Soul Fire

Soul Fire - Chapter 44

The wind chilled the tears falling against Dathion's cheeks, drying them to a salty sting. He had stopped looking over his shoulder a long time ago, convinced his foes had not given chase, or had been too slow to catch him. This had been the reason he kept glancing backwards to start with. After a while, it had been with the vain hope of catching a glimpse of Shanisha.

Dathion knew the monk would take comfort in dying to keep the pledge of safe-guarding the prince, thereby honoring the promise of the Soul Wardens. His throat became tight at the thought. Swallowing became a struggle.

The only company preventing him from feeling utterly alone, strode tirelessly beneath him. Dathion leaned forward to embrace the shoulders of Asheron, allowing the power of the stallion's muscles, and the leather scent, to lull him to sleep. The King of Asillian horses ensured he did not slip from the saddle.

Dathion dreamed, or did he remember? He saw time spent with Ellishan. Games on the fields outside the Asillian palace, riding horses to chase one another. Dueling with their wooden swords. His brother Ellishan striking him down with an irresponsible blow, ruining his throat, leaving him unable to speak.

A mute.

Dathion woke with a start. The cold night air teased through gaps in his clothes and froze his face. He couldn't feel his nose. Dathion reached a hand up to make sure it was still attached. His numb fingers barely registered the shape.

The world passed by slower than he remembered, until he realized Asheron no longer ran, rather walking, breathing heavier than Dathion ever remembered hearing.

Asheron could not run forever.

For some reason, the realization surprised Dathion, which was unfair to his normally indefatigable steed. The demands Dathion had expected of his mount were extraordinary, bordering on cruel. Lesser horses - weaker horses, may have collapsed and died. Even fit horses, trained with the military or used to competing in races, would be on the verge of exhaustion. As for Asheron, his breathing simply sounded different. This provided the only clue to Dathion that Asheron had limits.

Dathion had reached them.

"A little longer, my friend."

Dathion leaned forward over Asheron, smoothing the flanks of the horse with his hands, as though he could somehow lend his strength for a challenge belonging to the animal alone. His whispering was useless now. The words of the Elves echoed in Dathion's mind, that he would be too late. Perhaps, the Elves had not counted on the speed and endurance of an Asillian mount.

Dathion had perceived more than Salidon or Malithas suspected. He had learned from Salidon the use of landmarks. He had watched over Davidor's shoulder, to read the cartographer's maps. Davidor had known of Dathion's curiosity, and had not tried to stop him.

Night turned to day, then back to night. Dathion estimated a week would pass before he returned to Asillia City, and more importantly to the palace that watched over it. He had not been blessed with foresight nor careful planning, when he had decided on his actions. Only two days of rations remained in Asheron's bags. Thankfully, the plains still provided green grass for Asheron to crop, and enough Asillian villages and hamlets on their path for food and water. Some of the villagers had recognized Dathion as their prince, the looks of awe and adoration on their faces a familiar embarrassment. Others had never seen the sons of King Beregran, though the trappings of the boy and his mount lent sufficient weight to his claims, ensuring food and lodgings were given freely.

Dathion tried to keep his mind empty. When he allowed it to wander, it betrayed him with gloomy thoughts. His intentions had always been pure. He rode to save his parents. Perhaps, his warning would be enough to make them vigilant, along with the people who defended them - such as Ascius - the Captain of the Guard, or other elite soldiers. If they remained unaware of the danger that came, they could be taken by surprise.