That One Time I Went on a Quest

Arkai Returns (1/2)

The next few days are frantic with things to do and errands to run – the Mirrors take about an hour each to calibrate, and there are twenty-seven of them – but they're also strangely relaxing. Or maybe not so strangely. The busywork keeps the mind busy too, freeing it from the burden of constantly worrying about the inevitable moment when Iborus looks to the sky and sees nothing but wings.

That day will come soon enough.

Meanwhile, Kaishen is getting easier to handle, but not because I'm getting any better at...whatever it is that I'm doing. With each Mirror calibrated the sword's fire becomes a little weaker, that sense of getting sucked dry and backfilled with molten lead a little less vivid. Kathanhiel puts it succinctly, 'Kaishen doesn't make the fire; it is a vessel of transference, and it has been a while since its last meal.'

Speaking of whom, she is fit enough to walk about now, and by walking about I mean jogging on the ramparts at sunrise, clutching her chest and staggering every other step yet somehow finishing the lap ahead of the few ambitious soldiers running with her. Not wanting to look lazy, Haylis and I join her on the third morning, thinking that surely two healthy young adults could keep up with a one-armed woman who until recently could not even stand on her own.

Well...

With the new sun behind our backs, our shadows draw long and thin before us along the inner ramparts, but even they couldn't touch Kathanhiel's back. Look at her; she's swaying left and right like a drunk and barely managing, yet fifty steps ahead of us.

Haylis, gasping and running right beside me, blurts out, 'She's not human! How is she doing it?' then out of nowhere she blurts at me as well. 'How are you doing it?! In the trials you could never keep up!'

Should I feel insulted? Probably. Then again, she's not wrong. With rising heartbeat comes a warmth into my chest, quite different from the pain of exerting beyond one's endurance; it radiates a disconcerting numbness into my legs, taking away the feeling of straining muscles...and the feeling of having legs. They're so agile. Too agile to be my legs.

What am I worried about? Doesn't it feel good to be able to run fast?

We pass in front of the waterfall. Here the curtain wall breaks into several great arches that cross over the shimmering lake below. The commotion down there draws my attention. Floating in front of the dockyard, at right angles to the long central pier, is one of Iborus' ironclads. From up here its hull looks like a black almond with two squat cylinders attached on either side – paddlewheels, all covered up in metal bands. Scores and scores of people are climbing aboard from the pier, their drab grey clothes fluttering in the wind.

'The mountain folk. Herders and traders, mostly,' says Haylis. 'This is the last of them I think. They'll ride all the way to the Kingdom.'

'Why would anyone live in the Ranges when the dragons are around?' I ask.

'Another stupid question.' Haylis huffs. 'It's their home, idiot.'

Before I could think of a smart comeback, Kathanhiel suddenly stops and looks to her left, at the blasted fields to the south. Haylis and I catch up to her, both panting. She doesn't look around, only points to the horizon and asks, 'Do you see that?'

Instinctively, hating myself a little bit, I spend five seconds sweeping the southern sky. Nothing but wispy clouds; no sign of dragons. Then Haylis elbows me in the ribs. 'At the ground, idiot! On the highway!'

Squinting lessens the morning glare, and materialises a lone rider galloping towards the fortress. There's something...off...about the gait of the horse, and it's not that the animal's wounded. It's the rider. Can't put my finger on it.