Introduction | Chapter Four | Chapter Six
Northwards the albatross flew, through rain and storms. The coastline to the east had shifted from the familiar shape of five thousand years, and, surprisingly, the outflow of water from the Sea of the East had not caused a corresponding encroachment of the Great Western Sea upon its shores. Rather, the level of the part of the planet's crust under that sea appeared to have been raised somewhat by the mending of the world, and most of the fleeing water had settled in the now-deeper trenches of the polar oceans.
Perhaps the Orb had made an effort to undo some of the damage caused by the cracking of the world, for the disaster wreaked upon the Melcenes by that particular cataclysm had been turned back. The islanders had been forced to populate the eastern shores of the Mallorean continent in the first century after about half of their islands had been sunk, but now the small chain of islands with which they had been left had become a peninsula almost twice as large jutting sharply out from the mainland.
Passing the Melcene peninsula, the albatross turned east and embarked upon the long flight over the Great Western Sea. The seas were choppy, and no ships ventured out into this unknown territory. The Malloreans were poor sailors; the few explorers who had sallied forth in search of fame had never returned, foundering even before they reached the waters patrolled by the Chereks. In their turn, the Chereks were a superstitious race. While they were enthusiastic plunderers of anything in sight whose owners had unwisely neglected to bolt down, they had, as a race, an irrational fear of a venture over an unknown horizon, despite the fact that they were undoubtedly the most accomplished sailors in the world. Besides, the Chereks were an independent-minded people. One captain might have decided to head west on a looting expedition, but one shipload alone of even the brutal Chereks would not have made much of a dent on Mallorea.
At last, Riva loomed ahead, still grey and craggy, but not quite the impervious fortress it had been since its foundation. The general fall in the relative level of the Great Western Sea had turned its single beach at the base of the Citadel into a dozen strands and coves that encircled the island. No more was Riva unassailable - but perhaps that was appropriate, since it no longer held the Orb. Certainly, the Cherek nation was in no position to patrol its territorial waters at this moment in time.
The albatross gave a mournful cry, almost like a sigh, and winged its way towards the coast of Sendaria.
* * *
The two scouts ran from bush to bush, trying to find cover in the harsh landscape of eastern Mishrak ac Thull. Fortunately, for the previous three days it had been drizzling almost non-stop, and the resulting mist gave them some cover from the Angarak armies that covered the eastern plain, trying to find some advantage in the new mountains to the east. The two Tolnedran legionnaires, among others, had been assigned to cover their army's retreat and make sure any stragglers had some warning of any Angarak ambush.
Darting in behind a low shrub, one of the two, Sair, beckoned the other across. "Do you see those people over there, Ador?" he muttered quietly, still not fully confident that the damp air would muffle his words.
"I do, if barely," the other replied. "What's that shadow behind them? Looks like wreckage of some kind."
"Let's get a little closer," Sair suggested. "We'd better find out whether they're Murgos or Malloreans so that we can work out which way they're headed."
"That's if we can get back to the army afterwards through this cursed mist," Ador added sourly. "All right, but keep low."
Biting back a snide retort, Sair moved slowly in a crouch towards the unknown group ahead of them. When he began to hear snatches of conversation, though, he suddenly lost all traces of nervousness. "It's all right, Ador," he said in a normal, if excited, voice. "Those are Alorns ahead of us!"
"What are Alorns doing this far east?" his companion wondered aloud. "Have we got ourselves turned around somehow?"
"I doubt it. Let's go ask them, shall we?"
Their entrance into the small Alorn encampment was greeted with a few shouts of alarm from the warriors inside who reflexively reached for their weapons, but, on seeing their legionnaires' uniforms, they relaxed. A large, red-bearded Cherek came forward. "What's happening to the west?" he demanded of Sair.
"The army's retreating back to the fortifications at the eastern encampment. We're supposed to be covering their backs. What are you doing this far east, if you don't mind me asking?"
"Wondering why the Sea of the East disappeared from under us, if you want the truth. I take it you noticed it's been raining a bit recently? That's probably half the sea being dumped on our heads. Oh, and we also have the minor problems of burying our dead, tending our wounded, and trying to keep our king from bleeding to death out of the gash in his head, which is why we've had to stay with our ship."
Sair gaped at the Cherek. "We'd better get help," he said after a moment. "Varana will want to know about this."
"You'd better tell a physician first. I think he'll be all right once he's treated, but he's probably only got a few days out here. The wound's become infected, and he's got a fever."
The legionnaires left at a run.
Since the wounded could not move at anywhere near the same pace as the able-bodied, a substantial detachment of infantry had been left at the tail of the army to guard them, and Sair and Ador caught up with their retreat at around noon the next day, demanding that a physician be dispatched right away. On hearing the identity of the casualty in question, an Alorn physician immediately joined them as they mounted up to return at full speed to the Cherek camp five leagues away, all concerns about secrecy now abandoned. The Cherek ship had carried few medical supplies, and there was little clean water to be found nearby.
They reached the camp about sunset. All was quiet, though the camp was still pitched. Wondering about the lack of sentries, they unmounted and hurried towards the main tent.
Inside, Anheg's body lay in repose upon an improvised bier. All around, Chereks stood formally, chanting a hymn of farewell, and two guards stood by the door, facing inwards in the Cherek way to watch over his soul. The red-bearded warrior who had spoken to Sair the previous day knelt by the bier, white-faced and clearly in shock.
The Alorn physician gasped and fell to his knees. Anheg was dead.
The wake continued all night, but a funeral in camp was out of the question. An Alorn King deserved a state funeral, even though only two of his brother kings remained alive and uncaptured, and, as they risked being stumbled upon by passing Angaraks, the camp had to be broken soon. By the time the physician had worked to preserve Anheg's body, it was dawn, and the former seamen began the dangerous journey through enemy territory back to their retreating compatriots.
Introduction | Chapter Four | Chapter Six