82. Running away

The journey through the tunnels of Aïgstia was a dark one for all of them, and it managed to exasperate the most impatient Xalyas. The darkness, the claustrophobic feeling, and the unavoidable proximity to the Ragails caused tense and worried expressions and imposed a silence only interrupted by the horses’ hooves, the warriors’ boots, and rare comments. The only ones to speak animatedly were Kuriag and Asmoan. During breaks, and even while walking, they would engage in long conversations. According to Lessi, they talked about various things, but the Eternal Bird and the Ancient Kings were recurring topics.

“I feel like I married a shaard,” Lessi snorted, amused, on the second day.

So, taking the opportunity, Zorvun offered his daughter to travel with them, and Lessi was able to listen to Api’s wild stories. On the third day, as they all walked through an uneven tunnel, taking care that the horses did not stumble, Dashvara asked:

“Tell me, kid. That story about you riding a dragon, is it true?”

Api was walking a few steps back and had been silent for a while, looking thoughtful. He looked up and smiled.

“Sure is. And it was a big one.”

Dashvara gave him a skeptical pout and turned around to take a good look at where he was walking. Then Api said cheerfully:

“He was in the middle of Ied, actually near the docks, where the Abandoned Palaces are. It was a beautiful dragon, covered in horns and blue scales. I rode it many times. Mostly because you could jump from its nostrils and dive straight into the sea. It was fun.” He paused. “Did I mention it was made of stone?”

Dashvara stifled a big laugh.

“No, but I was beginning to suspect it,” he assured.

He rolled his eyes, and they kept walking in silence. Soon they reached the end of the shortcut and came out onto the main road. Here the tunnel was wider, higher, and, above all, it was much better maintained. They turned right. From there, according to Asmoan’s map, they were only about half an hour away from the exit and the sun. Dashvara unconsciously quickened his pace and slowed down whenever he got too close to the two Ragails who led the way with their lanterns. He suddenly squinted. Was that… sunlight or a reflection of the lanterns?

Before he could determine, a shadow passed before his eyes…

‘Dash!’ Tahisran cried in a horrified voice. ‘There’s a cart out of the tunnel! And I heard a scream. I didn’t dare approach. There’s too much light.’

Dashvara stopped short and ordered with a roar:

“Halt!”

As the two Ragails at the head of the line turned around in surprise, he explained:

“The exit is close. We should send sentries to see if the area is safe. There could be trouble.”

Both Ragails exchanged glances and shrugged their shoulders. One of them offered:

“I can go.”

“I’ll go with you,” Dashvara decided. “Lumon, take your bow and come with me. The rest of you, keep moving slowly and stay alert.”

“I’m going with you,” Makarva interjected from the rear. “I know you’re able to resurrect and all, Dash, but if anything happens to you, my Eternal Bird will die of shame.”

Dashvara didn’t protest: he left the reins of Sunrise to Zamoy, and he, the Ragail, the Archer, and Mak moved quickly away down the tunnel, followed discreetly by the shadow.

‘Didn’t seem to me to hear any sword strikes,’ Tah added.

He said no more, probably because he had no other details to give. The light grew brighter and brighter, and finally, they emerged from the tunnel. Dashvara’s first sensation was one of release. The second was horror. That was because he had just seen an overturned cart and a scaly bipedal creature that was trying to reach a stunned sajit, hoisted on a stone projection of the deep rocky canyon. The woman did not even see the four figures coming out of the tunnel: her eyes were feverishly searching for a hold to continue climbing the rock.

“Red nadres,” Makarva spat, drawing his sabers.

Dashvara looked around and was relieved to see no other nadres. Grabbing his own swords, he called out:

“Let’s draw it away from the tunnel. If it explodes, it could damage it. Ragail, don’t move from here.”

The three Xalyas moved quickly away, bypassing the cart. In front of it, they could see the lifeless body of another woman, an unloaded crossbow at her side. The horse must have broken free and galloped away… probably pursued by the rest of the nadre herd, Dashvara realized with a shudder.

As soon as they were far enough down the rocky corridor, Lumon fired an arrow. It hit the monster’s scaly neck, and though it didn’t pierce through it, the creature was distracted and turned its attention away from the steppewoman on her rock. The Xalyas moved away from each other. If only they’d had some cold oil to keep the nadre from exploding once it was dead… Maltagwa had made enough to fill a wineskin, but they didn’t have it precisely on hand right now. There was still the option of trying to distract the creature until one of the three returned with the wineskin, of course, but the easiest way was to kill it and take it down where the passage was wider.

“Come on, little dragon!” Dashvara said waving his black sword at the beast. “Don’t be a coward.”

It was half cowardly. Seeing itself surrounded on three sides, the red nadre gave a mighty roar and rushed at Makarva, who was in the middle of the path leading out of the defile. The red nadres were monsters not distinguished by intelligence, but in that case, its instinct of survival and its isolation from the herd prevailed.

“Move aside!” Dashvara shouted.

Makarva stepped aside suddenly, but the red nadre, instead of running away, backed away, roaring repeatedly to call its pack. Dashvara shook his head, at a loss. The little dragon should have run off to join its herd. Unless… When the nadre turned and ran this time towards the Ragail and the tunnel entrance, Dashvara felt the blood run cold in his veins.

“By the Liadirlá, the herd is in the main tunnel!” he bellowed.

And this time he dashed forward, no longer to distract the beast so that it would go away, but to stop it before it reached the tunnel. It would still be less of a problem if it exploded in the gorge than in the tunnel. Before he had time to think much, he was already digging his swords into the scales of the beast. He fell, dragged down by the weight and swore, pulling his sabers out and plunging them back into the paws and claws. It was sad, but the nadre would have to wait a while before it died. Leaving the bruised creature, useless and roaring, Dashvara released his sabers and rushed toward the tunnel, shouting:

“Everybody out! Hurry!”

The first Xalyas soon came out, on horseback. Api was mounted on Tsu’s horse.

“We have red nadres behind!” Orafe informed.

“And one in front,” Dashvara replied, indicating it.

“Are they close?” Lumon inquired.

“On our heels!” the Grumpy croaked. “We should have heard them coming, but nothing. I can’t explain it to myself, these tunnels must be bewitched.”

“The lionrock muffles the noise,” Tsu commented.

Many looked at him with surprise. They always forgot that the drow had not always been a Xalya, far from it, and that he had been at the university of Titiaka for years. The Hairy breathed out loudly:

“In any case, the Ragails are on the front line!”

Dashvara smiled wickedly.

“Well, we’ll see if their magic tricks work against the nadres.”

“Oh, guys: let’s get out of the canyon,” Sashava urged them.

Dashvara nodded, took Sunrise’s reins, mounted, and stood between the dying nadre and the expedition, so that the latter had to pass to the left of the cart. Roars from the tunnel reached him, and when he saw Kuriag emerge with Asmoan, wide-eyed, he suppressed a crooked smile. Welcome to the steppe, Excellency… The elf stopped his horse and asked:

“Who is this woman?”

Dashvara arched an eyebrow. Gosh. He had completely forgotten about the steppeswoman perched on the rocks. He looked up at her and saw her as appalled as she had been a few minutes earlier. She was in her thirties, with steppian features, colorful clothes… Shalussi clothes, Dashvara judged. He brought his mount closer to the rock wall.

“Don’t be afraid!” he called out to her. “You can come down from there now.”

The Shalussi hesitated. Dashvara insisted, impatient:

“There are other red nadres in the area: you shouldn’t stay here. You and the other woman were headed for Dazbon, weren’t you?” He had deduced this from the position of the cart. He shook his head. “We’re going the opposite way, but anyway, with that band of red nadres in the tunnels, I wouldn’t advise you to go that way. Uh… Are you going to stay up there?”

Without a word, the steppe woman began to climb down the rock face. At a glance, Dashvara saw that Kuriag had just stood there looking at her, and he huffed.

“Keep going, Excellency. Don’t stop. I’ll take care of her.”

The young elf swallowed but nodded and walked away through the canyon. By the time the Shalussi finally landed on the ground, Dashvara had already lifted the dead woman and passed her to Arvara. The Shalussi smoothed her clothes with a nervous hand, and her eyes slid to her companion. Dashvara cleared his throat.

“I regret that we were too late for her. I suppose you’ll want to give her a proper burial. Is there anything of value in your cart, shalussi woman?”

The steppian frowned. She shook her head.

“No,” she sighed. “Except…” She bit her lip, and climbing into the cart, lifted a cloth and discovered a little girl of about four years old who had been hiding there. She took her in her arms. Dashvara nodded, pleased that they had at least arrived in time to save two souls.

“Boron,” he called out. “Take them on.”

The Placid nodded and helped mother and daughter onto his horse. Dashvara sighed loudly and turned his mount. More than one Xalya had stayed behind to help the Ragails cover the retreat, including Zorvun, of course. The problem was that fighting in a tunnel was not practical. And even less so when…

An explosion was heard, and Dashvara turned pale. Devils, devils, devils. He turned his head sharply, but the dying nadre was still alive. The explosion came from the tunnel. He entered it with Sunrise. The roar of roars mingled with the bellowing of the warriors. The lionrock muffled the noise, Tsu said… Well, fortunately. Dashvara shouted:

“Get back! Don’t kill them!”

But he knew it was difficult to ask such a thing when the red nadres were charging ferociously. Another explosion shook the tunnel, and a shower of dust blinded them. Then Djamin’s voice thundered:

“Back!”

It’s about time…

Dashvara stepped out of the tunnel again so as not to block the way and trotted away, followed closely by the others. A roar of explosions sent Sunrise into a gallop, and Dashvara had to control its momentum. By the Eternal Bird! If the tunnel held after that, he would eat his boots.

The canyon was not very long, and they soon came out on to the steppe. Before him lay endless plains covered with grass. Emotion began to overcome him, but almost immediately, his joy was replaced by the duty of the moment: at a glance, he made sure that all were safe and sound, he made Sunrise turn, and heard Zorvun mutter:

“What a bunch of idiots…”

Dashvara bet he was talking about the Ragails. He saw them form up in front of the defile.

A lot of discipline and a lot of magic, but then they’re not able to run when they need to.

The Ragail captain’s horse trotted up to Kuriag, and Dashvara approached with Zorvun. The young Legitimate nodded, looking grim. Joining them, Dashvara commented calmly:

“Let me guess: the tunnel collapsed.”

Djamin cleared his throat.

“It’s possible,” he admitted.

Dashvara smiled mockingly.

“The merchants can’t complain: we are leaving behind a solid and safe path. Not even a troll will dare to pass through such a well-guarded path.”

He saw the Ragail captain grit his teeth and Kuriag look at him with a mixture of embarrassment and disbelief. Dashvara bet that, if it had been the Xalyas and not the Ragails who had caused the accident, they would not have been so understanding. In their defense, it had to be said that there were no red nadres in Diumcili. With forced patience, Djamin retorted:

“It won’t be hard to get the road open again. For now, let’s just be glad we’re all still alive.”

Dashvara looked at him mockingly, but he merely replied:

“We’d better get away from here before it gets dark.”

It wasn’t until he was heeling his horse that he thought of Tah, and, suddenly worried, questioned his brothers. It was Api who answered, patting his bulging pack:

“Everything is in order.”

Dashvara arched an eyebrow at the shadow’s amused mental confirmation. Well, he sighed. It hadn’t been the quiet arrival he’d hoped for, but they were finally on the steppe. He glanced around. Many of the Xalyas had their eyes fixed on the horizon. Some were looking northwest, directly at Xalya.

How strange, isn’t it, brothers? he muttered to himself, straightening up on Sunrise. We are returning to a steppe where we have spent most of our lives, and it almost seems as if we have not seen it for twenty years. Only three years have passed. Three years, and so much has changed.

But we came back.

He smiled, looking out over the distant plains and hills. Horse hooves were heard nearby. Yira stopped on his right. Above her veil, her dark eyes watched him intently.

“So this is your steppe, Dashvara of Xalya.”

Dashvara smiled, took her gloved left hand and kissed it gently.

“She is as much mine as yours, naâsga,” he murmured. He turned his gaze back to the plains and shook his head. “Perhaps it will seem a little empty to you at first, but it encloses much more than meets the eye. The steppe,” he gestured widely, “you have to feel it.”

Yira’s eyes smiled and then turned to the vast horizon. She commented:

“It’s like an ocean. Except instead of waves, there are hills, and, instead of boats, there are horses.”

Dashvara choked as he heard her compare his steppe to the sea.

“But horses do not sink, naâsga. They ride on solid ground. The steppe is plain and simple. If you take away, of course, the red snakes, the nadres, the scale-nefarious, the Essimeans…” he listed. Yira huffed, amused, and Dashvara added, “But I’m glad it reminds you of an ocean if… if it makes you feel more at home.”

Yira tilted her head to the side, and her eyes sparkled, smiling again.

“I am a nomadic spirit. My home is where my heart goes.”

Dashvara swallowed, moved, and nodded, knowing that no words could express his joy at having his naâsga by his side, at home, on his steppe. He was turning towards her again, dreamy, when a voice called:

“Dash!”

Dashvara turned to see Zamoy approaching at a trot. The Baldy stopped and explained:

“The shalussi woman says she is a runaway slave from Essimea. When we told her we were Xalyas, she almost fainted. What do we do with her?”

Dashvara shrugged.

“Tell her that the rest of us, unlike her people, are not in the habit of killing innocent people and that—”

“Dash,” Yira protested.

“And that the lady of the Xalyas will decide her fate,” Dashvara finished with a small smile.

The sursha looked at him, eyes squinting, snorted, and said:

“I think that, at the moment, it is more up to Kuriag Dikaksunora to decide.”

Dashvara arched an eyebrow.

“Devils, that’s true. I’ll go ask our master what he thinks.”

It turned out, however, that Kuriag was precisely talking with the Shalussi, and when Dashvara arrived, he heard the Legitimate declare:

“Under my protection, the Essimeans will not dare to lay a hand on you.”

“I’ll lend you some clothes,” Lessi interjected in a soft voice. “No one will be able to mistake you for a slave. What do you say?”

The shalussi woman looked at them with an expression of pure amazement. Letting go of her daughter’s hand, she knelt before them saying:

“You saved my daughter’s life and mine. I have been a slave for many years, but I have never served a master who deserved it. If I can be of use to you in any way, I, Hezae, will do so.”

Kuriag nodded, not knowing what to say. Lessi smiled.

“It will be a pleasure to have you by my side.”

As the steppe woman stood up, Dashvara interjected:

“Can I ask you a question, Hezae? What area of Essimea are you from?”

The Shalussi turned her head towards him, and her expression became fearful.

“I lived in Aralika, the Tower City, for a long time. But two years ago, they moved my sister and I further south. Where the ancient people of Lifdor used to be.”

So Lifdor had also fallen into the nets of the Essimeans, Dashvara deduced. The whole steppe had fallen. It was to be hoped that the Honyrs had not. He commented:

“Two years. That means you were still in the main village of Todakwa when the Xalya dungeon fell.”

Hezae nodded, and before the attentive ear of the Xalyas, she said:

“I saw the Xalya slaves arrive. Most were children and women. Some… were sacrificed to their god.”

A wave of hatred and horror swept over Dashvara at the thought of the Essimeans sacrificing Xalya children to their stupid God of Death. His right fist clenched hard on the pommel of his sword.

“But they left the others alive,” Alta interjected with a touch of hope.

Hezae nodded slightly.

“Yes. But I can’t tell you how many there were. I only saw a handful. I worked on a farm, you understand: I rarely went into town.”

Town, Dashvara repeated to himself. How many people were there in that “town” called Aralika? He remembered that the shaard Maloven had told him that the Essimean lands were the most populated place on the steppe, since they also had the richest, most arable land. Five years ago, Xalya officers estimated that two thousand souls lived there. But that was without counting the slaves who had been torn from their homes since then.

The conversation with the Shalussi made them all gloomy, and when they started to walk away from the canyon, they hardly exchanged a few words. It was soon dark, and the Ragail captain soon gave the order to stop. As they set up camp and lit torches, other Xalyas dug the grave for Hezae’s sister. They dug it quickly and quietly, and Dashvara bet that more than one person thought: did the Shalussis even dig a grave for our fallen brothers in Xalya? No, they certainly had not. But it was also true that this Shalussi who had been a slave for years was not responsible.

When the task was done, they did not linger, and from the other end of the camp, Dashvara saw the figures of his brothers moving swiftly away, leaving Hezae to grieve her loss alone. He breathed in the cold night air and with a gentle hand stroked Sunrise’s forehead. The mare breathed softly in pleasure. The encounter with the red nadres had made her nervous for a long time, but now that Dashvara was tending her like a queen, she had regained complete serenity. He smiled and continued to brush her, saying:

“I would never let one of those beasts hurt you, daâra. You must not fear them. Lusombra did not fear them: she looked them in the eye. She flapped about like a bird. And I never let them hurt her.”

And so, alone with his thoughts and his mare, he was whispering sweet nothings to her when he noticed a tall, stout figure approaching. It was Raxifar. His face was barely visible in the darkness. The Akinoa stopped a few steps away.

“Xalya,” he greeted him in a deep voice.

Dashvara nodded politely while still brushing his horse.

“Raxifar.”

From where they stood, the muffled voices of the Xalyas could be heard, wrapped in their blankets, unusually pensive. Taking advantage of the space, the Ragails had set up camp a little further away. The tents of the Ragail captain, Kuriag and Asmoan stood between the two groups. The first had the red colors of the Titiaka guard, the second was white, adorned with the blue design of the Dikaksunora bird, and the third, that of the Agoskurian, was a bright orange. With such discretion, I can see us greeting the Essimeans tomorrow at dawn…

“I’m going to leave,” the Akinoa declared after a silence.

Dashvara stopped his task, but calmly, and let Sunrise slowly move away to graze the grass. He nodded.

“I know. Did you tell the Titiaka?”

The light from a nearby torch lit up Raxifar’s mocking smile. No, he hadn’t told him. Dashvara rolled his eyes.

“We will give you food and what you need,” he promised. “And we’ll cover your departure so no Ragail will see you.”

Raxifar bowed his head slightly.

“If I manage to find my people, Xalya, you can count on me to free yours from the Essimean clutches.”

Dashvara smiled, moved.

“Thank you, Raxifar. Right now, I’m not sure how we’re going to do it. But we will. Believe me, I will also do everything I can to help all of your people who have fallen into the hands of the Essimeans. It’s just… I owe it to myself to return the favor to Kuriag Dikaksunora before I devote myself fully to it.”

Raxifar nodded thoughtfully.

“I understand. That foreigner doesn’t have a bad heart. But he can never truly forgive what I did to his father. I can’t understand how he hasn’t chopped my head off yet.”

They exchanged grim smiles. Dashvara spoke solemnly.

“Ayshat, Raxifar of Akinoa. Thank you for traveling with us here… and for saving my life. I don’t know if our people will ever manage to live together after all that has happened, but… without a doubt, you have earned the respect of the Xalyas. Especially mine.”

Raxifar smiled.

“Akinoa respects the souls who stand for his values; so I can only respond with the same respect,” he replied.

Dashvara huffed and joked:

“If only the Essimeans could follow the same example.”

Both returned to the camp and, trying not to attract the attention of the Ragails, managed to fill a bag of food and two wineskins. Since it was likely that the Ragails would decide to pursue the Akinoa when they discovered his disappearance, they made sure that Raxifar’s horse was in good condition to support the escape. The majority of the Xalyas did not go so far as to say goodbye to the black steppeman in person, but the hostility had disappeared. With time, they were beginning to be tolerant, Dashvara smiled.

The Gem had already covered a good part of the sky and they had just changed the watch when Raxifar stood up and Dashvara did the same. There was only a sepulchral silence in the camp. They walked away to the Akinoa’s horse, and both shook hands vigorously. That farewell said more than a thousand words. Dashvara whispered to him:

“May the Eternal Bird guide you.”

“May Akinoa give you and your people strength,” Raxifar replied in an equally low voice.

He pulled the horse’s reins and rode away, past Sirk Is Rhad, who stood guard to the east of the camp. The Akinoa was already getting lost in the darkness of the night when the Honyr murmured:

“Do you think he will find his people free, sîzan?”

Dashvara shook his head slightly with a glimmer of hope in his heart.

“I don’t know,” he replied. “But, if the Akinoas have also been subdued, that means the Essimeans have everything. Absolutely everything.”

“Except the northern lands,” Sirk Is Rhad observed.

Dashvara nodded silently. Except the northern lands, where the Honyrs lived. These lands, adjacent to the Xalyas, were almost as barren as the Bladhy Desert. But it was still the steppe.

And probably, this will become your home for the next few years, if you manage to honorably get rid of the Legitimate.

But first, he had to listen to the Dikaksunora, satisfy his and Asmoan’s curiosity… Dashvara only hoped he wouldn’t regret not doing what Raxifar had done that night and sneaking away with his brothers and the Xalya women. Time would tell.