Morineaux. She would tell me how Morineaux takes care of her people and how the riches and privilege I am gifted with are only compensation for the hard work I'll be doing—that I shouldn't abuse it.

A sardonic smile lifts my lips. Eating only trail rations and sleeping in ditches, I am fairly certain I'm not abusing my privilege.

A man's laugh rings out, and my eyes dart toward one of the houses. Its door is pulled tight, like someone closed it to keep out the cold. Beside the door is a clean bucket of water. Dropping Calista's reins and a hand on my rapier hilt, I sneak up the road and duck under one of the windows. If these are survivors or nomads, I still might be able to trade with them. That is, if they're friendly.

Half-crouched, I peek through the dirty glass. Inside, four large men sit around a table, throwing dice. A fifth squats near the fireplace with a broken stool, trying to get it to light. His flint sparks, and the fire illuminates the room.

Every one of them wears a red standard.

I duck back down, heart pounding. What are Kadranian soldiers doing here? We're close to the northern savages' homeland, but not that close. The dice clatter against the table, and one of the men growls. They must be deserters, loose swords sowing death and reaping its profits.

I ease away from the house, drawing my rapier. Calista flicks her ears as if sensing my fear. I raise a finger to my lips, and edge toward her. Inside, dice fall again, and someone calls out angrily, followed by a thunk like a dagger in wood. Calista spooks, cantering the distance between us.

The men fall silent.

Catching the horse's reins, I mount. Kadranians spill out of the house, axes and knives gleaming. Calista rears and wheels away from them. I fight to keep my seat, and the sword tumbles from my hand. A knife whizzes past my head, and I duck, spurring the horse on. Footsteps chase after me. I glance over my shoulder. An axe flies straight toward us, and I tug hard right.

Calista shrieks, blood spurting from a dagger embedded in her side. The Kadranians roar and double their pace. Calista's knees buckle. "Come on, girl!" I urge. She stumbles but keeps her footing. I turn in the saddle, spraying powder toward a fallen axe. "Et væ!" As Calista regains her gait, the axe rises up with my hand. A soldier throws another dagger, and I duck, then snap my arm forward. The axe flies through the air, and I end the spell as it hurtles into the midst of the Kadranians.

Spinning back, I urge Calista faster, and we fly out of town. I lean low over her, my face in her mane. Her muscles tremor beneath me. "Just a little farther, girl. Just a little farther."

In the distance, a forest breaks up the plains, and I aim for it. Calista slows the closer we get, and I throw a glance over my shoulder. The soldiers don't seem to have taken up pursuit yet. Dismounting, I walk Calista into the cover of the trees. She folds her knees under her as soon as we stop, and I move around to examine her wound.

I hiss. Blood covers her coat, the dagger buried almost to the hilt. She quivers, head laid on the ground. My throat burns. Desperate, I try to think of some way to help. But I'm not a doctor. A knot grows in my throat, and I swallow it down. I fear if I were, I would only know more certainly the outcome.

As her eyes close, I stroke her nose gently. "Sleep well, Calista." My voice drops to a whisper. "You've more than earned it."

I sit with her until the tremors go still. Her breaths whuffle soft and unsteady. My lips press together, and I blink back the blurring in my eyes. Throat tight, I pull the dagger out in one quick motion. Blood seeps out, and soon, the soft breathing goes silent.

In the cold and dark, I huddle beside her still form. The further north I go and more time I somehow manage to lose, the quicker autumn spins itself into winter. I pull my blankets tight. Most nights, I light a fire, but I refuse to waste the chance Calista bought me. "I'm sorry," I murmur to her. No soft whicker answers me. My heart aches, and I squeeze my eyes shut.

For the last night, I sleep with my horse.