She hoped, one day, to say that to his face.
A few rays of purple twilight were still piercing the high canopy, sinking down through whatever gaps and openings they could find in the trees. Talasha was no Bladeborn, bore no godsteel to heighten her senses, but knew how to move in the dark. Night hunts on the delta, she thought. Creeping through the wetlands for prey, without ever making a sound or a splash.
She clutched her spear in her grasp, prodding at the ground wherever it looked unsteady, rooting out whatever creatures might be lurking there unseen. There were snakes in these parts, she knew, and other crawly slithery things, some of which were venomous. Most likely her high hardy hunting boots and leather garb would protect her, but she could not be sure, so she took the necessary precaution, setting her feet only when she was certain it was safe.
I should be wearing my armour. Talasha owned a wondrous suit of dragonscale armour, all red riveted plates and fine links of dragonsteel mail, though it had been taken from her when she was thrown in a cell with Hadrin, the mad Rasal king. After Elyon Daecar had freed her, she had gone running to her rooms to find it, but it was nowhere to be seen. Instead she had pulled on a pair of old hunting boots, leather tunic and dark crimson overcoat, before rushing out to leap into Neyruu’s saddle and fly down into the city to find Cevi. Her handmaid had, mercifully, been where she left her, in the safehouse she’d placed her in, and they had managed to escape into the skies before they were spotted.
And then Paglar came. Then the savage slash at Neyruu’s flank and the desperate escape out here, into the wilds.
Talasha crept on, passing around a large deadfall. Ahead, a clearing appeared, ending in a cliff that plunged about fifteen metres to the wooded slopes below. She went to the left, where the descent was more gradual, spear in one hand, using the other to steady herself against tree trunks and stumps. When she reached the bottom of the cliff, the ground levelled out again, trees regrouping, thickening. In this part of the forest they were mostly spruce and cedar, though sometimes hulking sequoias bullied themselves into a space, dominating all the other trees and plant life around them.
The sound of the river was growing louder now, babbling down over a series of mini waterfalls and rapids to the north. She continued along her path, down another gentle decline, past one of those surging sequoias to her left, another craggy granite cliff to her right. Her eyes scanned the floor, narrow, searching, prodding with her spear all the while. Once or twice she heard a scurrying sound, and her eyes darted, but too late. Cevi might not like the idea of the princess going off after dark, but the night could be good for hunting too. Some creatures only come out after dark, she thought. At the river, especially, there were some nocturnal frogs and toads that would make a tasty dish.
Ahead, the trees were thinning, the movement of the river carving out a space through the woods. There were many streams and brooks here, though none were especially large or deep, not this high in the hills. Lower down they would group and merge to create fierce flowing rivers, but not here. It was one less thing to worry about. Getting swept away by a surging river, swollen by the rains, would be no way to go.
The tree line ended abruptly, giving way to a short slope that plunged down to the riverbank. Talasha used her spear to get down safely, digging the prongs into the soft muddy earth. The river was not wide - three or four metres only - and came up only as deep as her thighs. There were rocks scattered within it, around which the water rushed in frothing eddies. Talasha stepped across to one of them, moving her eyes upriver. The trout here were known to swim upstream to spawn and feed, but that season was coming to an end. They will be further down in the valleys, she thought. In the larger rivers, thousands of the fish were caught each year, but up here the pickings were slim.
She kept her eyes peeled all the same, her ears pricked for the croak and ribbit of toads and frogs. She had chosen the right spot, where the canopy opened above her, in line with the rising of the moon.
But these clouds…
Were it not for them, the moonlight would shine down upon the water, lighting the scales of the passing fish and shining off the wet skin of the amphibians.
Yet the skies were overcast, swamped, and dark, the moon no more than a faint glow behind them, moving up between the trees, black fingers reaching skyward. Talasha waited. The weather was prone to change quickly here, and leaden skies now did not mean leaden skies in an hour. By then they might be full of stars, the moonlight bright, her quarry exposed. But not right now, she thought, leaning on the butt of her spear.
That grew quickly uncomfortable, so she scanned for a wider, flatter rock, saw one further downriver, waded her way toward it, and sat, crossed-legged, at the heart of the stream. She had liked to do that as a child. Sit amid the river, with the others fishing the banks, as though claiming domain of her own private little island.
And now all this land is mine, she mused, reflecting on all those who were gone. Her uncle Dulian, slain by her brother, Tavash, who in turn had been sent to the Eternal Flame by Eldur for the crimes of avunculicide, regicide, and matricide for killing his mother. Our mother, Talasha thought. Talantria, who would have been made queen at Dulian’s death. Tavash had killed her to pave his way to power, but in the end his rule had been cut short. Not short enough. He should never have been made king in the first place. Tethian never should have left.
But he had. The prince had gone missing many years before, drawn to the prophecies of the old wise scholars, vanishing in his quest to find Eldur’s tomb and raise him from the dead. Most had thought that Tethian was dead himself, and Tavash was one of them. So he’d killed his mother, killed his uncle, and won the crown by treason.
And died for it. Dulian, Talantria, Tethian, Tavash. My entire family, gone.
Talasha picked up a pebble that had washed up on her rock, squeezed it, tossing it fiercely into the water. She watched the splash, spear poised. Sometimes that might be enough to attract a passing fish, but no, not this time.
Her spear settled back into her lap.
Queen of Agarath, she thought, chewing on the title. Were it not for the return of Eldur, she would be Queen of Agarath right now. She wondered on that for a while, unsure if she would even want it. Not this Agarath, anyway. The land she loved had been warped and twisted, and Eldurath had fallen into the grip of the zealots and fire priests. Each night, mass sacrifices were made, great fires burning bright across the city, feasting on the flesh of the non-believers.
And that was just Eldurath. Other cities had surely fallen into the same mania. And beyond them, in the lands between, the monsters ran amok, more reported every day. And there had been word of cataclysms too, great twisting storms and shuddering earthquakes and lava boiling up from the earth. Ever since Drulgar had burst out from the Wings, the world had grown increasingly unstable.
Like my dream. Talasha still remembered it clearly - the wall of fire approaching the city, the Ashmount exploding into a torrent of flame. She could only stand upon her balcony and watch as it consumed all of Eldurath, bathing one and all in Agarath’s wrath and taking them to his Eternal Flame. By morning she would always tell herself it was only a dream, but how could she be sure? How could she be sure of anything anymore?
Another pebble was in her grasp. Another throw, another splash. She thrust her spear down into the river, speculative, and it came back wet, catching nothing but water. Her eyes lifted. Above, the skies were breaking up a little, thin scars appearing between the clouds. Moonlight shone down upon the woods. The river glimmered, but only for a moment, darkening once more as the scars closed up.
Her wait went on. Fingers of worry reached in, closing around her heart. She feared for what had come of the north, feared for what Eldur and Drulgar might have done. “I should have warned him,” she whispered. “Elyon. I should have told him what I knew.”
But there hadn’t been time. Elyon Daecar had come and gone like a tornado, bringing blood and butchery in his wake. They had shared words, but few, and she had not thought to speak to him of Drulgar the Dread, of Eldur’s plans, of what Hadrin had glimpsed in the Eye…
A gentle splash in the river caught her attention, a fish breaching briefly above the water before wriggling away downstream. She gripped her spear to throw, but too late. The fish was gone. She settled once more.
She saw a second ripple almost at once. A shard of moonlight shone through the clouds, and there, she saw the fish. She surged to a knee, steadying herself, crooking her elbow, spear clutched tight in her grasp. Aiming, her eyes moved with the fish coming her way, passing around a rock, tail thrashing as the water shallowed, then zipping away into deeper water.
She threw, unleashing the spear. A splash, a flash of movement, and the trout shot away right past her rock.
“Damn,” she grunted. That one was close.
Her spear had lodged itself into the pebbly riverbed, water moving around the shaft. She went to retrieve it, wading forth into the chill water, then back to her rock, to wait.
Her thoughts continued to spiral. King’s Point, she thought. Ulrik Marak had led the great armada there, and she knew that Amron Daecar was defending the city. Most likely Elyon would be there too, and Lythian, perhaps him as well. But there was no way of knowing for certain, and if she flew there, to that great coastal city, with its dozen thick towers and fourscore ballistas, and the thousand bowmen upon its walls…
No, too dangerous. Even if she flew with a white flag in her grasp, waving it for all to see, they would fire upon her, she did not doubt. Her only real chance had been to travel with Elyon, to have the knight as escort. But that had never been likely. Fast as Neyruu was, she had heard the Windblade could bear a man faster. Where to go, then, when Neyruu recovers? Or do we just stay here, and hide?Or somewhere else. Somewhere far away. Do we find somewhere to wait out this war?
But that would not be likely either. Eventually, the fire will find us. It will spread and consume us the same as all the rest.
Her eyes were growing heavy, thoughts circling like a bird of prey, searching for something to dive on, cling to, some morsel of hope for nourishment. Talasha Taan was a princess, even a queen. She had a duty to her people, a duty to the world, a duty to do something to help. A good leader serves, she told herself. A good leader does not hide.
She remembered, then, that she had come here for water, and had told Cevi she would not be long. The girl would be growing worried. How long have I been out here? By the movement of the moon, it had been over an hour. An hour of sitting, waiting, thinking. Hoping for some inspiration.
She gave it a little longer. Another fish will come by soon, and Cevi will thank me for that. Reaching into the cold flowing water, she filled her waterskin, took a long deep drink to refresh herself, and set it aside on the rock. She resumed her cross-legged pose, studying the water, listening for frogs and toads. She had heard the occasional croak, but could never place their position. Somewhere in the woods, she thought. In some wet little bog where the rainwater has settled.
The sound of the stream was relaxing, pleasant, a far cry from the silence of the palace. Around her the trees shook in the soft breeze, their leaves rustling, the air pristine. She filled her lungs, breathed out, filled them again, and closed her eyes. The trout was still warm in her belly, her dark leather hunting cloak enough to shield her from the chill. She could sense herself drifting, sense slumber encroaching. Feel the pull of dreams upon her…
She was back in her cell with Hadrin.
Lying on her pallet bed in the corner of the windowless chamber, high at the summit of the palace. Braziers burned softly. Shadows shifted on the walls.
The king was at his plinth, a skeleton in chains and rags, murmuring. Atop it, the Eye of Rasalan glowed.
