The Silken Key

Chapter 16

After a full day of travelling, Brenmarsh was starting to seem like a sunny seaside town in Detlef's memory compared to the grim darkness of the northern parts of Ardu al-Zalam.

In the port town, most of the locals knew at least a few phrases in western-common tongue to communicate with visitors from across the sea. At Hali-ki - the first town they rested in - the people spoke only Zalamic.

The second town they passed through was Mushkela, a woodland community nestled in a forest of black trees. There, the people did not speak to the travellers at all, such was their distrust of foreigners. Even Tariq was ignored when he asked the locals if anyone had passed that way recently.

Twenty minutes after leaving Mushkela, the sky had faded to a dark blue star-less gloom.

"I guess we're not going to make it there today," Rudiger sighed, struggling to balance atop his full-sized horse as he had done the entire journey. "We shouldn't leave it too far past nightfall to make camp."

"It's not even supper time," Tariq said, leading the group on a magnificent mahogany coloured stallion. "The sky in the north is always like this."

Detlef looked up in astonishment. It was true that he'd lost track of time. He was used to tracking the time of day by the position of the sun in the sky, but this was an unfamiliar land and the sun often seemed to dissolve into the haze above.

"Are we still on track then?" he asked, patting the neck of the good-natured piebald mare he'd been given to ride.

"Let me put it this way," Tariq said, glancing back over his shoulder. "There is nowhere on the road ahead where we can stop without the risk of Soghir learning of our approach. We should press on no matter what."

"Are we intending to take this Ingrid Sohir by surprise?" Maddy asked, trotting up alongside Detlef. "The Wazeer made it sound like the old necromancer wasn't in any condition to put up much of a fight."

"My uncle's almost as old as this necromancer," Rudiger said. "And he can put up a darn good fight. You should see my aunt trying to get him to take a bath after he's been drinking."

"Your uncle is also a gnome, presumably," Detlef laughed. "Humans don't live as long as your kind. If this necromancer has used her magic to keep herself alive, hopefully, she won't have much left to give us any trouble when we ask for the Key."

"Ask?" Tariq snorted. "Do you expect she will just hand it over to us? This token of power she's been hanging on to for two centuries?"

"There's a chance she might, yes," Detlef shrugged. "If we explain to her about Tertullian and the new threat he poses, she might agree we stand a better chance of keeping it from him."

Tariq shook his head and huffed to himself, but did not voice any disagreement.

The five rode their horses in a close formation along the road which was mostly overtaken by moss and creeping vines. Patches of woodland dotted the green and brown plains. The hills on the horizon blurred into the low clouds like a chalk drawing which had been smudged by a god's thumb.

"What do you think, Tabitha?" Detlef asked. The halfling had been silent for much of the journey, though he could see a new resolve in her eyes. "Do you know what you're supposed to do when you have the Key?"

Tabitha kept her eyes forward, her small frame maintaining poise and dignity on her large horse far better than the gnome was managing. "I am confident the Key will provide a way for my patron to speak to me. Just like the scrolls used to. I will know what to do at such a time as I am supposed to know it."

"Oh for the love of..." Tariq groaned. "Are you listening to this? Nothing is going to happen when we have the Key. We are going to take it back to Brenmarsh and ensure Tertullian never gets his hands on it. That is all."