Chapter 2. The Road

The servants knew only that two of the mightiest young men in the palace were awake and something was stirring, something that seemed to involve Tay-Vasani, but -- like all smart servants -- their keen sense of self-preservation led them to avoid unnecessary contact with those who held power.  The household staff of the royal palace put their heads down and their focus on minor chores and routines far away from the room where Sur-Pashno, Rak-Laton, and Tay-Vasani were meeting in the still small hours of the morning.

But only one of that trio still drew breath, and knowing his soul was now certainly forfeit, Rak-Laton could only think of himself as N'rak, the remains of Rak.  He closed the door to the room and allowed his hands to go about their mindless work of cleaning his sword.  Duty demanded that he go immediately to the Lord Ha-Pashno IV, confess his unbelievable crime, and quietly accept the grisly death sentence he so richly deserved.

But N'rak had not only been trained in his duty.  He had also been trained to survive in the face of overwhelming odds.  A single cold logical voice deep within him whispered, "Escape.  Live. Fight again."  He stood there, the silence broken only by the gentle and automatic application of cleaning rag to blade.  As N'rak listened to his inner chorus singing mournfully of duty and the tiny solo voice urging survival, his unblinking gaze shifted to the corpse of Tay-Vasani, and a new voice began to chant within.  Love.  Sur-Pashno had torn the life from the throat of his only love.  Why?  How could this delicate, fragile, and achingly beautiful girl have deserved such a senseless fate?

N'rak knelt beside the lifeless body of Tay-Vasani, gently cut away a lock of her hair, and made up his mind.  She had given her heart to him.  He would cherish that heart and keep its tiny flame alive for as long as his wit and his arm and his blade could manage.  N'rak stood and walked out.

No one made the slightest attempt to challenge the well-known sworn companion of the royal heir.  He saddled the swiftest steed in the royal stables and led his mount to the dark north gate. A rosy hint of the coming dawn washed the dark eastern skies as N'rak turned his back on his ideal former life and rode into self-imposed exile.

It was nearly midday before the bodies were found.  The glass had been turned again before anyone was able to summon the courage to approach the god-king Ha-Pashno IV with the dark tidings of his son's death at the hands of his sworn companion.  The servant girl was of course too trivial to mention.

* * * * * * * * *

"And what about my needs?" Kod-Barsol demanded.

"What you need is a good scrubbin," grumbled his companion Hlek-Feg.

Two filthy human dregs of society sat huddled on either side of a fetid low campfire composed of burning dried dung.  The sun had just set and taken the day's warmth with it.  A cold half-moon now rose to shine on the dirt-encrusted pair as they bickered in a rocky depression a stone's throw from the time-worn east-west pilgrim's road.

"I'm hungry.  See if there's anyone on the road," said Kod.

The put-upon Hlek sighed and turned around to peer out at the roadway from their crude concealment.  By the soft glow of the lunar light, Hlek could just make out a dark shape at the very end of the visible road – a dark shape that slowly drew nearer.

"Summin out there."

"Yeah?  Well.  Good."

It was easy for them to snuff out the malodorous flame, and that left the two in darkness to peer out from shadowed the rocks to watch with growing impatience as the ebon shape in the moonlight gradually resolved itself into a single person on foot.  The traveler wore a long black hooded cloak and used a stick or cane of some design.

"Oi," whispered Hlek.  "Thought I saw sumpin shiny there.  See?"

"Could be a blade."

"Could be a nice silver buckle we could trade for a decent meal."

"Ooo, thad be nice, eh?"

"Mm.  Best get ready."

The traveler came closer still.  There was no sound of boots on stone, no swish of feet passing through blades of grass, no sound at all as the figure approached.

When at last the moment seemed ripe, Kod and Hlek stepped onto the roadway.

"Evenin to ya, good sir.  A lonely way to travel in such a dangerous place," Kod said.

"Wouldja have sumpin you could spare for two honest folk such as ourselfs?" Hlek added, his tone more menacing than his words.

The figure stopped and stood quite still for a moment.

"Oi.  You deef?" said Kod.

"I have nothing for you.  No valuables.  Nothing."  But to the surprise of the two bandits, the voice of the traveler was that of a woman, a quiet young woman.  They did not, however, take any notice of the weariness and the absence of any fear in that voice.

The two filth-encrusted men exchanged a look and then returned their searching gaze upon the cloaked woman.

"I'd say you do though."  They laughed a gutteral phlegmy laugh.  "Yes indeedy, I would say you do at that."

The traveler reached out a single pale hand, palm up toward the stars, fingers slightly curled.  "I have nothing for you," she repeated.

Kod stepped up to her grinning with what rotted teeth remained to him.  "Come on, let's us have a look, though, eh?  A little look."  He reached up and flicked back the hood with no opposing move from the woman.

The eyes of the two robbers flew wide and, as one, they recoiled a half-step.

The woman's tone deepened and once more she said, "I have nothing.  For.  You."

Time hung motionless in the air between the would-be bandits and the mysterious figure.  Then Kod-Barsol and Hlek-Feg dropped the stones they had picked up to use as weapons, turned toward the rocky terrain from which they had pounced, and ran as if the ravenous fiends from the dungeons of the god-king himself were at their heels.  In only a few moments their retreat was so far away that little sound of it reached the road.

The woman quietly pulled her hood back up and continued on her way.

* * * * * * * * *

N'rak had made the best use of his horse's speed.  He rejected the idea of trying to leave a confused trail to throw off his eventual pursuers.  There could be no doubt that the Lord Ha-Pashno IV would set every man, woman, and child within his far-flung realm to search for the slayer of his eldest son.  N'rak's only chance at survival was to remove himself from that realm altogether.

And so he rode and rode hard.  When the horse required rest from carrying its rider, N'rak dismounted and walked the beast.  When there was nearly nothing left of the horse's reserves, N'rak released the animal into a field with other horses and stole one of them.  The sun had climbed into the sky and made its usual daily trip across the heavens.  N'rak traveled on.  The afternoon came and then turned to evening.  N'rak traveled on.  The shadows lengthened out into evening and dusk.  N'rak traveled on.

The darkness swallowed up the landscape, and still he rode until at last N'rak's new farm-bred mount could go no farther, and no replacements could be seen.  Only this circumstance brought a temporary halt to N'rak's nearly full day of flight.  He led the animal off the road and tethered him to tree beneath which the renegade swordsman then sat to gather his own strength.

Gazing out to the place where blackest sky met blackest horizon, N'rak was at last overcome with the delayed weight on his heart of the pain and loss of that morning's tragedy.  He would never again see Tay-Vasani's smile, the sparkle of her eyes.  He would never feel her heart beating against his chest.

The warrior's voice cracked with his emotions, "How can there ever be happiness again?"

N'rak's head sank to his chest and although he squeezed his eyes tightly shut, the tears streamed down his face and he tasted their salty bitterness at the corners of his mouth.

"When happiness cannot be, we must settle for justice."  The woman's voice came to him from a deep pool of shadows beneath a wild thorn bush a very short distance away.

He should rightly have been shocked, have drawn his sword perhaps and slain this unwanted intruder into his thoughts.  He couldn't explain why he did not react exactly that way, but the voice might just as well have been inside him, so closely did it mirror his own thoughts.

"And when we find that justice is only a story told to little children?"  N'rak asked aloud.

"Then vengeance is all that is left," came the bitter reply.  "Forgive me.  I have been resting here for some time.  I heard you arrive.  You and your mount are clearly exhausted.  I thought only to rest on and gather my own strength, then depart before sunrise, leaving you in peace, good sir."

Good sir.  N'rak sighed.  He wondered if he was already sleeping and the spirit of Tay-Vasani had come to him in his dreams.  "I was a fool to speak to the night.  There is no offense, my lady."

Her jaw tightened unseen.  My lady.  No one had ever addressed her with those words.  And although she carried an unquenchable agony in her heart every moment of her existence, the simple honesty of this tired stranger had caused that inner pain to build into a tidal wave that passed over and buried her alive.  If it were possible for her to shed tears, she would have then, but instead both the exiled fighter and the mysterious woman -- each in the cover of separate shadows -- fell into exhausted and dreamless sleep, and the world around them seemed to hold its breath so as not to awaken them needlessly.

* * * * * * * * *

The sun was high in the sky when a snort from the tethered farm horse brought N'rak to instant wakefulness.  He looked quickly to the shade under the nearby thorn bush and saw that the black-robed figure was stirring as well.  But before either of them could speak, they heard the sound of men approaching on the road, talking, laughing, arguing.  There were at least a dozen of them.  The group had almost passed completely when one of them saw the farm horse.  They all stopped then.

"Sat horse doin there?" one voice asked.

"Why don we jus fine out, ya?" a deep one replied.  There were murmurs of agreement and the sound of the group's footsteps changed as they left the road and entered the field.

N'rak stood and the group stopped up short.  N'rak counted fifteen but could see fewer than ten who were in any shape to fight.  Their weapons seemed to be no more than two long swords, seven rusty scythes, and a shovel.

One of the sword bearers stepped out of the group and sized up N'rak.  "Your horse, mistah?"

"He is not yours," N'rak said.

"Looks like you've ridden him hard."

N'rak merely stood in silence and waited.

"Here.  Wats wrong wif you, mistah?  I said you've ridden that horse too hard, you have."  The group was slowly coming closer and closer to N'rak, testing to see how close they could come before encountering resistance.

N'rak slowly unsheathed his own gleaming blade.  The men stopped.  Worry crept into their expressions.

The robed woman surprised everyone by springing up to stand in the shade of the thorn bush.  "What do you seek here?" she said.  Her voice was soft, not challenging.

"It's a woman!" said a voice from the back of the group of men.  Now the worry on their expressions was replaced by sneers and cunning smiles and reflections of baser appetites.  Like a pack of wolves they began to spread out to encircle their prey.  N'rak decided the time for waiting had ended.

With two long strides, N'rak closed the distance to the nearest of the two sword bearers and -- with a speed none of the rough hunters had ever seen – his sword bit cleanly through the other's right wrist so that hand and sword together fell to the ground.  But N'rak was trained to fight to the death, and as his sword whirled on its tip drove into the other's windpipe and then flowed on to bite deeply into the knee of the next nearest man.  Several of the would-be wolves stepped back now, not at all accustomed to armed resistance, and certainly not so ruthless as this.

N'rak waded into the midst of the group like a tornado tearing through loose bales of hay.  Four and then five of the men dropped whatever they were holding and turned to run as fast as they could.  Blood sprayed everywhere, blinding most but not N'rak.  The farm horse was rearing, pulling desperately at his tether to escape from this bloody violence.

It was a slaughter.  Of the ten men who had not run, nine were dead and one lay dying until N'rak stepped over beside him and raised his sword like an executioner over his head.  There was no hesitation, no moment's pause to speak some pointless cliche.  N'rak simply beheaded the man and then stood among the dead, his usually impassive face betraying the roiling emotions within.

Now the woman stood quietly beside the warrior and an ashen hand extended from the folds of her all-covering robe to rest gently on N'rak's shoulder.  "We should go," she said simply, and with those three words the two of them were joined.

N'rak breathed deeply and then forced himself to relax.  "Yes," he replied without turning to even try to look at her.  "Could you ready the horse?  I must clean my sword."

She understood he was not commanding her.  It was a request of one to another, with the added explanation about the sword.  The woman understood much of what had happened and saw that, to this man, his sword was not a weapon or a tool but an extension of him -- his skill and power and sense of right and wrong and primal rage.  To leave while the sword was still bloody would have been wrong to him in a basic way that surpassed description.

She stood holding the horse's reins.  N'rak hands needed none of his attention to perform the familiar movements to clean and hone the blade.  When it was sheathed once more, N'rak turned to the cloaked woman.  "Let us take turn and turn upon the horse.  If you will ride first, I will go on foot beside you."

The woman swarmed easily up onto the saddle and they set out on the road at a brisk pace, N'rak running easily and the woman riding with one hand holding tightly the hood over her head.  In this way they traveled for several hours, stopping only when the woman spied fresh horses in a field.