Into Forbidden Lands

The land west of the barrier was no different to that in the east. They were still in deep desert, sand stretching all the way to the horizon.

They did not travel far, for the day was hot and dusk was only a few hours away. Once the Wall of Bones was out of sight, they set up camp and rested awhile before resuming their journey after sunset.

Five nights later, there was still no change in the landscape and no sign of water.

The group’s supply was dwindling fast.

Undina, inspired by the success she had in drawing water from the earth during their clash with the Skeet, tried to draw some into their skins, but her attempts did not yield as much as she hoped.

“I no understand! So easy was to Skeet drown, not easy now, why?”

Her face was pinched with frustration.

“I do not understand either,” Scald said. “I have no idea how I did what I did. Hel, I do not even know if I will ever be able to do it again.”

Undina continued to try, but the small amount she produced was far too inadequate to fulfil the needs of the group. The fact that she could only draw water when she was stationary also limited the quantity she could produce.

Two nights later, some of the destriers were showing signs of distress. Argolan had forbidden the Riders to give the horses even a part of their rations.

“What little water you can give them will make no difference for them, but it could well mean the difference between life and death for you.”

Illiom saw Tarmel frequently checking his horse’s gums and testing the skin on its neck. She was also certain that he secretly disobeyed Argolan’s orders, quietly sharing some of his own meagre ration with his horse.

The Shieldarm and the Riders were walking again to spare their mounts. The Shakim continued to ride, for their steeds - like those of the Chosen - showed no signs of distress.

It was their eighth day in the Forbidden Lands when Pell’s horse collapsed.

Grief stricken, the big Rider asked to be left alone after several failed attempts to get his horse back on its feet.

They retreated quietly some distance away, leaving Pell to stroke his horse’s neck while speaking softly into the animal’s ear. Watching them together, Illiom found herself in tears. It was sadness tinged with joy, for the kinship she witnessed between man and horse melted her heart.

Pell joined them a little later, alone and on foot.

That same night, Argolan’s horse also fell silently to the ground, sliding to the bottom of a dune. The Shieldarm dashed after it and dropped into the sand alongside it. She stooped over it for a few moments, but when she looked up her expression was impenetrable.

Argolan shook her head as she unbuckled her sword strap. Illiom turned away.

Sometime before dawn the sand gave way to firm ground and when Iod rose, his light revealed a flat plain that seemed even more featureless than the sandy desert they had left behind.

Exhausted, Illiom sat down and watched the Riders as they fell to the task of setting up camp. Every one of them appeared dejected, especially Pell. He dragged himself from task to task, stopping for long moments to stare blankly at the empty horizon.

The Shakim warriors and the Surmur steeds appeared unaffected.

Illiom studied her companions.

Unsurprisingly, Undina was suffering the most. Her skin looked pale and she breathed in short, shallow gasps, her small mouth open, as though she simply could not get enough air.

“How much longer can we go on like this?” asked Elan, as if in direct response to Illiom’s observations.

She glanced up at the priestess and, finding no answer, shook her head.

Not only was their water supply exhausted, but now they were out of food. They had finished what little was left in the saddlebags and then, as soon as the camp was set up, had rested while Iod began his slow crossing of the vast and empty sky.

Illiom waited for Tarmel, but when he arrived he simply knelt beside her.

“You should sleep, Illiom. I have drawn first watch, so it will be four hours before I too can bed.”

“I will come with you,” she said, but he shook his head.

“Best not. Stay here with the others.”

“Will you wake me when you are done?”

He smiled and nodded.

“I most certainly will. Now sleep.”

It was not Tarmel who woke her, but an explosion that slammed through the air.

Illiom leapt up in fright, frantically seeking the cause. Others, jolted out of deep sleep, struggled to their feet, shocked and disoriented.

In the distance, she saw a bright streak of light shoot across the sky.

A heartbeat later, a clearly recognisable thunderclap caused her to laugh. It was still daylight but the sky in the west was leaden and dark. Clouds had rolled in to blacken the world and a cool westerly blew in their faces.

“That storm is coming towards us,” Argolan shouted. “Get the skins ready; if it rains we will catch all we can.”

No one had to wait for further instructions. They all fell to the task with enthusiasm, the Riders showing the Chosen what to do.

They dug holes in the earth using whatever they could, even their precious swords. Once they were deep and large enough they laid their oilskins over them.

When the first heavy drops hit, Illiom turned her face to the sky and opened her mouth, ready to drink whatever the Gods saw fit to send down. With startling suddenness, the scattering of drops turned into a roaring downpour that drenched them instantly. They revelled in the wild wet like children, whooping and laughing and dancing for joy.

Illiom had just cupped her hands to catch more rain when something hit her shoulder. A moment later a second object grazed her forehead.

“Hail!” someone shouted. “It is hailing!”

In no time they were all pressed together under one of the tents, enveloped in a cool darkness that blotted out the rest of the world.

The storm abated as quickly as it had arrived, leaving behind a landscape mantled in white. As soon as the downpour eased, the Riders rushed to collect hailstones before they could melt.

It was heartening work, but when she saw how little they had managed to collect, Illiom was disappointed. There was just enough for a few mouthfuls of water each and that was all.

Azulya wanted to give some of her share to Undina, but Argolan would not hear of it. Instead, they each added a little to the tribal girl’s portion so that she ended up receiving even more than the Kroeni alone could have given her.

The Shieldarm spoke to them as they sipped their precious cache.

“It is past midday and as we are all up, we might as well resume our march. The day is cool and the cloud cover looks set to remain in place until dusk. Who knows, we might even get some more rain.”

Within half an hour, they were marching again.

It did not rain again that day, but heavy clouds continued to shield them from the sun.

The world was already darkening when they noticed a change in the land ahead.

“It is a drop in the land, I think,” Grifor said, squinting against the blinding fire of the setting sun.

They pressed on and it was almost completely dark when they came to the edge of an enormous pit.

“Is this where Âtras ends?” Sereth asked.

Illiom kindled her light and directed it down into the pit. It illuminated a vertical descent that measured perhaps three hundred spans before it met the crevice’s bottom, revealing a tumble of boulders and loose debris and scree that had fallen down over an age of erosion.

Suddenly, Illiom’s light was reflected back.

“There!” Grifor shouted. “That has to be water!”

“Great news!” Sereth exclaimed. “Even if it is a long way down.”

“Never mind that,” Argolan said. “We will find a way to get to it, even if we have to use ropes and haul it back up a few skins at a time.”

Illiom did not sleep very well that night and so was wide awake when the first pallor announced the dawn. She climbed out of her bedroll and made her way to the edge of the ravine where she was soon joined by the others, come to watch the dark pit unfold its mysteries.

As the darkness receded they saw that they were on the brink of a deep gorge carved out of the desert by a once great river. The river was long gone and the water that they had glimpsed the previous evening was little more than a trickle.

Still, a rivulet it was, and the water was moving, not stagnant.

Illiom looked north and south, but failed to see any way down.

“We will need to follow the rim,” Argolan deliberated.

“Which way do we go?” Elan asked.

“What does it matter?” Malco responded. “Either or, we have to find a way across.”

“It does matter,” Sereth said. “We should go north.”

“Why north?” Scald wanted to know.

Sereth heaved a sigh.

“The water is flowing from the north. If we go that way, we will be moving towards its source. The ravine is more likely to become less deep upstream than downstream. The other way could take us all the way to the sea.”

Scald pursed his lips and nodded.

“Sound reasoning.”

They packed the horses and followed the chasm’s edge.

The gorge’s direction remained consistent for a time and then veered westwards. It grew broader in parts and then narrower, but its depth did not diminish, offering no easy access to the other side.

It was getting late in the day when fortune finally smiled upon them. A section of the canyon wall had collapsed into the ravine, creating a steep slope of scree that reached all the way to the bottom. Blocked by the landslide, the stream had formed a small, deep lake, immediately upstream of the blockage.

“Too late to try anything today,” Argolan said. “But in the morning someone will go down there. Our water troubles are over for now.”

However, morning brought another surprise.

They were deciding on the best approach and who would attempt the descent first when Illiom, who was gazing absently across the gorge, saw movement.

Startled, she leapt to her feet, pointing.

“People!”

Grifor immediately saw them too.

“Children, actually, and a mule,” the Rider said. “The animal is harnessed and has an urn hanging on each side. Looks like they are going down to fetch water.”

“That means there is a path on the far side!” Argolan said with a measure of excitement. “Not only have we found a way down, but also a way up the other side.”

“Are you serious?” Malco asked. “Do you really intend to take the horses down this?”

“Yes! How else are we going to get across? We will take as much care as we can, but this is what we must do.”

The Riders were mounted and ready, and Illiom watched with apprehension as they rode their mounts to the edge of the ravine.

“One at a time and not too close together,” cautioned Argolan. “Leave plenty of space so as not to crowd the Rider in front of you.”

Tarmel led the way. His horse was not happy about descending and resisted, complaining loudly.

Illiom did not blame him; she was not happy either. She would have looked away, except that the thought of not seeing what was happening frightened her even more, so she kept her gaze fixed on Tarmel, hardly daring to breathe.

Her Rider headed straight down, holding the reins loosely, letting the horse pick its own way, at its own speed. The horse slid several times, his rear almost meeting the slope in an attempt to break his descent, while Tarmel kept his body as perpendicular as he could in the saddle. Loose stones dislodged, tumbling down to raise clouds of white dust.

“There go the children,” Sereth said, pointing towards the far slope.

Illiom saw them hurriedly tugging their mule back the way they had come.

“Gone to raise the alarm, no doubt,” Scald said.

All went well - until it was Angar‘s turn.

The Rider had only just started his descent when the ground suddenly gave way beneath his horse. A large section of scree collapsed, sliding rapidly down into the ravine.

Panicked, the animal reared, catapulting Angar down to the ground. The Riders shouted in warning as Angar’s horse rolled over the Rider in a confusion of dust and thrashing limbs.

Undina screamed.

Elan caught hold of the girl and held her fast.

Tarmel, Argolan, and Grifor raced back up the slope as fast as they could, while Mist and Zoran remained below with the horses. When the cloud of dust cleared, Illiom saw Angar’s horse, collapsed, its legs spasming weakly.

Tarmel knelt beside the horse, stroking his neck. After a moment he pulled out his dagger. He looked up and shook his head.

Illiom averted her gaze. When next she looked, her Rider was making his way up towards those gathered around Angar’s inert form.

The three carefully lifted and carried their fallen comrade down, to lay him by the water’s edge.

lliom knew that things were bad, even before Argolan and theothers made their way back up. As the Shieldarm pulled herself over the edge of the ravine, Undina stepped towards her.

“Is he…?” she whispered.

“He is alive,” Argolan said, wiping sweat from her brow. “But his leg is broken.”

“Oh no!”

“I am sorry, Undina,” said the Shieldarm. “We cannot carry him back up. We must get everything down there and set up camp so we can tend to him properly.”

Undina sank to her knees in tears, eyes fixed upon her Rider far below.

Azulya and Elan comforted her as best they could.