Chapter 2

[3488 Novembreo 4 16:20 Midweek]

The relentless desert sun beat down on Chris, as if in an effort to crush his spirit, to grind him beneath its power.  A dry steam of heat waves rose from the parched road, the rocks and the sand all around.

He had stopped running hours ago.  His autodyne had not held him impervious to the heat.  He had focused within for the entire walk since Darnak had left.  So far, he had raised his body temperature to offset the heat, held back his sweat, and kept his pulse from hammering his temples to mush, but his mouth was dry, his tongue parched and his breath seared its way in and out of his lungs.  He had burned more dyns of his personal energy than he thought he would need, and he'd had to use more as he went just to keep going.  Evidently, there were limits to how far autodyne could carry him.

He could see nothing but cactus- and bramble-bush-dotted, scorched sand and rock that stretched from horizon to horizon.  His relief would come from the forest ahead, with its cool shade and numerous running streams and rivers, a few hours' walk away.  Still, though the road was quite straight and smooth for just cobblestones, that walk remained a long, perilous journey.

He longed to be home again.  The royal mission he had been on was almost over, and he missed his family and his throne.  How strange that his throne and his seat on it for almost three years had prompted him to leave it.  It had sounded so simple, yet appealing at the beginning.  Just ride from Northport to Garpathia, Westport and Palfindia to collect signatures from the Mayors, reaffirming their duties under the Idlewild Accords, then back to Kalsharia to deliver the treaties.  It was only about a three thousand mile round trip, a chance to get away from the tedium of royal rule for a while.  Hah!  Only three thousand miles!  His brother, the Prince, had even offered to send an armed escort with him and Darnak.

But they wanted more of a challenge, so it had been just the two of them.  It had been long and dull for the most part, although just being out and about refreshed them both for a while.  The intrigue of leaving their friezitaurs at the Inn at the Eaves, then riding incognito to Westport, had also seemed like a good idea at the time.  That and their little excitement in Westport with the Cult agent had brightened up the trip, or so they thought.

All these "good ideas" they had had.  Chris wasn't so sure about that any more.  He had never been quite so exposed to the Cult's unrelenting hatred of his grandfather before, and now he wondered just how much further they would go to harm his family, and himself.  To top it off, his beard, his first ever, only a few weeks old, felt scratchy and unkempt, and hot.

He missed the crisp, fresh smell of the sea air of Northport, the noise and bustle of street vendors, news criers, temple bells, the open-air markets, the inns and their transient tenants, the taverns and taprooms, some good cold ale, the cool summers and even the slight tang in the air of uncollected dung that the horses inevitably left in the streets, paved or dirt, rich and poor districts alike.  He also had to admit to himself that he missed the royal comforts of the palace, his enormous royal bedroom, the food and the company of his palace staff.

He shook his head to clear it.  Daydreaming like that could get him killed.  Besides, out here he made an easier enough target for the Cult with his wits about him.  Even though this latest attempt on his life had been unsuccessful, it had slowed him down for the moment.  At home, he would have both a better chance of survival and more opportunities to uncover ways to defeat those so determined to kill him.  Maybe they hadn't been so careless and sloppy after all.  Had he?

What if there were other attempts?  He had over a thousand miles still to go, and that was just to Kalsharia.  His home in Northport lay hundreds of miles past there, but he had to stop off at his brother's castle to complete the mission.  It had been so much easier coming down this way.  He had slipped out of his duchy in secret with Darnak, and ridden like mad cross-country to Garpathia.  Only his mother had any idea where they had gone.  But now, it was obvious that the Cult knew where he was.  They had pretty much given that away when he and Darnak had exposed their spy in Westport, just a few days ago.  One lone assassin would never satisfy them - there would be more ahead, until he was dead, or....

The Cult had only managed so far to force him to exercise his disciplines, thus challenging him to improve them.  While this pushed his advance along the zentek path faster than he, or certainly they, expected, that aspect was unlikely to last forever.  He doubted that they knew he had already acquired eleven of the sixteen disciplines of the Zentek Order, and even now drew closer to the necessary proficiencies in them to be eligible for the twelfth.  They probably didn't really care.  Their scorn for all of the guilds was world-renowned.  Yet, although his advantages had worked for him against their efforts, he would either have to advance to the point where they could not hurt him, or perish in the effort.  Was that even possible?  Or was there another way?

Why were they after him at all anyway?

On the horizon ahead, a small cloud of dust began to rise.  He lifted his hood and shaded his dark eyes with his hand to see if he could make out the source, but it was too far off for him.  His intuition would warn him soon enough if there were a danger to him there.  It remained still.  His hand came away sweaty.

He barked out a short, hoarse guffaw.

What had he been thinking?  Walking on the road, alone, in this afternoon desert solar oven?  Had he lost his mind?

Then again, what else could he have done?  His horse had been killed right underneath him.  He couldn't have ridden with Darnak on his horse - why kill their only other steed as well?  Sitting down in this sun and heat would only have made it worse.  The windstorm that went by earlier just blew more hot air around without cooling him at all.  His mouth had been dry for hours already, and he had run out of water a while ago.  No longer as confident as this morning, now he hoped Darnak's return would not, in fact, be too late.

The dust cloud grew as it drew nearer.  The cobblestone bed began to vibrate.  With a slight tilt of his head, a moment's pause in his stride, Chris made out two sets of hooves pounding the road as they approached, one heavier than the other.  His heart soared.  That should mean a ride for him, and soon!

His exhilaration almost cooled him off.  Even if it was not Darnak, the huge knight could not be far behind.  Perhaps these would be other travelers who had some extra water?  He quickened his pace, then suddenly slowed to a stop.  What if these were more assassins?  His head whirled as he considered the possibilities.  Then, a tiny sensation from his spirit poked up into the whirlwind of his conscious mind and froze it in place.

Something changed.

Chris looked around for whatever might look different.  He saw a disturbance in the air to the south.  Now his intuition warned him of danger fast approaching from that direction.  He scanned the area nearby but saw little cover.  The large rocks from earlier had become smaller until now they were too small.  He would have to lie down near a bush or a cactus.  That could easily invite unwelcome company from one of the smaller, more hostile desert fauna.  He could see no alternative.

He stalked down off the road, picking a quick path over the sandy bedrock toward a small cluster of bushes.  His sense of the danger grew urgent.  Sand slashed through the air already.  It stung his cheek as the wind grew wilder.  He pulled his cloak around himself as tightly as he could and sank down beside the nearest shrub.

Hot, Chris thought.  He heard the wind howl lightly, felt something weighing him down.  Dark, too, for mid-afternoon.

Less than ten rounds later, the quiet thunder of the two approaching steeds with their one rider crescendoed as it grew nearer.  Chris sensed some puzzlement from them as they approached.  The huge animals slowed, apparently less sure of their destination with him buried, invisible to them.

He would have groaned if his dry throat had permitted it.  As it was, he just felt a tightening that hurt.  He pushed up, away from the hard, baking pan ground.  His cloak protected him from the sand as he did, sand that ran off in rivulets from his rising, somewhat bruised form.  He fought his way to his feet as both steeds with their lone rider trotted closer.

Chris shook himself off as best he could.  He swayed, but recovered his balance fast enough.  He was young and strong, though shaken and battered by the desert.  He flung out the cloak to shake off the dust and sand.  The heat immediately assailed him, his tan arms and face only slightly less than his dark blue-gray clothes.

He checked his cloak for damage, despite the oppressive heat.  The sandy outer layer, what used to be the lining, hung in tatters as if slashed by a host of tiny daggers.  He muttered unpleasant things to himself as he found more damage than he wanted to see, or have repaired.  Fortunately, his body seemed to be free of any unwanted creatures, and his clothes on the whole were otherwise unharmed.  With a sigh, he looked up at the approaching trio.

The two enormous friezitaurs had heavy ram-like horns on their hybrid heads, and short, kinky, black woolen fur all over their powerful equine bodies.  The riderless one slowed to a walk as they approached Chris at the side of the road.  It snorted, a deep throaty noise, more like a bull than a horse.  As it did, the huge rider slowed his friezitaur as well.  They cantered, then walked over to the edge of the road to greet the now upright zentek.  Sand fell everywhere as he finished shaking out his tattered garment.

"Good to see you," Chris said to the giant knight, his usual, rich baritone now a dry, cracked croak.  He winced - that had hurt.  "Water?"

Darnak inclined his head with respect as he brought up his free hand to pull back his hood.  The riderless steed edged closer to the side of the roadbed and waited for the zentek's approach.  Chris dusted off the sand that had found its way under his cloak as he walked over.

"I regret any inconvenience, your grace," Darnak said, his basso profundo more clear than earlier.  He unslung a water skin from the pommel of his saddle, then tossed it to the zentek.  "I only saw the storm go by just now.  You know how quick these desert blow-bys are."

Chris caught the skin and began sipping from it rapidly.  He knew, and fought, not to gulp the delicious liquid down despite his aggravated thirst.  When he had quieted his parched throat, he looked up at the knight with a pained expression.

"What?"

"We have been friends for almost six years," said the zentek.  The water had smoothed his voice out nearer to its more usual, mellow quality.  "We have ridden, fought, feasted, starved and tented together, and you are my best friend as much as I am yours.  Must you persist in using that silly title?"

Chris took a long drink from the water skin, then several short sips.  He felt his internal systems adjust to the new supply of its most needed nutrient.

"I was just kidding," said Darnak.  He grinned sheepishly as Chris raised the water skin and drank a few more gulps.  "There's no one within audible range out here, and I thought you might, perhaps this once, get a kick out of it."   He paused for a moment, his face serious now.  "Besides, I still have trouble with it.  You are a Duke, after all, and I am just a common knight, and your bodyguard.  It didn't bother you so much in Kalsharia or Northport."

"You are no common anything; in Reg's castle, formality reigns just below him; even in my court we must observe the protocols.  Before that, and elsewhere, we have always been less formal.  I like that.  In too many circumstances, 'your grace' could be more disastrous than any familiarity."   He closed the water skin at last, then continued to dust himself off as he spoke.  He shook out his shoulder-length hair as well.  "My first mentors renamed me zentek the Phantom Stranger for many reasons."

"Didn't they like your birth name?"

"Darnak, you know all zenteks receive a new name during our initiation.  We use only that name thereafter."

"I know, but, well, don't you find that name a little silly for a grown man?"

Chris chuckled.

"Sometimes.  I was thirteen at the time, and I thought it clever – 'the stranger who is not really strange.'   Over time, I have become accustomed to it."

'But your true name is Christophane Lord,' a silent voice echoed inside his head.  'You must resolve this dichotomy to achieve the balance you seek.'

"I grew up a commoner, like you," he continued aloud.  "I was zentek when we became friends, long before this 'Duke' and bodyguard business.  I despise our society's imbalanced class system.  Would you rather I called you 'Cavalier Darnak Sparre of the Royal Guard?'" Darnak shook his head.  "Just so.  Now, what took so long?  You left before the eleventh hour."

"Long?  This cavalier had to haggle with the stable man at the inn.  He wanted to charge us some extra marks for the food he hadn't expected to feed these beasts."   Both friezitaurs emitted loud snorts at that.  The huge knight laughed.  "That's a term of endearment, you two, so quiet down.

"That explains about half a turn."

"I convinced him it was not a good idea to renege on a contract.  He relented, of course, but then I had to get the water."

"Another half-turn."

As Chris spoke, the friezitaur near him raised his horned head and nuzzled the zentek.  Chris reached up and scratched his ears and around the horns.  The friezitaur's head shuddered with pleasure.

"Hello, Justinian.  I missed you, too."

The ram-horse nickered and bowed a little.  Chris kissed the creature's broad, fuzzy nose.

"We made it in less than six hours, my lord," said Darnak.  He thought about it for a moment, then grinned.  "That's not bad, if you think about it.  It means we practically flew there and back again.  Remember, all I had when I left you was a mere Clydesdale.  I rode him almost to death, and even that took some four hours just to get to the Inn.  Justinian, Bansidhe and I almost quartered that time coming back, even in this heat."

Chris sighed.

"I need no reminders of the heat, thank you.  Have they any decent cloaks at the inn?"

He tossed the water skin back to Darnak, then began to stow the ruined cloak and his five empty water-skins in Justinian's nearer saddlebag.  He wiped his forehead with a kerchief he found in the saddlebag.  The big man grinned again as he caught the flying drink.

"I don't know, Phantom," he said.

It still sounded forced to Chris.  Anyway, Darnak had that knight's sense of duty and honor deeply ingrained.  They could work on the forms later.

"Whatever possessed that fool to come out here, into the middle of the desert, risking his own life just to take a shot at you?" Darnak puzzled.

Chris shrugged, then winced.  His dark clothes had not helped in this sun and heat, and the gesture burned a little.

"You know the Cult - its adherents are not entirely sane."

"True, but this seems extreme, even for them.  The whole world knows about their hatred of your grandfather, but what is it that makes them want you dead?"

"I know not," said Chris with a frown.  "Could the agent we exposed in Westport be that angry?"

"He looked like it," Darnak rumbled.  "I didn't think he had that kind of influence.  But still, why you?  I'm the one who publicly defeated, humiliated and exposed him."

"That puzzles me, too.  We should discover more as we go, provided we survive."

"In that case, let's go see about your cloak.  Race you to the Inn gate?"

Chris hauled himself up onto the great friezitaur, patting him gently on the neck.  Justinian nickered lightly.  He stood barely a finger or two shorter than Bansidhe.  Chris paused, pensive for a moment, then turned back to his friend.

"All right."

They both crouched forward and clicked their tongues.  The two steeds sprang forward.  They quickly reached full gallop as they headed east on the road.  Darnak fought to get his hood back up without losing his balance and fell slightly behind.  His muttered curses were lost on the wind.

Chris laughed in pure pleasure at the hot air that whipped through his uncovered long hair and bare arms.  He felt cooler now that he rode more than six times faster than even his earlier failed attempt at a mild run.

The two huge friezitaurs continued to accelerate.  If anything, they seemed excited by the chance to run.  They headed straight up the empty road toward the inn that stood almost a full twenty-two miles within the cooling shade of the forest not far ahead.

Chris wanted to talk to his friend, but his lead and the thunder of the friezitaurs' hooves drumming the cobblestone road made it well nigh impossible.  He urged Justinian on with a quiet but firm pat on the animal's neck, then crouched lower and cleared his mind of all conscious thoughts.  From this new autodyne state, he pushed out with his telepathy once again, creating a path that extended from his mind to Darnak's.

'Spoke you to anyone at the inn?' his thoughts came into Darnak's mind, suddenly quiet and clear through the din of their ride.

The big knight almost sat up straight in his saddle before Bansidhe's gallop jerked him back to his senses.  Chris felt him realize that the voice was inside his head, not his ear.  He also felt the knight's tinge of embarrassment.  Then he 'heard' Darnak think back his response.

'No, my lord, there wasn't time.  Other than what I already told you, I just paid for the care of our mounts, made sure they had been watered and fed, and refilled my water skins before I came back for you.'

'Then we know not if anyone awaits us there,' Chris projected to his friend.

'Who would?' came Darnak's puzzled thought.

'Friends, more enemies - there are many possibilities,' Chris thought back.  'Our lone assassin could not have been alone.'

He released the mind link and returned to the ride.  The normal noise rose back to full volume.  He sat up on his steed again slightly.  He felt refreshed, cleansed after exercising this discipline, as with many of them.  His concern over any potential ambush at the inn faded in the glow, though not completely.  He smiled, unseen by his friend, and urged his bonded friezitaur on.  As they rode, up ahead, the green canopy of the forest treetops gradually became visible above the stark horizon.  The sand and rock began to give way to some grasses as they rode closer.

The glaring sunlight dimmed only slightly as the two riders plunged headlong into the trees.  The stark difference refreshed them as the clean, cooler air washed over them.  Chris almost fell off Justinian at the delicious change.  A rushing river ahead threatened to collide with the road, but as the latter curved toward the north, the river did so more to avoid such a danger.

They stopped but once to drink, water the friezitaurs and fill their water skins in the river.  Chris took advantage of the brief stop to rinse off, laughing at the refreshment of the cool, clear liquid.  They began to see a clearing ahead in the gathering twilight as the eighteenth hour approached.  Within the open area stood the welcome green and white walls and towers of the Inn at the Eaves.