The Last Talisman (27 page)

28

Barren Lands

Nihal and Sennar departed after lunch. Their guide was a thin boy with red hair and freckles to match, one of the few humans to be counted among the rebels. The remainder of their journey through the aqueducts was monotonous and exasperating—one identical tunnel after another, the dark ever deeper, the heat and humidity unbearable. Their guide was tight-lipped and nimble as a ferret. Twice, they were forced to call out to him in desperation after he slipped out of sight around a corner. They, too, had little to say, feeling somewhat ill at ease in the presence of their freckled escort. Hardly a word was spoken throughout the entire journey; alone and immersed in private thoughts, each traveler pressed onward.

“This is it,” the boy said suddenly, breaking the long silence. He pointed toward a light in the distance. “This is where the aqueduct ends. Up above is Hora, the Southern Pass. Head due west and you'll reach the border.”

Then, before they even had time to ask for further direction, the boy slipped stealthily back into the shadows.

And just like that, Nihal and Sennar were once again on their own.

After one last, exhausting push, they reached the light and found themselves standing on the slopes of an enormous volcano. Its low rumbling filled the air for miles. It was completely different than the volcano they'd encountered in the Lake of Jol. It was a mountain, a colossal mountain, black with soot and lava, as imposing as an all-powerful divinity. To stare at it was like staring at a mighty, towering god. To the south, the volcano descended gradually, but the other slopes were treacherously steep. The mouth at its peak was blood red, spitting streams of lava into the sky.

Narrowing their eyes, Nihal and Sennar could make out a second mountain to the north. Even from where they stood, it seemed somehow more gigantic than the one whose ominous profile loomed above them now. Another volcano, most likely the largest in the region.

“Aires told me that Assa, the capital, is situated at the foot of an enormous mountain, visible from every corner of the Land of Fire. That must be it,” Sennar explained.

Eyeing the distant peak, Nihal's thoughts turned toward her teacher. Assa was the city where Ido had lived for so many years, the city of which he'd dreamed during his long exile in the Land of Rocks; it was where he'd returned in order to kill the land's usurping king, the place where he became an assassin. Who knew how Ido was now, where he was, what battles he was fighting with Vesa. Nihal only prayed that he was okay, that she'd find him safe and sound when at last she set foot once again in the Free Lands.

It took them the entire day to skirt around Hora. When they reached the other side, they took the first road leading west, as instructed, and headed toward the place whose name was hardly reassuring: the Dead Plains. It was hard to imagine a terrain any more desolate than the one they had to traverse in order to get there. There was not a single blade of grass. A nauseating odor filled the air. A dense, massive cloud blocked the sun's light. Yet despite all that, there was something comforting about the view, something that made it seem less sad than the landscape they'd encountered in the Land of Days. At least the desolation stretched before them now wasn't the Tyrant's doing, another saddening display of his mania for destruction. In its own way, the region was an example of untouched wilderness. The dead ground beneath their feet had always been dead, the surrounding air had always been putrid, and that's exactly what made it so beautiful. This was the realm of nature, primordial, a place where the natural spirits were pure and powerful. Here, fire and water ruled uncontested, impervious even to the Tyrant's force.

“Looking out on this landscape, you start to think that humans, dwarves, every being that populates this earth, that we're all nothing but intruders,” said Sennar, as they plodded across the barren land.

Nihal couldn't agree more. Faced with the sight of nature's absolute dominion, all the wars and bloodshed seemed but a drop in the bucket. She felt, at last, that she understood what Flar had meant when he spoke of the world's infinite flux. All was a circle, fated never to close, and one day living beings would no longer pronounce the Tyrant's name. All human affairs would die slow, agonizing deaths, until they were utterly forgotten. When time had at last run its course, there'd be nothing left but fire, the rushing water of the rivers, the sloping rocks of the mountains, the rolling ocean, the wind-swept earth.

After four days' travel, they reached the Dead Plains, and it only took them a moment's glance to recognize the aptness of the name. A vast, flat, yellow expanse stretched as far as the eye could see. Steaming craters dotted the landscape, some emitting dense puffs of smoke, others oozing with lava that flowed over the ground in a web of strange, geometrical patterns. From other craters, thick columns of water shot up into the sky at regular intervals. Not a single living creature graced the harsh land.

Crossing the Dead Plains proved more difficult than expected. Cracks and fissures punctuated the land and it was necessary to skirt the lava spewing from them. There were deeper crevices, as well, and it took the pair time to wend their way around the many volcanoes and geysers. In the extreme heat, the air was nearly unbreathable. It didn't take long for their morale to crumble. They trudged across the land with what struck them as an exasperating slowness, their lungs on fire, their bodies drenched in sweat. The only consolation was the idea that they wouldn't encounter any enemies. After all, what use would it be for the Tyrant to guard a place where even the flies wouldn't dare buzz?

“It might be a good idea to let Ido know we'll be arriving soon,” Nihal said one evening.

The two lay stretched out on their backs, gazing up at a patch of starry sky between a gap in the clouds. “We're only missing two stones.”

“I don't know. The journey isn't over yet. …” Sennar replied. It seemed to him bad luck to talk so soon of the mission's end.

“Preparing such a large attack won't be easy. We have to let them know we're coming. Otherwise, they'll never be ready,” Nihal insisted.

Sennar went on staring up at the sky. “For all we know, something might slow us down.” He paused. “Or we might not make it back at all.”

Nihal smiled and sat up on her elbow to look at him. “Worried you're a bad luck charm?” she said.

Sennar smiled back. “Maybe I am.”

Ever since they'd parted ways with Aires, he'd been on edge. As they'd said their good-byes, he'd had the troubling feeling that it might be the last time he ever saw her, and the shadow of death still hung over him. He shook his head to banish the thought and turned toward Nihal. “Let's say we do make it, that we do defeat the Tyrant. … Have you ever wondered what we'd do after that?”

Nihal stretched out on the ground again and turned her eyes to the heavens. “I don't know,” she answered. “To be honest, I'm tired of fighting. If this ever does come to an end, maybe I'll set down my sword for a while.”

Sennar cast her a look of astonishment. “There's no way! From the moment I met you, you've wanted nothing but to be a warrior, and now all of a sudden you want to quit?”

“A few nights ago, I had a conversation with Aires,” she replied. “And some of the things she said have got me thinking. For as long as I can remember, I've been trying to find myself on the battlefield. Maybe it's time I look elsewhere. In rest, in solitude, I don't know. … All I know is that I've seen enough blood, at least for now.”

Sennar struggled to conceal his disappointment.

In solitude. … Why not with me, Nihal? Why won't you let me help?

“What about you?” Nihal asked.

“I'm not all that sure either, but I do know I'll keep being a sorcerer,” he said. “First off, I'll return to the Council, if they'll have me. There's always work to be done there, war or no war. I'll go back to doing what I used to do; I'll enjoy the calm, see what life in peacetime is like. It must be nice,” he said, his tone more melancholic than he'd have liked. Then he lay back down and turned his attention once again to the few stars in the sky above.

After three days' travel, they reached the center of the Dead Plains. The constant sight of desolation before them, without a single blade of grass, had worn their spirits thin. They were desperate to encounter something living, and their prayers, in fact, were answered—only not in the way they'd have preferred.

All of a sudden, as they marched beneath a blanket of gray clouds, they heard the chatter of voices. Up until then, the only sounds they'd heard had been the roar of water gushing from the earth and bursts of lava and smoke emitting from the craters.

They hid themselves behind an odd, rocky outcropping and waited, their stomachs in knots. After a few, endless minutes, they saw two dwarves pass by in full armor, their insignia leaving no doubt as to whose side they were on. Nihal and Sennar pressed themselves as flat as possible against the rock, holding their breath so as not to make a noise. What were enemy troops doing in such a godforsaken place?

“They must be dead, if you ask me.”

“Me, too.”

“Then what in the world are we out here looking for?”

“Listen, there's no point in asking questions. You know as well as anybody that orders are orders, and this one in particular seems to have come from high up.”

“You mean … from him?”

“I think so.”

“They must be some deadly intruders for him to have gone out of his way like this. …”

Sennar could feel his heart pounding in his chest. He only prayed it wasn't loud enough for the dwarves to hear.

“According to our spies, one of the councilors is missing from Makrat. They discovered his absence a while back, three months before they found that boy in the Land of Days. It must be him, the one they've been talking so much about, the one who went down into the Underworld.”

“From what I heard, the Tyrant never thought the little rat capable of such a feat.”

“I heard the same. In any case, they suspect he's one of the fugitives.”

So he was their target. Over and over in his head, Sennar told himself that everything was okay, that all that mattered was that they didn't know about Nihal. He fumbled for the half-elf's hand and found it, gripping the hilt of her sword. He squeezed it tight.

“The bodies they found in the forest, they'd been pulverized by some sort of spell. Who else do you think could take out seven Fammin and a man, if not a councilor?”

“No, you're right. But it's been a month already, and we still haven't found them.”

“Well, according to the men from the squadron chasing after them, they disappeared into thin air in the midst of the forest. Whoever this sorcerer is, he knows what he's doing.”

They came to a halt a few paces from where Sennar and Nihal were hiding.

“Who's with him?”

Sennar prayed they hadn't seen Nihal.

“A warrior of some sort. He took out four Fammin.”

“Do they have any idea who he is?”

“No, not at all. We should probably head back though, don't you think? The sun's on its way down and the base is still a good ways off.”

“Agreed. We've done what we were sent here to do.”

They turned and retraced their steps.

Nihal relaxed and let her head fall forward. Sennar, meanwhile, remained as taut as a violin string.

“They know about us,” she said, turning to him.

“But they don't know about you.”

Nihal cursed under her breath. “That was stupid, thinking they'd stopped looking for us. … Now what? We still have to cross through the Land of Rocks and the Land of the Wind.”

“The only sensible thing to do is keep our cool. Apparently, there's an enemy base somewhere in the area. After today, we'll travel only at night, in disguise if we can manage. We have to get out of here as soon as we can.”

They continued marching for the rest of that day and throughout the night. The enemy base wasn't far off, but it clearly was not the only one, for several roads branched off from the structure. Why the enemy would be stationed on such a barren tract of land remained a mystery.

As the eastern horizon began to glow with the light of dawn, they set about searching for a place to hide and rest their legs, though it was several hours before they found one. Only when the sun approached its peak in the sky did they at last discover a small hole in the ground that would serve their purposes.

The next night, they continued trudging forward. Sennar placed Nihal under the same spell he'd used to change her appearance in the Land of Days. “It's absolutely essential at this point that no one finds out you're a half-elf,” he said.

The farther along they advanced, however, the more enemies they met. The Dead Plains swarmed with enemy encampments and structures of every sort: grand towers looming above the plain, cities like those they'd seen in the Land of Days, fortified citadels. More numerous than anything else, however, were the strange, fenced-in camps, surrounded by high walls of black crystal, beyond which their gazes could not hope to penetrate. Several times, as they passed by these mysterious camps at a cautious distance, they heard a roaring fill the air and felt the earth tremble beneath them, as if shaken by heavy footfalls.

“The sounds seem familiar,” Nihal remarked on one such occasion. “It might be coming from dragons.”

One night, passing by another of these walled camps, they heard an unusually violent ruckus of wild shouts and brutal roars. In terror, they watched as an enormous creature rose above the crystal walls and up into the night's darkness. From its mouth came a stream of bright flames, as it spread its diaphanous wings in the dense air above the plain. A black dragon. So that was the reason for all the hidden camps—the Tyrant was breeding his savage beasts right here in the Dead Plains.