Darkin: A Journey East (5 page)

“No doubt then;
you
are responsible for the spilt blood I see here. Remarkable feat I daresay. I am impressed,” the slave said. “And if what you say is true, then all that I dream of has come true, and the beginning of the end is at hand for the foul lords of Darkin. But I am more fit than most men, and I should account for the first
ten
of your army, I suppose. I cannot believe this day is come…” The man seemed extraordinarily enthusiastic about meeting Adacon now, and he wept happily.

“You want it as much as I, then. And you’re willing to die?” asked Adacon.

“I have always been willing to die, if it meant a real chance to destroy the lords. And yes, if you are to lead this attempt I shall follow you, even if to death,” the man spoke.

“I am Adacon. What is your name?”

“I am Erguile, to those that knew me. And you, Adacon, are the only one who knows me still. And so I pledge my life to destroy the lords, though I’ve no longer any weapons, nor any treasures to barter with. I have much in the way of a will to fight though, rest assured, and more skill with a sword than any man,” Erguile boasted. Adacon reveled in the respect Erguile was bestowing on him. Respect was something never to be shown if you were born a slave, and the fact that Erguile was his elder made it more dignifying.

“And that will be all you’ll need. I’ll find weapons for you, and all who join me. Before I return to more pressing thoughts, I must ask where the rest are?” Adacon asked.

“They fled when the new batch of sentries arrived on the farm, randomly striking down slaves,” Erguile said.

“New batch? You mean there has been word of the massacre here already?” Adacon gasped.

“You had no idea all the while? Hah, thought you’d gotten off plain free. No, I don’t know how they did find out, but I believe it was in the earliest hours of the morn—they were running up and down the farm, just let the bodies of their own men lay and forked down slaves left and right. Then, after seeing the rest scurry away into the woods, they followed after to hunt them down. The whole lot of them except me gone into the Red Forest, save for those slain before they had a chance to run,” Erguile said, lowering his voice and speaking closer to Adacon’s face. “I suppose that is our favor, though, as the lords’ men will never return from that horrid place alive.”

“You too believe in the lore of the forest?” asked Adacon, sidetracked at its mentioning.

“I do not believe that any human ever to live could create such tales as it has without drawing from some truth.”

“But what of the tales of elves? Have you read about their utopian cities, hidden deep in the forests, untouchable by man? And what of magic and the lore of mana? Have you ever felt those tales as well to have some truth?” questioned Adacon.

“I believe faery tales are just that—faery tales. I think you might like to fancy you’ll meet an elf someday, but I’m betting you won’t, and that sooner we’ll both be hanged for treason.”

“Have you ever heard of the
Spirited Winds
?” asked Adacon in a last attempt to pique Erguile’s interest.

“No, I haven’t,” responded Erguile, “and magic is a myth if you ask me, along with the rest of it. Only thing I can count on as being real is the danger in those woods.” There was a moment of silence, and Adacon appeared saddened by Erguile’s skeptical response.

“I’ll collect arrows from the slain guards. We have enough bows and quivers lying about for their purpose. We’ll take their broadswords, too,” Adacon said, changing the subject. “In my haste I never replaced this shoddy blade,” he went on, waving his old sword in the air. He looked with sadness at his steel friend, recalling their time together. Erguile wandered off, looking around the guard tower for anything useful, as Adacon knelt to the earth, and placed his old blade, dulled to an almost round edge, on the soil.

“May another find you; one as young and brash as I was—I can’t use you anymore—thanks…” Adacon whispered, staring at the blade with a head full of memories; he’d only been a boy when he first stole the sword and started practicing with it—not fully aware as to why he was doing so. It all made sense now, Adacon realized, and a single tear rolled down his cheek, as Erguile called out from tower ladder.

“What is it? Find something?”

“No, it’s nothing,” Adacon replied, and he brushed his cheek and stood to join his new friend.

There was no trace of any more sentries; it seemed they had gone as quickly as they had come. All of them had disappeared into the Red Forest to hunt the fleeing slaves. They hadn’t taken any time to heed to their fallen brethren’s gear, leaving everything behind. And so the two slaves went about taking the weapons left around the farm that they deemed suitable for their journey. By the guard post they found leather satchels in which they stored as much food as they could find—mostly corn and hardened bread. There were flasks of water on the slain guards as well, which Adacon and Erguile fastened to their newly stolen leather belts.

They decided not to check the restricted building for goods, as the smell was worse than ever, and they feared for what they might see. Adacon removed breastplates from two guards and wore one himself, then gave the other to Erguile. The quiver on Adacon’s back was stocked to the brim with arrows. Erguile chose to carry two broadswords instead of a bow and quiver. Adacon had tried to convince him to take one, but Erguile argued his ineffectiveness with the weapon. At last the two marched to the gate, and toward the wilderness beyond.

*                  *                 *

“Can you fight?” asked Erguile in a smug tone.

“As a boy I practiced many long and hard hours with the sword I left back there.”

“Good. And I reckon that was a poor question anyway, seeing as you killed all the guards… But me,
I
can really fight—was born with it in my blood. I may pay homage to you, Adacon, but I shall always be the greater swordsman,” Erguile boasted.

“Fight as valiantly as you can, but at least you’ll have others now, if only me, fighting alongside you—for your life, and its freedom,” he replied, feeling satisfied to be in the company of one so confident as Erguile.

“You surprise me boy. All the times I had seen you go to and fro on the farm, looking like a weakling. And all the times I had wondered when a rebellion would start. I marvel that fate decided it is you who should start it. And know that I don’t agree with those who say
fate
is the great ruling God of our world—I believe we forge our own path in life,” Erguile said. They walked through the gate and onto the tree-lined path. Adacon decided to prepare Erguile for what was about to come; meeting Krem.

Adacon explained about the dune house and its odd inhabitant who seemed at times crazier than wise, but more often just the opposite. He told Erguile just how shockingly old the little man claimed to be; how he said to have lived many of Adacon’s lives. He did not mention Krem’s door sign, if only to avoid hearing skepticism about what Molto could be, and what the Spirited Winds really were. Vapoury and magic, Erguile had already shown, were fictional in his mind. More talk of it now was useless.

They walked on and Erguile talked a bit about his own life. He, like Adacon, remembered little about his earliest years. His father had died when he was young, and he had been moved away from his mother at that time to a slave training program. They trained him similar to the way they had trained Adacon, they found by comparing stories. Also like Adacon, Erguile was without a family; at the least he was sure his father was dead and his mother a slave somewhere, or dead too. He had no brothers or sisters. It was when his father was killed, Adacon learned, that Erguile had begun to hate the oppressors. Adacon also explained the shaky idea spoken of by Krem: that there was a single Lord to the free world, a sole leader of the slavery. As Adacon expected, Erguile had never heard of Grelion. Still, Erguile fancied meeting the mysterious Krem already, for after Adacon’s description Erguile had a strong impression of curiosity.

They grew acquainted as they trudged on toward the desert. Adacon was certain that Erguile’s resolve for freedom was strong, and he dared not wonder if it could be stronger than his own. Their course continued, and soon the two found themselves leaving the Red Forest behind and approaching a cool and dark desert. The moons were almost directly above them in the sky, set between meandering clouds that concealed most of the night’s stars. Adacon realized the lack of light would make it hard for them to find Krem’s stronghold again. All around them were endless rows of dark dunes, all looking nearly the same. Adacon continued his conversation with Erguile, making sure no distress fell into his tone, as their path led them deeper into the abyss of the maze-like desert.

“So, how much farther do you suppose we have to go before we find this hermit?” asked Erguile with a trace of agitation in his voice. Adacon sighed, and for a moment stopped in his tracks.

“When I arrived earlier it had been midday, and the sun was still strong in the sky. I’m sure we’ve come the distance—if not more so—to reach the damned place; I just don’t see the dune with the door in it, it’s too dark,” Adacon said, trailing off into silent thought. Erguile stood patiently awaiting his next words. “I think we might get ourselves killed before we find the place, if we keep walking deeper into the desert. Perhaps we should find a flat bit of sand and rest some, at least until the sun is upon us again...”

“You wish to sleep out here? Stay in this foreign desert all night without worry? You truly are mad, Adacon,” Erguile retorted, but he reluctantly considered. “I guess you’re right though. I can barely make out the dunes fifty paces from here,” he said in uneasy agreement.

“Alright then, we’ll set camp there,” Adacon said, pointing into the darkness toward a flat plateau of sand. They walked in the direction Adacon had designated, and before long they found themselves sitting down on the cold sand. There was a deafening silence about the desert night, and for a good stretch the two weary travelers sat wide-eyed, staring up at a glowing moon. They didn’t feel tired enough for sleep, and the intimidating prospect of spending a night in the desert had not completely withdrawn its fear. Erguile broke the quiet.

“Do you suppose Adacon…” He trailed off. “Do you suppose we could ever come to meet one of the lords—or this Grelion, if he truly exists?”

“I hope so—that we may wring his neck. I think we’ll at least encounter one of his patrols before long. The little man, Krem… he seemed very wise. He told me he travels throughout the country often. I’m hoping he’ll come with us, perhaps be our guide about the land. It would be best if we could increase our numbers before any real fighting—not that I don’t think we’re a strong army of two. My fears would have me believe that Grelion’s sentries march throughout the whole country.”

“I think you should take first watch Adacon; I fear I’d fall asleep if I watched first. Let me get a good hour or two, then wake me up and I’ll cover us until dawn,” Erguile said as he removed his swords from his belt and placed them nearby. He yawned deeply as he attempted to find comfort on the desert floor.

“You’ll need your rest more than you know, I think. I don’t know what tomorrow brings, but if what happened today is a sign of things to come, we’ll both need our strength. Sleep well, Erguile the Brave, and for awhile yet I’ll ward off the demons of the sand for you,” Adacon joked, providing a needed respite of humor.

Erguile sprawled on the ground, groaning several times before finding a half-comfortable sleeping position. The sand was hard and cold, and made for a harsh bed, but fatigue had its way and Erguile fell fast asleep. Adacon sat rigid like a hawk watching the surrounding dunes and the tranquil night sky, finally left alone with his thoughts.

*                  *                 *

Many things jumbled around in the throes of his imagination, and his thoughts changed as quickly as they came. He felt happy—and in disbelief – that he’d managed to escape the farm, only to return and find an ally in Erguile. It was Krem that most frequently popped into Adacon’s mind, and the odd little man started to seem unreal to him. Could Krem have been some imaginary figure his mind had conjured up from the heat of the sun? Perhaps the little man and his palace under the desert had been a mere dream…

Adacon returned his thoughts for a moment to the farm. He wondered if all the slaves had been captured and murdered, and if there were new sentries upon the towers yet. Most likely it was as Erguile guessed; the whole lot of them was swallowed up by the beasts of the Red Forest.

Looking at the ground around their camping spot, Adacon realized that although there weren’t footprints on the hard sand they camped on, they had to have left tracks coming from the farm; surely there would be some at the beginning of the desert where the sand was softer. The thought of guards pursuing their trail into the desert made Adacon shudder. It crossed his mind that in tomorrow’s sunlight they might be able to track his original footprints to find the way back to Krem’s hideaway. Was the little dungeon so secluded that it was by rare chance he’d even managed to find it once among the monotonous dunes? Adacon started questioning himself. He believed for a moment that guards would surely find their tracks, and it would only be a matter of time before they were hunted and killed. Then, from the black silence, Adacon heard a strange noise.

He glanced around warily, checking for any sign of movement or silhouette, but saw nothing. Keeping a watch was quite useless, he decided, as he strained to see the dune directly in front of him. Everything was black; even the moons had gone into hiding behind streaking clouds of charcoal grey. Adacon managed to stay alert, listening vigilantly for another hour, waiting for the noise to return. He tried to keep his mind focused on his task, but slowly he succumbed to his need for sleep. He decided to remove his sword and quiver to be a bit more comfortable.

Adacon slowly closed his eyes, feeling a rush of warmth come with the utter dark. He opened them; then closed them; then barely reopened them halfway. He slumped down until he lay flat, adjusting his arms to find any comfort possible. The thoughts in his head slowed to a trickle, and soon his mind became as silent as the dying desert wind. As he edged into unconsciousness a sharp cry tugged him wide awake.