Engraved - The Hunted Warrior

Chapter 21.4 - Spite and Respite

Tajar was burning with fever. He drifted in and out of delirium. Frost sat behind him and held Mist's reins. She held him tightly between her arms, supporting him to stay upright in the saddle. Alam jogged beside the horse. He was tired and sweaty, but life on the Endless Plains had accustomed him to running long distances. As time passed Alam found his anxiety growing. Tajar was getting worse by the hour, and they still had not found The Trail.

"Frost," he said between breaths. "Please tell me about where you are from. I could really use a story to distract me."

She was silent for a moment while collecting her thoughts. "The land I come from is different in every possible way to The Endless Plains - apart from the cold. Both places are cold in winter."

"Everywhere is cold in winter."

"Not so, Alam. There are many places to the South that are hot all year round, and never see snow. But not Surabel - that is the name of the land I was born in. It is a mountainous land with deep valleys, jagged cliffs, and dark green forests. People do not live in clans. They live in towns and cities. When I was last there it was ruled by a king known for being strict, yet fair. He was also known to be addicted to drink, and a flagrant spender of money."

"Do you know this king?"

"No," she replied. "The rest of the world is different from the Plains. Here, most people know their chief. The king of Surabel, like the kings, queens and emperors in most lands, rules hundreds of thousands. They are removed from normal people."

A coughing spasm suddenly overtook Tajar causing him to slump forward. Frost held him tightly and pulled him back against her. When he seemed settled again she continued.

"I was raised in a town near the castle. Every once in awhile I saw the king and his family charging here and there on horseback, looking grand and important, but I never met any of them. Mine was a different life. I was the second eldest of five children. My father, like the king, drank heavily. I am not sure, but I suspect he died years ago in a ditch without a coin to his name. I certainly hope so. He loved the drink more than he loved his family. We were often without food, but he always managed to find a bottle. A particularly bitter winter took my mother. She wasted away from hunger, I think. I realised too late that she was depriving herself to feed us children. In the end I suppose the hunger and cold were too much for her. Father's grief and shame were terrible, but the bottles helped him forget the pain. They also helped him forget to feed us. Five days later the winter took the baby."

"Water... is there any water?" Tajar mumbled.

Frost pulled back on Mist's reins so Alam could reach up and tip the mirky river water from his water skin into Tajar's mouth. Most of it dribbled down his chin and onto his chest, but he either did not notice, or did not care.

"Thank you Alam," said Tajar as he closed his eyes again.

Frost gently kicked Mist into a walk again.

"Then one night a knock came at the door," she continued. "A strange woman wrapped in a hood and robes told him that she had heard of his grief. She held out a  bag of coins and offered to buy us. I was certain he would shout at her and chase her away, but I was wrong. He took the money and made a show of remorse, saying we would be better without him. At the time I felt that he had stabbed us in the back. But now I see that we would have just died if we had stayed with him. So maybe he was protecting us in some way after all. It's more likely he just wanted the money. Whatever his reasons, I have hated him ever since that day. He was a coward, and his weakness ruined every happiness for me and my brothers."

"Your father sold you?" Alam's eyes were wide with shock. "What of the rest of your family? Your uncles, aunts and cousins?"

"I do not know. I think I had some, but no one ever came for us."