The future was a depthless abyss, a limitless ocean.
And he had leapt into it without a map or compass.
‡
Motionless, he waited most of the morning for Churls and Vedas to return. By the time they wheeled their steel and brass mounts before him, the sun was near its zenith and he had recovered much of his energy—but could he run for four days alongside the construct horses? Forty, fifty miles a day? He did not know, but resolved to test it. Unless it became obvious, neither of his companions would know the full extent of his limitations. He would not burden them with such concerns.
Undoubtedly, they would soon discover he no longer had access to the map. He had been providing Vedas with daily updates on the movements of men in Danoor. The city itself remained peaceable, but several groups of Tomen had gathered in the foothills of Usveet Mesa, west of the city. While Berun and Churls doubted they could rouse the kind of numbers needed to threaten the city, Vedas thought otherwise.
The man would be disappointed, probably angry to discover he could no longer monitor their activity. The knowledge served as a calmative. Perhaps he believed keeping an eye on the situation kept disaster from unfolding.
Having only just won a small measure of freedom, Berun could sympathize with Vedas’s frustration. His master had commissioned him with a task he no longer quite believed in. His faith bound him, as did his love for the brothers and sisters of the Thirteenth. He had not spoken of the speech in some time, though Berun had seen him scribbling notes on occasion.
Thankfully, Vedas did not ask for an update upon returning from the city. He and Churls secured their packs quietly, obviously preoccupied. She dropped her pack twice while securing it to her horse, and her angry gaze returned to Vedas again and again. In turn, he kept his back to her, far more attentive to his task than necessary.
To keep from staring at them, Berun examined the constructs, which were beautiful, sleek and seamless and overmuscled. Though not without a certain gaudy grace, the utilitarian touches incorporated into their bodies offended Berun. Saddles had been integrated into their backs, metal luggage loops into their rumps, and in Churls’s construct’s case, a crossbow holster into the neck. Riderless, they stood perfectly still.
“What’s so fascinating?” Vedas asked. As he mounted, his horse twitched its head away from Berun, who had been staring directly into its glass bead eye.
It stamped once, twice, glaring at Berun—more of a reaction than he had expected. The construct probably possessed something of the animal from which it had been modeled: a slice of preserved horse brain or heart. Nothing so exotic as the transferred essence of its creator, of course. In this regard, Berun was unique.
He straightened. “Were they expensive?”
Vedas began turning his head toward Churls, stopped himself. “Yes.” Churls spurred her mount forward. Her face betrayed nothing. “Tell Berun how much, Vedas. Tell him how much we could’ve had the horses for.”
Vedas looked into the sky, shook his head. “Leave it.”
“No,” Churls said. She nodded to Berun. “Stable owner recognized Vedas’s suit. Got stares everywhere we went, in fact. Offers for sex, potions, you name it for the Black Suit. But this stable owner offered two for one. A huge discount, but Vedas here doesn’t want it. It’s not right, he tells me. My faith’s not for sale.”
“It isn’t right,” Vedas said.
Her cheeks bloomed red. “It’s my fucking money! We’ve traveled two thousand goddamn miles together, and your faith’s been nothing but a liability. Finally, you get a chance to profit from it, to help out, and you can’t do it because it’s wrong. I had plans for that money.”
Finally, Vedas met her eye. “Oh, yes. I saw the gleam in your eye as we passed the gambling houses.”
The muscles in Churls’s shoulders and thighs twitched, and Berun stepped forward.
But the woman only spat. “I make my own choices. I take responsibility for myself. I don’t let my shit spill over onto others. I doubt you can say the same.”
With this, she wheeled her horse around and spurred it northward.
Berun raised his brows.
Vedas sighed. “Maybe I should have done it. Taken the discount. It would have been faster.”
“Maybe you should have,” Berun agreed. “But I’m not one for convictions, so you can’t trust me.” Their eyes met. The lines around Vedas’s eyes had deepened. He looked years older than when they had left Golna. “Do you have a plan?” Berun asked.
Vedas closed his eyes and nodded. Then he shook his head. “I only know what I’m not going to say. I’m no writer, no philosopher. If I’d known what I was getting into by leaving, I never would have left.” He opened his eyes. “And you? Do you have a plan?”
“It hasn’t changed,” Berun said. “I plan on winning.”
“Amen,” Vedas said, and kicked his horse’s brass flanks.
Berun picked two rocks from the ground and followed, metal soles ringing loudly on the packed earth. Grinding the stones in his hands, he joined the thousand-footed train of travelers following the northwesterly curve of Grass Trail to Danoor.
CHURLI CASTA JONS
THE 21st TO 25thOF THE MONTH OF ROYALTY, 12499 MD
THE CITY OF DANOOR, THE REPUBLIC OF KNOS MIN
They ran the construct horses from sunup to sundown—a grueling pace, devoid of joy, alleviated by only the briefest moments of rest. At night they collapsed in whatever camp they came upon, sleeping the night through as though drugged.
At noon on the fourth day, the mounts refused to go any further, their contracts at an end. Churls and Vedas immediately dismounted and removed the packs, anxious not to lose their belongings. Churls, who had lived on horseback during her three-year stint in the Castan cavalry, gritted her teeth as she pounded life into her cramped thighs. Vedas, no great horseman, moved about with enviable vigor. Yet another miracle performed by his suit.
Churls’s muscles loosened during the fifteen-mile descent out of the scrub hills and into the desert. She shed clothes as the weather grew hot, stripping down to a leather skirt and halter. Before long, even these began to cling and chafe uncomfortably. She considered with some bitterness that in only a few hours it would be cold and windy again, requiring yet another change of clothes. She jealously eyed the loose cotton outfits many of the travelers wore.
From ten miles away, the city of Danoor was nearly lost amid the shifting red dunes that hemmed it on three sides. Usveet Mesa, the largest and most easterly of the Aroonan chain, loomed ridiculously large at the western edge of the city. The mountain’s foothills, higher even than those ringing the valley, seemed tiny by comparison.
From five miles away, the mesa’s scope became even more daunting. Its nearly vertical wall looked as if it were about to topple over, snuffing out the pathetic signs of civilization lying in its shadow. Churls wondered what it must be like to live in such a place. Did its people grow used to living in darkness for half the day, feeling that weight pressing down?