Chapter 4: 4

Barrin took what he needed from the caravan, food, water, the sword of the guard, and left the rest for the other freed captives. What they did from this point onward, where they went, he did not care. No doubt, unless at least one of them had a modicum of sense, they would all die in the expanse of the desert, far from the usual caravan trails and oases, but they were not his responsibility. Now, he cared only for one thing.

Wrapping the chain around his wrist, the manacles removed and now attached to the wrists of the guard, Barrin began to heave the big man along, leaving a trail in the rough, scratching sand. That sand would soon ruin the guard’s skin, Barrin having taken his breeches and boots for himself, but the man was in no position to complain. He could wait for the man to awaken, but then he would only have to deal with his expected reticence. This way, Barrin could make good time to his destination.

As he could see it, he had fostered the escape from captivity not that far from the place where he knew he could find water and shelter. A low, derelict building hidden between dunes and all but smothered by the unrelenting sands. If the desert had not devoured it since he had left this place before. There, Barrin could follow his next task. One task, followed by another, each leading on to his final destination. Each leading to Kahri.

He had to believe Kahri yet lived. If he didn’t, if he succumbed to the gnawing sense of loss that threatened to overwhelm him, Barrin could see only two ways his life would follow. Either he would diminish, become nothing but a husk of himself, or he would tear the world apart in a fit of rage until someone stopped him. Neither appealed and he could not imagine any one man or woman bringing him to his end. As it was, the simmering fury he already felt could break Khaddush and, if that happened, he would have no regrets.

Even the Sun itself seemed wary of bringing its full power to bear upon him. Intermittent clouds, a rarity at the best of times in these wastes, appeared to float in a procession, sending brief, but welcome, shadows for him to walk beneath. Only the solid rattle of the chains and the continuing scrape of the guard’s body against the sand broke the silence. A strange silence, even for the desert and, several times, he paused to look back along the trail he had created.

People tended to attach themselves to the strong and Barrin had shown his strength to those that had huddled in the carriages. Were any to follow him, expecting leadership, they would find themselves sorely disappointed. Often, in the past, others had sought his leadership, but he had never found any interest in it. He lived for war, and war alone. Until he met Kahri.

Father had warned him about such eventualities, counselled him to take his fill of physical pleasures wherever he could, but leave the affairs of the heart to those better suited to it. Love weakened a warrior. It put another in a place of higher merit than the warrior and, according to Father, no-one had greater merit than the warrior himself. Not kings or queens, not generals or priests. Not fathers. No-one.

A pause and Barrin took his bearings. Any other would see no difference between the reaching spires and misshapen forms of those structures around him. He, however, saw the small details that others could miss, his memory keen and sharp. That little gap in that schist. The serrated edge of that formation, where a piece had long since fallen from it. Malformed rocks and buttes to others. A map to Barrin. He took a short sip from the water skin he had liberated from the caravan and chose a direction.

Sure enough, around the curve of the next dune, nestled in the dip between towering waves of sand, he found the structure he sought. A little less accessible than before, but, for certain, the same place. Checking the guard, Barrin began to paw at the sand that had crept into the doorway, hauling it back enough for Barrin to see inside and, sure enough, he found the sand had only gathered this far. Only a few more moments of effort gained him entry and he dragged the guard inside.

The structure stretched a lot farther than it would first appear, the exposed entrance only the beginning of a building that once spread out in several directions. Here, before, he had found a great number of rooms with desiccated furniture, parchments and scrolls filled with faded, unreadable writing. Art that may once have borne the most vibrant of colours. None of it interested Barrin then and none interested him now. All except the furniture that could allow him to make a weak, but useful fire, the wood long since past its best for burning.

Nights drew cold in the desert. The kind of chill that could penetrate deep into the bones. A dry, remorseless cold that gave no comfort from the heat of the day. Fires kept that chill at bay and Barrin allowed the sputtering flames to eke out what little warmth they could. He crouched beside the fire, chewing upon salted meats he had taken from the caravan, and stared at the guard, waiting for him to awaken.

He had done so once, spittle flecking his lips as he raged against Barrin, promising retribution and death, but the pommel of the guard’s own sword brought him back to blissful silence once again. Now, Barrin wondered whether he had struck the guard with a little too much force, sending the man creeping to his just reward of a painful, lonely death. He tilted his head, looking at the trail of dried blood from temple to jaw. No. He had struck others with far greater venom before and they had survived.

“The fire looks welcoming. Though I doubt its creator bears me the same welcome.” Barrin didn’t flinch at the voice. He had expected her to reveal herself long before. “May I join you?”

He grunted, shrugging, but his eyes never left the guard. Any longer and Barrin would have to waste water to wake the man up. Precious water, even though Barrin had made camp near the trickle of water he had found before. That spring sat at the back of this darkened room, drip, drip, dripping into a shallow pool that overflowed and then tumbled down a crack in the floor that led to the pits of the world, no doubt. What lay beneath this building, or, indeed, this ruin of a city, mattered little to Barrin.

“Have you eaten? Watered?” He could hear his father’s curses even now. Wasting his resources on an insignificant other.

“I took enough. The others have taken the carriages. They talk of reaching Suhkush.” She took a seat beside him, on her knees, and waved a hand above the pitiful flames. “I suspect the jackals will not go hungry for some time.”

“Aye.” He glanced her way. A momentary lapse. “Yet you followed me.”

“There are those destined to survive and those destined to die. I choose to remain close to the survivors.” How, he did not know, but she had reapplied the thick black lines around her eyes. And something else, also. She caught his look. “Yes. I am a priestess of Aa. Is that uncomfortable for you?”

“No.” He looked back to the guard, fingers toying with the salted meat between them. “There is no destiny. No fate. We live and we die, there is no plan for it.”

Three lines, drawn in black by blackened fingers. Two from the corners of her mouth, one from the centre of her bottom lip, all traced down to and under her chin. He had never seen it, but had heard tell. A priesthood made of sorcerers, so he had heard, but sorcerers were a rare occurrence, the one that had felled Barrin and taken Kahri notwithstanding. Barrin didn’t believe the priests of Aa were sorcerers. Or wizards.

Sorcery required making deals with demons. It bore a price that showed upon a sorcerer’s features. They carried the cost of their foul magics upon their countenances and their bodies, marked forever for the evil they performed and the power they pursued. Wizards, though Barrin considered them as untrustworthy, dealt with dust-covered tomes instead. The creation of magic through words and symbols. To learn that magic took decades to master even one spell, he had heard. Thus, wizards, like sorcerers, were as rare as the rarest of precious stones.

Barrin had heard tell of other forms of magic, but had never experienced them. In all his travels, he had seen only one wizard, from afar, and encountered only one sorcerer. He had no desire to meet another of either discipline. This woman did not bear the marks of the touch of demons, nor did she carry the weight of many years. Neither sorcerer nor wizard. That did not mean he could trust her, but he always had steel to put paid to her, should she prove an antagonist. He would bet upon steel and his own good hands against magic at any time.

“A very barren outlook upon life. Sterile.” She still had not spoken her name, and Barrin cared nought to ask it. “Why let him live?”

She nodded toward the guard, slumped on his side, several feet away from the paucity of flames from the fire. Barrin wanted the man to have no comfort, not even from that tiny flickering of warmth. Other than Kahri, Barrin chose to engage little in conversation. Even with Father, they could pass entire days in silence, communicating only with hand gestures, grunts, or movements of the eyes. Already, this woman had dragged more words out of him than he could ever deem necessary.

“He has information.” He tossed the last chunk of salted meat into his mouth, rubbing his hands together. “That is my current task. Learning what he knows.”

“He is awake, you know.” The sparse light of the flames caused shadows to ripple across her face, making the decorations she had applied look ever more malevolent.

“I know.” He had seen the man’s breathing change long moments before.

With a movement so swift the woman’s eyes fought to follow, Barrin lifted himself from his crouch, picked up a strip of wood with a glowing red tip from the fire, and came to the man, looming above him. The guard opened his eyes and that was his mistake. Barrin did not agree with starting torture with a large amount of pain, under usual circumstances, but he had little time to waste with this fool.

The stick burrowed into the man’s eye and all defiance left him in a high-pitched, drawn out scream. Barrin’s knee pressed down upon the manacles, stopping the guard from reaching up to his face, and twisted the stub of wood, pressing it deeper into the skull, the hiss of burning flesh, the stench, rising to tickle Barrin’s nose. As the man’s screams subdued to a pathetic wail, Barrin released the shard of wood, leaving it protruding from the man’s eye socket. If he wished to, the guard could pull it out, but that would only hurt more.

Barrin stepped backward. One step, then another, until he reached the place where he had crouched before and returned to that position. He rested his wrists upon his knees, watching the guard writhe in pain, listening to the whimpers emerge from lips parched and flaking. He tilted his head, reaching for the water skin, and took a drink. He had expected the man to scream for longer.

“You say you seek information, but you asked him nothing before hurting him.” She didn’t sound as though she berated him, or felt disgust at his actions. She sounded calm. Fascinated. “Is there a point to this cruelty?”

“It lets him know that I am unafraid of hurting him.” He put down the water skin before slipping his hand into the bag containing the salted meat. “And also informs him that if I am willing to start with such pain, that I must have worse to inflict upon him.”

Again, he moved forward, lifting from the crouch. Only, this time, he moved slower. He had no need to catch the man unawares. He had his full attention. The scream the guard uttered as Barrin removed the stick from his eye could have deafened anyone, but that sound seemed as nothing to the one that followed, as Barrin rubbed his salt-covered fingers into the wound.

The guard screamed with a volume that brought dust and sand tumbling from the crooked, broken, low roof of the building and Barrin looked toward the woman, gauging her reaction. She showed none. The light of the fire highlighted her eyes, little stars flittering within. She saw his brutality and said nothing, showed nothing.

This one intrigued him.