Fable: Edge of the World (12 page)

“Maybe we don’t need quite so colorful an account,” the king suggested.

“You must decide, Majesty. I would never have taken this route, never in a thousand years. But …”

The king smiled sadly. “But it seems the only chance we have is certain death or possible death. I for one will always choose the latter.”

“If you’re directing us into another trap, girl,” Ben began. The king knew why Ben was being so uncharacteristically nasty. Finn liked Shalia and had trusted her.

“The only trap is the one that lies directly ahead on the road. The underground passageway will open out onto Asur-keh-la. From there, we can find the Great Trade road again.”

“Do you think the passageway itself will present difficulties?”

She smiled a little. “The passageway to the city of the dead? Not even the sand furies dare hide there. It should be safe enough, I think.”

“And you say we’ll have to leave the siege engines behind,” the king confirmed.

Shalia nodded. “I know how all this sounds,” she said. “But if it is any reassurance—I am willing to go with you. I will be putting my own life at risk alongside yours.”

“Not if your buddies are waiting to ambush us,” muttered Ben, but even he sounded less certain.

The king made his decision. “We go through Asur-keh-la. If nothing else, we shall deny the sand furies the pleasure of killing us.”

“We will just be handing them these weapons, along with the oxen pulling them,” Ben said.

“And where,” said the king, amused, “are they going to take them? They themselves have blocked the road!”

“Oh. I hadn’t thought of it that way,” said Ben, brightening. “Right then.”

The king couldn’t help but wonder how much he would wish, later, that they hadn’t been forced to leave the large, cumbersome weaponry behind. But there was no help for it. The oxen and the horses, at least, would be salvable, along with all their precious supplies. The king had dealt with things unliving before. And there was a chance that, in the end, this would prove to be nothing but an old folktale, and they’d all have a jolly good laugh at how scared they’d been.

Not a good one, but a chance.

“Our scout reported that the ambush is over a mile down the road. Shalia, how far ahead is the detour to Asur-keh-la?”

“There is a bend a few yards ahead. It is at that junction that an old road goes off through the mountain pass to the left. That is the pass to The Place From Which No Living Thing Returns.”

“Let’s just call it Asur-keh-la, shall we?” said Ben.

“All right. We’ll have to be careful. They clearly know we’ll be heading in their direction.” The king frowned, thinking. “They won’t be expecting the heavy weaponry to go fast, and that’s what’s going to be the most noticeable. If we do this right, we should be able to get the foot soldiers and the smaller carts well into the passageway without the sand furies realizing anything’s
amiss. It will take them at least a few minutes after we come to a full halt for them to suspect what we’re doing. Spread the word up and down the ranks. Once we hit that bend in the road, we’ll peel off a few at a time. Tell the oxen drivers to go slowly but steadily.”

Ben, Kalin, and Shan nodded. Shalia watched him go, then turned stoically to the king. “I will show you where the entrance is when we approach,” she said quietly.

“Give Ben a little time. You must understand how he feels.”

She nodded. “You likely will not understand, but … these are hard times, Your Majesty. Frightening times for those not strong enough to defend themselves. My father did what he thought best to ensure the safety of his people. He reasoned, better to sacrifice the lives and property of strangers than our own.”

“I can understand how that would be a difficult decision,” the king said. “I have had to make such no-win choices myself. It isn’t easy.”

She gave him a relieved smile. “I am glad you understand why he did this.”

“I said I understood,” the king said. “I didn’t say I approved—or that I would have done the same thing.”

“He had no choice!” Shalia insisted.

“There is always a choice,” the king replied. “As you well know—you chose to warn us, and now you choose to face the danger with us. Some would say, you had no choice but to obey your father. Things are usually much grayer than they appear to be, Shalia. Now—let’s move, and you can show me this path to the Place From Which—er, Asur-keh-la.”

Slowly, they rounded the bend. While the moonlight was fairly bright, the king would never have seen the darker smudge against the cliff sides if Shalia had not pointed it out. Two or
three at a time, the donkey- and horse-drawn carts laden with precious food, water, small weapons, and ammunition drifted over to the aperture. The torchlights they had with which to see seemed very feeble against that darkness. The king thought with a pang of Sir Walter, and his dislike of dark, enclosed spaces. Despite Shalia’s logical reassurances, the king made sure several men armed with weapons went first, just in case.

He watched the first seven small carts enter. When there was no sound of gunfire or anything else signaling danger, the king directed a few more inside.

“I think we’re going to be able to pull this off,” Ben said.

“I do too,” the king said. “But I’ve got a plan in case we don’t.”

“Oh?”

The king told him.

The oxen steadfastly pulling the heavy weaponry were only too happy to move slowly. More and more light carts and men dropped out of the caravan, slipping away unseen into the darkness of the tunnel through the living rock. Finally, the last dozen or so slowed and turned aside, leaving only the enormous engines of war being pulled along by plodding oxen. And at last their drivers, as well, gave the beasts farewell pats and headed for the cave.

“Go, go,” the king urged them. He had already sent Kalin and Shan in earlier. The only ones lingering near the entrance were himself, Ben, and about six of the king’s best sharpshooters armed with rifles. They waited, expectantly.

For several long, taut minutes, nothing happened. Then they started to see vague shadows slipping around the siege engines. The sand furies had now learned that their quarry had eluded
them, and they were, apparently, quite baffled as to what had become of an entire army.

“Stand fast, but be quiet,” the king hissed. “They may not figure it out.”

The shadows ran past, moving with almost inhuman litheness. The king fought the urge to hold his breath and was suddenly foolishly certain that the bandits could hear their very heartbeats.

Just as he had the thought, one of them paused. Slowly, he turned his masked head and gazed right at the entrance. All at once, several bright blades caught the gleam of moonlight, and the sand furies descended upon the tunnel.

“Run!” roared the king. Everyone turned on his heels and raced into the tunnel. Those who had gone before them had a single torch burning, so they wouldn’t stumble blindly. They reached the torch.

“Halt! About-face, weapons up!”

There was just enough light to see down the short length of the tunnel. The king prayed that the stretch would be long enough. Brandishing the weapons, the sand furies charged.

“Fire!”

The rifles cracked as the men fired—not at the approaching sand furies, but at the keg of gunpowder seated at the entrance.

The tunnel exploded in a flash of light and sound like captured thunder. Tons of rock came tumbling down, crushing the sand furies unfortunate enough to be in the tunnel, and sealing out those still left outside. The earth trembled, then subsided.

As dust from the fallen stones rose, the king coughed and helped a few of the others who had fallen to the ground.

“It held,” Ben said to the king. “Just like you said it would.”

The king merely nodded. He didn’t see the point in telling
Ben—or anyone—that he had been as nervous as the rest of them. He’d felt fairly sure the tunnel would hold … but there had been no way to be certain.

They had prevented their enemy from following them—but at a cost. There was, quite literally, no turning back now. The only way out was through.

“I don’t understand him,” Laylah said. She and Page were in the drawing room. They had just finished another sparring session, and Laylah was in a temper. “I fought well today. You saw!”

“Yes you did,” Page readily agreed. “You nearly got Timmins three times.”

“But he never said a word, not one word!”

“I noticed your improvement, and so did he. That’s just the way Timmins is, Laylah. He’s brusque, a bit grumpy, and probably the best instructor you could possibly have. Has it ever occurred to you that the reason you’re making the excellent progress that you are might be because he’s pushing you so hard?”

“I don’t mind being pushed,” said Laylah. She held a cup of tea, and her hand was trembling—not from exhaustion but from anger. “You know that. You push me. He’s just—I feel like why should I bother? He’ll never think I’m good enough. I’m worried, Page. My beloved is off leading an army to fight the darkness. I’ve been away from him longer than I’ve been
with
him! I don’t know what’s going on, I’m trying to keep morale up and support the people, I’m learning how to be a warrior and a queen when I’ve been neither before in my life, and I can’t even get a ‘good job’ out of Timmins!”

Page squeezed her hand. “I’ve talked with him, and believe me, he has nothing but respect for you. He just wants you to be safe.”

“I know, I know, there could be an assassin hiding in the chamber pot, Your Majesty, and then what would you do, blah blah blah,” she said. Her anger was subsiding now, and she was feeling more wounded than furious. “I feel like I have enough to worry about. I need him on my side.”

“He is, Your Majesty.”

“He’s on the king’s side. I daresay he could do without
me
just fine.” Page had no response to that, and the queen realized what she had said in a moment of self-pity was true.
Who is loyal to me? Who sees me for who I am, not just as the wife of a king?

Does Page truly see me, or is she like Timmins?

“Majesty? What is it?”

Laylah realized that her thoughts had been reflected on her face, and she shook her head quickly and forced a smile. “It’s nothing,” she said. “Pay me no heed. I think I’ll go for a walk in the garden to clear my head for a bit.”

“It’s cold out, but pleasant,” said Page. “That sounds like a good idea. We could both use it. I’ll let Barrows know.” She reached for her cloak.

“No,” the queen said, almost as surprised as Page to hear the words escaping her lips. “I think I’d just like some time to myself.”

Page nodded. “Of course, Your Majesty.” She smiled. “You can always send Rex if you wish my company.”

“I shall,” Laylah said.

“And of course you’ll take your pistol,” Page said. Anger again flashed through the queen, but she nodded. She had promised both Page and Timmins that she would never be alone anywhere without a way to defend herself. They didn’t need to remind her as if she were a child.

“Of course.”

Page bowed courteously and left quietly. Laylah wasn’t sure if
she had offended the other woman. Page often—what was the phrase? “Kept her cards close to the vest,” that was it. Laylah had seen her do so before with others, but never before with her.

She had initially used the gardens as an excuse, but now a walk in the chill, moist air to clear her head did sound like a good idea. She put on her cloak, grimaced a little as she fastened the pistol about her waist, and as she stepped out the door, she said to Barrows, “I’ll be in the garden.”

“Very good, Your Majesty.”

Laylah’s boots sank deep into the snow. By her own order, the gardens were now open to the public during daylight hours, but only a very hardy few availed themselves of the privilege. In contrast to the often clear days they had seen recently, today the air was thick with mist. She recalled Jasper’s dislike of the gardens at night and decided she didn’t like them on foggy wintry days, either. She wouldn’t encounter anyone in this kind of weather, and the thought kept her outside despite her discomfort. She walked for a bit, looking at the skeletons of rosebushes and trees as they appeared and disappeared in the mist, then found a bench piled with snow. She cleared a space with her gloved hands and sat down.

She could see her breath, and while the cloak and boots kept her warm, her face felt cold. Cold was something she had yet to grow accustomed to here in this strange land of Albion, and she privately marveled at the Mistpeak Dwellers, eking out a life in so harsh a land, and at young Shan’s hardiness in crossing the hitherto impassable Blade Mountains.

It was a bad thought. It led to her recalling the night—her wedding night—when Shan had arrived, and told them the horrors of the approaching darkness. She wanted her love back safely, wanted to wake up beside him. Laylah had understood that life as a queen would be far different from the ordinary life
she had always expected to lead, and had accepted that. But to have him ripped away from her so very soon, perhaps never to come back—

It overwhelmed her. She was so very miserable. Her husband was gone, Timmins hounded her daily, and even Page didn’t seem to be quite the friend Laylah had thought. She had no one. She felt alone in a way nobody could imagine.

She bowed her head, and, alone, let the tears flow, hot down her cold cheeks.
My love, my love, I miss you …

“Dear, dear,” came an aristocratic voice. “How terribly distressing to happen upon so lovely a young lady in such a sorrowful state. Here, please do take my handkerchief.”

Laylah turned, her hand on her pistol. There was no one there! Her heart sped up for a moment until a tall, elegant, dark-haired man materialized as if birthed by the fog. While he wore a cloak against the weather, the stranger also sported a top hat with goggles perched on the brim. His clothes were elegant and bespoke considerable wealth. He handed her a white handkerchief.

“Thank you,” Laylah said, gathering what dignity she had left around her even as she pulled the cloak more tightly about her slim frame. The stranger carefully swept off the snow on the bench with a gloved hand and, uninvited, sat down beside her.