Horizon (In the Absence of Kings Book 3) Read online

She waved him towards a two-story building with a heavy tapestry flowing in the wind. Garreth looked up at the rendition of a dark rodent sat beside a bed of water and flanked by two trees in the shadow of a great dune, but he could not understand any of the lettering below it.

  “I think this means drink… as in beverage,” Ilsa explained as she pointed towards some symbols, “This might be a tavern, and they might have beds. Let us inquire inside, shall we?”

  “Very well,” Garreth agreed before he pushed the heavy cloth tarp of the doorway aside.

  They entered to a sparsely lit and open room with wood planks across its floor. From the view from the door, it reminded Garreth of a rat’s den: low, shady, and enclosed. There were five round tables placed at random with stools around them and a bar against the side wall and a counter against the back. The two patrons of the bar looked over their shoulders at the two travelers as they entered but shortly returned their gazes to their draughts and their conversation to the barkeep.

  “Do you have rooms? For rent? For sleep?” Garreth asked as he leaned against the bar.

  The bartender grunted, nodded, and pointed over to the desk at the far end, and Ilsa followed Garreth there. Garreth knocked upon the desk, and they went unanswered for some time. Then, the bartender’s wife appeared at the desk through a door of hanging beads. She smiled and spoke to them in the Vandarian tongue, and Garreth and Ilsa could only shrug.

  “Rooms?” Garreth asked.

  “Ah, yes, we have rooms. Forgive me. By the look of your garbs, I assumed you were with the Order. Two beds or one?” the woman explained, and her blushing was visible even in the dim light.

  “One, please,” Ilsa asked with a smile, and the hostess reached under the desk for a keyring.

  “Follow me,” the innkeep explained with a bow and led Garreth and Ilsa up the stairs.

  She stopped at the first door on the right in a long hallway with windows at each end.

  “I hope you enjoy the room. It is one of our best,” the innkeep claimed, smiling as she stood holding the door open for the two.

  Ilsa and Garreth made their way inside and looked around. A tapestry with a multitude of warm colors and angular lines hung on the wall over the wide bed with a similarly elaborate and carved headboard. The innkeep went around the room, lit the various candles, and fluffed the pillows. The room had two wide windows overlooking the front of the tavern, which were sealed shut by long strips of thick cloth tied to the inner frame of the building. They thanked the innkeep, and she shut the door. They unbound their armour and placed their weapons on the floor beside the bed.

  “I’d say this is sheep’s wool, but I haven’t seen a single one since I’ve been here,” Ilsa commented as she fell into the bed, unleashing a tired sigh.

  “Well there seems to be a lot of it. Maybe camel’s fur?” Garreth replied as he sat in the bed.

  “Oh, shush you,” Ilsa said as she patted at his chest.

  As Ilsa disappeared under the covers, sharp angles poked against the fabric as she rustled. Before long, she threw her wiry, black cloth onto the ground and poked her head above the sheets.

  “So, what are you waiting for?” Ilsa asked with a telling grin as she peered at him and then clawed at him with rigid fingers.

  “An invitation,” Garreth stated before he threw the covers over top of himself.

  The warmth of the sheets and the softness of the bed was no comparison to the carnal radiance of their love, which was pulsating and rhythmic, energetic and restoring. The meeting of their lips was as refreshing as the quench of cool water in that arid place, and they supped at each other enough to fill the entire ocean. The caressing of their skin was warm and tender like the sun they had left behind in Malquia; not scalding or tiring like the desert’s, but stirring and uplifting. Ilsa, pale and beautiful as the moon, and Garreth, as bold and reaching as the wide night sky, made a scene to rival all adoration of the heavens above. Together, drenched in sweat from their passions, they drew the thick cloth weave over their bodies and held each other close, still desperate to warm each other in the cool of the deepening night.

  They awoke before sunrise the next morning, refreshed from their early sleep amongst other things, to get the jump on the killer if he wandered out for breakfast or business. The rising sun painted the sandy street bright orange like a market rug, which only helped increase the street side shadow. Ilsa had purchased some pears for breakfast, and they waited in an alleyway between the market and the city gates, looking for any sign of their mark.

  It seemed business as usual on the main street. The citizens of Erawal, heads heavy and limbs stiff, walked from their houses and made their way to the market or outside to the water. They had found quite a convenient spot that day. If they drew attention, they could simply show their backs and blend in with the assortment of robes and hanging cloths there to dry at the clothier’s stand. Noon was approaching soon when Garreth pointed out to an emerging figure on the street.

  “There! Look there!” Garreth whispered to Ilsa, and they both found the man in tapered blacks striding down the main street towards the gate.

  “Let’s go,” Garreth said, and they walked at a distance away, keeping at least two people between them and the shrouded man at all times.

  They watched him move outside the gates and stood watching out over the water and up the hills. They made their way out of the gate and stood next to their horse as if preparing to mount it.

  “Now is our chance, he is almost completely alone. We can handle those guards,” Garreth suggesting, nodding to the Vandari at the gate.

  Ilsa nodded, and Garreth put his hand on Darkbreaker’s grip. He was pulled back at the last moment by Ilsa’s solid grip on his wrist.

  “Look!” She spoke as she pointed towards the hilltop.

  If it were a stony road, they surely would have been heard from a distance. But on the sandy plains outside of Erawal, the Vandarian battalion went undetected until it was nearly too late. The children playing and splashing in the water stood to full attention, and the washing women looked up from their labours with much concern. The first five rows of ten wielded long pikes of dark-stained wood with a lethal spike of metal at the end. The next ten rows of ten, the common Vandarian soldier were dressed the same as the pikemen in their leather cuirasses, plate mail shoulders, and loose chain and leather leggings except this group brandished a broadsword and shield. The last fifty behind the largest group were the archers that wore the lightest chest pieces of leather and garments of cloth with bows longer than Garreth’s, used for laying siege at long distances. The two watched the battalion march down between the forest and the plume of smoke beyond. The unit’s commanding officer stepped out of formation to consult with the shrouded man.

  “Malic the Red. We have been dispatched from the garrison at Andalvia by order of Spymaster Galhaast to perform the following duties. To patrol the area for any Malquians that have survived the attack at sea near Nacosst, presumably responsible for the attack at Bloodsands, and to transport the two prisoners as described in your letter. I can easily afford to send ten men back to Andalvia with your charges now. I assume you have them captive and are ready for transport?” the officer asked in the Vandarian tongue.

  “The prisoners grew suspicious of all the waiting I asked of them. You and your men did not come fast enough. Not all is lost, however. They have left for Nacosst to find shelter or to join up with the rest of their comrades. If we leave immediately, we may catch them in time,” Malic suggested.

  “Very well, Malic. I will give my men a moment to cool and sup at the water’s edge and then we will depart. Do not make us wait. We will not be hindered by your failures,” the officer stated before spinning on his heel and leaving to address his men.

  Malic grit his teeth. Garreth watched as the man turned around and headed towards the two, staring with peering eyes and he came into closer and clearer visibility. The man stopped just paces away from Garreth and began to untie a hors
e from the post.

  “This is the man!” Garreth whispered to Ilsa as the man’s red eyes came into view and the shining gold on his dagger hilts was exposed.

  “It is not safe to strike. Let us wait and get ahead of them. Our friends in Nacosst need warning of this threat, and we have to prepare if we are to survive them. The man will be in Nacosst. Let us deal with him then,” Ilsa stated, hearing the urgency in Garreth’s voice.

  Garreth hung his head but could not disagree with Ilsa, and he hopped onto the horse and gave Ilsa a hand up. The wind whipped around Ilsa’s dark locks as the horse galloped out of the vicinity of Erawal, escaping from view long before the Vandari had left the water’s edge. Leaving the assassin behind in Erawal did not sit well with Garreth, but he had a feeling that the killer was headed to Nacosst now. And Garreth distinctly heard the word Malquian. Who could they have been speaking of? Indeed, Garreth and Ilsa were two Malquians who had attacked their refinery. Perhaps, the assassin had been hunting them as well. Garreth tried to put these questions to rest as he moved on towards Nacosst.

  They arrived at the seaside in the late afternoon and headed north along the shore, hoping they didn’t pass Nacosst in their hurry. Ilsa spotted the most peculiar thing, two pieces of driftwood forming the shape of an X, but said nothing to Garreth, who seemed to be of one focus and mind. Soon, the rooftops of Nacosst came into view, and they brought their horse down to a slow trot. Garreth nodded at the guards of the gate, and they made their way into the city. After a firm handshake and an exchange of thanks, Garreth left the horse in the care of the stable master and took Ilsa by the hand, leading her through the docks and into the garrison courtyard. Even though Garreth was in a rush, the two had not made it up the hill into the building before a familiar voice cried out.

  “Garreth! Ilsa!” a figure garbed in a flowing robe of black yelled as she ran towards them.

  The person withdrew their hood to reveal her shock of red hair and smiling face of freckles.

  “Kayten. You’re alive,” Garreth stated with a smile.

  “It’s good to see you’re okay,” Ilsa offered.

  “You too! We arrived here just after you left. You’re back from Nacosst?” Kayten asked.

  “We? Does that mean my son is around here somewhere?” Garreth asked, looking around.

  “Sure does. Follow me,” Kayten insisted as she turned away and led them into the courtyard.

  Although cracked, aging, and nearly split asunder, a set of five circular targets, complete with a bevy of piercing arrows, stood at the end of a narrow stretch between the garrison and the seawall. A group of volunteers, locals from Nacosst, were training with the extra bows found in the garrison. With Novas’ guidance, the enthusiastic were becoming decent shots. Novas was just helping the form of a woman, straightening her back and assisting with her placement, as Kayten and the rest arrived.

  “Novas! Over here!” Kayten called out.

  “Oh! What? Hello Kayten, didn’t see you there,” Novas stammered, blushing a shade after he jumped away from the woman and looked about.

  He also did not see the two figures behind her for a little while longer. Novas tried to hide the smile from seeing Garreth and Ilsa alive, but could not and instead cracked a slight grin which he wiped away as he ran his hands through his hair.

  “The assassin escaped you as well?” Novas inquired.

  “Not quite. You also saw him?” Garreth asked.

  “Yes, in fact…” Novas began.

  “Darling, this is all fascinating, but we have important news remember,” Ilsa interjected.

  “Yes, yes, of course. Kayten, Novas, you better follow us,” Garreth stated.

  Novas bid his students farewell, and the three followed Garreth to the garrison. Light eclipsed the broadness of Behn’s armoured shoulders as he stared out of window at the sea. He did not notice the group that had entered his office, but instead was concerned with his own thoughts.

  “Excuse me, captain,” Garreth announced as he waited in front of the desk with the others.

  Behn returned from his pondering, mumbled, and then turned around to face them.

  “Ah, Garreth. You are back earlier than I suspected,” Behn began.

  “And with good reason. We bring important news. The Vandari move to flush us out. A regiment two hundred strong marches from Erawal to Nacosst as we speak,” Garreth informed him.

  Suddenly, Behn’s eyes opened from bored drooping to clear wideness, and he came alive.

  “Then it begins. I’ve created some plans regarding an attack from the sands already. The troops have a gist of the idea. Do you have any suggestions?” Behn asked.

  “We should bring those catapults and gather them inside the main gate, which will be our first line of defense. We should have any and all archers on rooftops to volley over the wall. I will leave you to form up the rest of the Crown Aegis,” Garreth ordered.

  “Very well, it will be done,” Behn stated, following them to the courtyard to rally the troops.

  Chapter Eleven

  The only sound to be heard at the gates of Nacosst was the shifting of sand in the wind, scraping against buildings and window cloth in the streets. Not a soul did scurry, slow, or sprint down its ways, for all of them were cautioned to take shelter where the arrows could not fall. Brothers, sisters, fathers, and mothers sat circled in prayer, waiting in the tense silence as the two forces drew towards each other.

  Novas, on his roofside perch, saw them first. With steel helmets shining fiery in the setting sun, the Vandari came over a dune and marched in rank towards the entrance of the gate. Each archer that occupied a roof on Nacosst, either Malquian or Kal’reth, peered up from their places to spy at the approaching numbers. The Vandarian commander broke ranks and called four soldiers to his side. The guards at the gate to Nacosst, rebels in disguise, straightened their postures and gave a quick salute; it was their time to shine.

  “I wish to speak to your commander about the recent Malquian shipwreck. We have reports that survivors have been spotted in the area and we wish to rout them out. Please, lead on,” the commander explained.

  The guard agreed. With a swift turnabout, he led them on into the city.

  “Awfully quiet here,” the commander noted at the sight of empty streets.

  “Word has spread about the sea battle and the tenacious Malquian invaders. The people are most grateful for your protection and do not want to hinder your efforts,” the guard explained.

  The commander nodded as the guard led him on into the market and around the corner from the main street. The escort had not made it to the docks before the commander and the four guards were struck down by a wave of arrows from the rooftop archers, leaving the Vandari fallen in the dusty street with stricken surprise. Garreth made his way to the corpses and flipped over the bodies.

  “This is definitely their leader. Let’s watch and see what they do next,” Garreth said to a scout.

  The sun sank deep and glowed red as it approached the horizon. The Vandari became restless for a time, and they turned and broke rank to speak with their fellow soldiers. It had been quite some time since their battalion leader had entered Nacosst to speak with the garrison commander there. Unless there was an extensive debriefing occurring, they felt something was amiss. Malic felt the strangeness of it as well. He soon dismounted his horse and summoned four guards to his side. They approached the same guard of the gate who had retaken his post after the slaying.

  “The soldiers are becoming impatient. Do you know if they are to camp inside or outside the city tonight?” Malic asked as he looked beyond the guard.

  “The commander would have the details of that. I am sure your officer is inside speaking with him now. A lot has happened of late, so I assume they are talking long. If you’ll follow me, we can meet them,” the guard explained and waved them inside.

  Malic found it odd that the streets of Nacosst were completely empty, and he spied towards every rooftop and through every
alley, finding every window blocked by thick cloth. It was much different than when he sailed in from Malquia in the days past and traveled with the merchant’s caravan to Erawal. He became even more unsettled when he found the market deathly quiet and unoccupied. The archers began to nock their arrows and fold out along the rooftops when Malic found what he was looking for. Freshly spilled blood on the sand made him instantly alert, and he reached within his garb and threw a pair of vials against the nearby wall. He could hear the agonizing screams and the grunts of pain as arrows pierced his fellow soldiers. As Malic dove through the flash of light into a nearby alley, he was saved. Garreth walked into the way and began to flip over bodies. With orders to strike a crippling blow alone, he had had the assassin in his sights. When the arrow landed, however, the man was not there. Malic rushed through the alleyways, made his way back to the city gate, and rushed past the two waiting guards.

  “Kill them!” Malic shouted as he gestued towards the guards at the gate.

  Shortly, the Vandarian battalion rose to attention and marched towards the gates of the city.

  “The Vandari have begun their advance, commander,” an archer told Garreth from a rooftop.

  “Prepare the catapults and ready the archers,” Garreth told a soldier beside him.

  The soldier nodded and sprinted off towards the gate. Garreth was soon on the main street. Down its length, he could see the bronzed mass of armoured combatants creeping towards him. He dodged into an alley and pulled his way up to the roof using a crate and an overhang. After a couple of quick leaps, he found himself crouching beside Novas, overlooking the main gate and the walls.

  “Fire!” Garreth called out, and he raised his sword towards the advancing army.

  The snapping of bowstrings and catapults were heard, and Garreth watched as rough stone flew into the Vandarian ranks. Terse screams and yells were heard as the boulders rolled through the lines of soldiers. The stony earth did not fall flat on the sand but knocked many off their feet or crushed soldiers entirely. When the arrows of the Malquian and Kal’reth archers began to fall on the Vandarian ranks, the leaderless battalion soon broke rank and charged the gate. Before the Vandari had a chance to enter the city gates, the Crown Aegis moved into formation and raised their shields at the rushing pikemen.