The townspeople have rejoiced tremendously at the news of Zerban’s passing. The man who had spoken for them the first time Lahab and the Wanderer had arrived in Tasweer later introduced himself as the Noble Hadar. “You cannot leave without a meal,” he tells them, and they are invited to a hearty lunch, which embarrasses Lahab, for she knows they are not particularly well-off, especially not after Zerban’s abuses. Nevertheless, she accepts the gesture graciously, and the home-cooked meal – a vegetable soup and freshly-baked bread – is as lovely as it is plain.
The Wanderer, who sits across from her at the large communal table they have been seated at, has been silent, but she knows this is only because he wallows over the death he has caused. It almost makes her feel bad, for if all had gone according to plan, she would be the one who would have brought about the end of Zerban, and he would not need to contend with such demons. She certainly would not have. There are many terrible things the Wanderer does not know about Zerban – many things she has gleaned from his Guide – and his death, she knows, will be as a healing balm for so many.
How sad, to live one’s life so that one’s death is a welcome event.
She must remember never to fall into such a pit.
“Will you stay the night and rest?” Hadar asks her, breaking her from her thoughts. He sits next to her, and having already finished his food, has been chattering away confidently with the people sitting around him for quite some time. “We can arrange a place for you to sleep.”
“That is very kind of you, thank you,” Lahab responds gratefully, “but I am afraid time runs against my friend and myself. We must keep moving.” She has already sent word to Deletrear, and she does not know if Zerban's comrades know already of his death. Time is on her side, but it will not be for long.
Hadar nods in understanding, his infectious smile never leaving his face. “In that case, at the very least, allow us to give you some provisions for the road ahead. There are not many who travel the direction you are headed, and it might be some way before you can find a place to refill your supplies.”
“We would appreciate that very much,” Lahab agrees. She knows that leaving for the Ilden Road by way of Tasweer will lead them through the Sheffar Forest – a place well-known for not being particularly hospitable to travelers. Nevertheless, it will, at the very least, shake off the more easily-frightened mercenaries sent after them, for the forest is deadly at worst, and terrifying at best.
Well, if one were to believe the tales.
And there is no reason for them not to, for many have gone there only to never return.
“By the way,” Hadar says curiously. “Your companion over there – has he no name?” Before she can ask, he quickly adds: “I admit I’ve taken a look at his Guide, but there’s not much there.”
Lahab leans back in her chair, her bowl of soup and wedge of warm bread settling into her stomach. “Of course he has a name,” she replies, brushing bread crumbs off her pants. She will have to teach the Wanderer some basic Book Protection skills in the near future. “The truth is, he has unfortunately found himself on the other end of a malicious curse. He has forgotten it. He will soon remember it, however. It is only a matter of time.”
There is a moment of silence, and Lahab decides to do some more digging. “Tell me, Hadar. Zerban and his men – do you know why they seemed set upon this village?”
Hadar considers this, scratching his chin. “We figured it was simply due to our location,” he says at last. “Ours is a sleepy town, and always has been. Merchants do not pass by here on their travels, because the way ahead is treacherous. No matter where you are headed from here, you will have to pass through the Ilden Road, which leads through the Sheffar Forest. These parts have been dangerous for many years now, and the village has grown accustomed to its peace and quiet. We trade in the city and make what little fortune we can there, but the village remains a small, out-of-way place. Hardly anyone takes any notice of us. Perhaps that is why Zerban felt it was easy to victimize us.”
“Perhaps,” Lahab says, but it doesn’t quite add up. Why would Zerban care about this tiny village on the edge of his city? Why would he go out of his way to bring mercenaries into this place and continuously antagonize the villagers – demand more taxes, destroy their homes and livelihoods? What kinds of tactics are these?
“Zerban’s men – ever since they came, those foreigners, they’ve been watching us like hawks,” Hadar adds. Around them, a raucous laughter fills the room; someone has just told a joke, and apparently it is a very good one. When the laughter dies down, Hadar goes on. “It is almost as though he ordered them to escort us everywhere. When we would go to the city to sell and trade our wares and buy provisions for the people, one or two of them would accompany us. We could tell nobody what was happening, they’d say, or our families would find themselves buried alive.” He shudders violently, shaking his head. “I don’t know what Zerban possibly wanted from us, but whatever it was, I had the impression that he and his men could just as well get it without leaving a single one of us alive.”
“Why do you think they didn’t kill you all, then?” Lahab wonders.
Hadar shrugs, tapping his fingers on the wooden table. “Perhaps they wanted to avoid putting themselves in any kind of situation where they could arouse suspicion. After all, they were quite bent on keeping us quiet. I just don’t know why Zerban was so aggressive towards us. We’re just simple villagers. There is nothing here to warrant his ire but regular people going about their regular lives.”
“Yes,” Lahab murmurs thoughtfully. “It’s quite peculiar...”
Unless, of course, the mercenaries had been placed here by the enemy for a reason. To keep watch over this road, perhaps? It is possible the enemy wishes to use this road for something?
“The road is often avoided, yes?” she asks, her mind finally seeing some kind of picture form. Hadar confirms, and Lahab is almost certain she knows at least part of the reason why Zerban would have wanted to secure this village. If she is correct, the way to Nawm will be more dangerous than they’d previously thought, and there will be more mercenaries to contend with.
* * *
The afternoon stretches out into evening, despite their best efforts to take their leave, and it isn’t until the sun is setting that Lahab and the Wanderer are able to be on their way again, her trusty sack filled with enough provisions to last them for a few weeks. The Wanderer seems all too relieved to be on the road once more, the set of his shoulders relaxing slightly with every step they take. Every step that leads him away from Sowarr and the nightmares it holds for him lifts the burden from his shoulders a little bit more.
“Please come back any time you wish!” Hadar calls from behind them, waving his hands high above his head. “You are always welcome here!”
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Lahab waves back one last time, and the two are on their way, down the only path hereabouts, towards the only place they can go. Lahab checks on Muna, relieved to see the artifact is doing well. She’s not entirely sure how to take care of such a legendary item, but if it’s still doing well, then she must be doing something right. If her father were here, though – well, he always had answers and solutions. Maybe it comes with age and experience. Lahab is still trying to gain both.
But thinking of her father brings sorrow and loneliness, so Lahab does not allow herself to linger.
The path is getting dark, and as the flat landscape turns into an increasingly wooded area, she begins to feel at home again. Forests and their creatures do not frighten her nearly so much as humans and their vices. She misses Ildenwood already, and yearns for her peaceful day to day, waking in the early morning to make her rounds – to travel through the forest, picking fruit to eat as she does so and checking in on the animals under her protection.
When last she was there, four feral lepurs were nearing the ends of their pregnancies, and soon there will be tiny ones leaping through the forest, their horns little more than nubs on their heads. And the dhoob, which has been hibernating for five years, is set to wake within the month, with a voracious appetite to suit. And her flowers – that field of blazing color – will be in full bloom, a veritable feast for the eyes, and the buzzing, furry ildenbees that make their homes in the trees of the forest will fly to the flowers and gorge themselves on nectar and bumble their way home to make the sweet, thick honey that has so many medicinal properties.
The blue-haired foxes will hunt for the stripy-tailed lizards and flower-tailed squirrels, and curl up in the berry bushes so that they might snack lazily on the little fruits so juicy and sour. The flower-tailed squirrels will clean their homes soon, for the weather is turning slowly, and they will want a nice clean burrow to fill up with new seeds and nuts and silver-spotted mushrooms that leave them dizzy with sleep. The spiked root-cruncher will lead her delicate children out of the home Lahab has made them and begin teaching them to survive and thrive, advancing through the forest in a single file of hot-headed babes not altogether happy to have been pushed into the world.
So much more will happen – is already happening – and Lahab is not there to see it. Every day that passes, she misses more of her forest than she cares to admit aloud. It is disheartening to realize that the journey to Burj Annur is still weeks away.
The sky has already darkened, and the Wanderer is too wrapped up in his own thoughts to notice, when Lahab hears the crackling sound of footfalls on crunching leaves and snapping twigs. They are being followed again, and this time, she has a very good idea who it is. But she does not want to stop here. There is a clearing up ahead; it will be better for everyone and everything involved if she were to stand against them there.
She walks on, but it isn’t a few seconds later that the Wanderer picks up on their predicament, his ears all but perking up as he glances around furtively, broken from his deep thoughts. He is usually much more alert; perhaps he is thinking of the small memories that have returned. He has yet to tell her about them in more detail.
“Someone’s there,” he mutters quietly.
“Yes. Keep walking.”
They make it to the clearing without any issues, and Lahab finally comes to a halt. This is the safest place to use her Dragon’s Breath – anywhere else and she would be at a higher risk of starting a forest fire. She knows a little about those, and doesn’t want to make that mistake ever again.
Three mercenaries, they’d said. She has been expecting some trouble from the three foreign soldiers, given how the Wanderer has killed their inside man. But only two come out into the clearing, each of them tense like wound springs, ready to attack.
“It’s not very nice to stalk people like that, you know,” the Wanderer says quietly. “It might make them feel threatened.”
“Did you consider that that might be the point?” one of the men – a bulky figure with bulging eyes and a goatee – replies with a smirk.
“I did,” the Wanderer says, crossing his arms. “Then I saw you. Now I’m feeling a bit disappointed, actually.”
Where has this sarcastic snark been in all the time I have known him? Perhaps it is a result of his memories returning. Up until now, he has been as a blank page, without much of a personality at all. It is good, then, that he is coming back to himself at last.
“The feeling is mutual,” the other man growls. He has a long blonde braid that falls over his shoulder, and wears a tight-fitting ensemble that makes him look like a circus performer – without the colors. “When we heard a Guardian killed Zerban, we were expecting someone… taller, stronger, perhaps a tad more muscular. Instead we have a little girl and a scrawny boy. You must have caught him off-guard, Guardian.” He speaks to the Wanderer still, and Lahab has to squash down a heated sense of annoyance at the man’s presumption.
“You are mistaken,” the Wanderer says, jabbing a finger in Lahab’s direction. “She is the Guardian. I’m just her traveling buddy.”
The man with bulging eyes threw back his head with raucous laughter. “So, this tiny one is the Guardian who killed Zerban?” His hoots rang out through the clearing, and a flock of birds vacated the area.
“Oh, no,” Lahab says coolly. “You are once again mistaken. He killed Zerban, not I.”
“It doesn’t matter who killed who,” the one with the braid spat back, frustration straining his voice. “What matters is that we’re going to kill both of you.”
The Wanderer glances over at Lahab. “He keeps making mistakes, doesn’t he?”
“It would seem so,” Lahab replies, fighting the urge to smile. “Would you mind terribly if I took care of these two?”
The man with the goatee burst into laughter again. “Did you hear that?” he asks his partner, nudging him on the arm. “She said – she said – she said!” He could hardly get a word in, his laughter was too overpowering. “Would take care of us!”
“I am offended,” Lahab mutters quietly. It has been a while since someone has made her feel quite so irritated. Zerban – well, he’d always been an irksome rascal. But these two – these two men are really getting on her nerves. “I feel quite underestimated. Do I really seem so... small?”
The Wanderer raises his hands with a smile, but there is a twinge of uncertainty in his eyes. He has never seen Lahab in action before, and he seems concerned for her. Lahab isn’t concerned, however. She believes in her power. And they’ve threatened to kill her. She can only assume that they mean what they say. This would be a case of self-defense, just as it would have been with Zerban.
“Very well,” she sighs. “You may want to step back.” She begins to inhale slowly, the familiar almost-unbearable heat of her Dragon’s Breath filling her lungs. She cannot speak now, even if she wants to, because as soon as she exhales…
And she does.
When she has inhaled as much as her lungs can take – the Wanderer taking a few steps backward uncertainly – she finally releases her Dragon’s Breath, a stream of fire projecting outwards and consuming the surprised men in fiery flames and billowing smoke that both cooked and smothered. It’s a bit stronger – and much less contained – than she expects.
The shouts and yells are more than just difficult to listen to, given that Lahab has only ever had to use her Dragon’s Breath on one person before, but she tries to drown them out by listening to the roar of fire in her ears. Even before the she has emptied the contents of her lungs, the offensive stench of burning makes her wrinkle her nose and step back instinctively.
When it is over – and it is a good deal of time before that happens – the two men are incapacitated and quite burnt, form their clothing to their skin, and Lahab’s ears are ringing.
You have brought about the demise of Adlez Thrae and Nero Thrae.
The names mean nothing to her, but she realizes too late that her Guides might have had more information for her – about who was after her, and what their plot is, and why they seemed to be watching this particular path. Perhaps the third one – if they come across him – will be able to give her such information. She will be careful not to kill him.
The Wanderer pats out a growing fire next to them and gags uncontrollably at the smell, his face streaked with dark smudges. She doesn’t blame him. Though she has only ever had the experience once before, the scent is not one that she will ever get used to.
“Was that what you were going to do to Zerban?” the Wanderer demands, eyes watering from the smoke. She rubs her own burning eyes as he holds back a coughing fit. “That would have burnt us all to a crisp!”
“My apologies,” she says, seriously contemplating today’s use of her unique skill. “It seems I am out of practice. It has been a while, after all, and there aren’t many chances to use my ability in a forest. It is usually a lot more… controlled.”
“I hope so,” he mutters, patting out yet another patch of fire not twenty steps from where the men lay completely still. Though it’s hard to make everything out under the darkened sky, she can make out enough to tell that they have died a terrible death at her hands. He avoids looking at them, and Lahab would do the same, if she weren’t so grotesquely fascinated by the effects of her Dragon’s Breath. The last time she had killed someone with it had been…
Many years ago. Her father had been there to help. He had covered her eyes and pulled her away from the results of her actions. Protected her from the sight of what she had done.
He is not here today to do the same.