Endling: The Last: Part Four

I knew that death could be waiting around the next hill. But every day brought new things for me to learn. Fresh scents, strange vistas, surprising species.

“See, a soldier is prepared to counter attacks. He knows how to parry the usual sword strokes. But he’s not trained for this.”

Khara led us toward a stand of trees thick with raptidons, poised on nearly every branch like giant fruit.

His last sentence was uttered with what I interpreted as a smirk. Raptidons do not have lips. They speak using only their tongues and throats. So the smirk was all about intonation, not facial expression.

“The eyes of your people are legendary,” Khara said in a placating voice. “No one has greater respect for the raptidons than I. You are rulers of the sky. I approach with humble questions, not threats.”

Rorid spread his gray and tawny wings in a display meant to impress us, and impress us he did.

“A killer of raptidons?”
“Never by design,” Khara said evasively.

“He who fights the enemies of the raptidons is a friend to the raptidons. The Seer has sent her foul beasts after us more than once, all the while professing innocence. We see what has been done to the dairnes. We see what they are doing to the felivets. We are not fools. If two dozen of Araktik’s guards and a full-fledged Knight of the Fire are after you, it seems I must consider you our friends.”

Gambler was the fastest among us, but he tired easily. Luca ran doggedly, but life in a library had not prepared him to run long distances.

Khara waved her hand around, encompassing the great, open emptiness.

They moved as one, undulating like a swarm of midges, and although their pace was leisurely, the noise of hooves on earth was deafening.

We’d reached the outer edge of the herd as the garilans ran stolidly on.

I had never warmed to him—he was enigmatic and distant.

Thus far, he’d been sullen and reserved.

He’d also been deferential to Khara, who had no hesitation about chiding him when he moved too slowly or failed to carry his fair share.

He’d also been deferential to Khara, who had no hesitation about chiding him when he moved too slowly or failed to carry his fair share.

I gazed in amazement at a wedge-shaped rock outcropping that rose hundreds of feet in the center of the city, like a stone pier or even a promontory.

From that plateau the stone promontory had been deliberately shaped, the stone carved into a central ramp that, when it reached ground level, merged seamlessly into a broad avenue.

At the top of this impressive act of nature was the palace itself, a sprawling mess of different architectural styles that testified to centuries of building, each new generation adding a tower or a dome or a crenellated defensive wall.

Increasingly weary and frustrated, we trudged on between collections of shacks that hoped someday to be villages, through drab villages hoping someday to become towns, and into a town with the remarkably functional name of Outpost.

In fairness, I could understand why a boy who’d fled his sinecure on the isle to help an unknown dairne escape might not be welcomed by his family.

He pulled up a delicate chain that hung from his neck and showed us a silver talisman, a cunningly wrought silver fish

“Isn’t that precious to you?” Gambler asked. “Humans place a high value on objects. Especially gold or silver.” He didn’t disguise the mild contempt in his tone.

As we entered the city, I immediately understood why it was called, among other names, “Saguria the Impregnable.” The intimidating basalt wall was only the outermost defense.

On closer inspection, I realized that the chaotic surface was in fact festooned with protruding daggers of coral, each shaped like a raptidon’s beak, the sharp points turned down to impede anyone trying to lay a ladder against the wall.

We saw shops, but they were gloomy and utilitarian.

Saguria was a serious place, its people burdened and furtive.

Between buildings I caught glimpses of the massive promontory, of the great shining mansions, many painted in bright colors, some glittering from golden adornments.

It was a sort of rat, but much larger, with curved teeth and a prehensile tail that whipped back and forth like a parody of a happy dog.

We ran, fear lending us renewed energy. Gradually the buildings began to spread out, the streets widening. Now and then I caught glimpses of pink coral, which I fervently hoped was the north wall.

It’s not easy to shackle a dairne. Our wrists are not built for it. It will only work if you squeeze the manacles on very tightly.

Gold was everywhere: on candle chandeliers, in wall sconces holding still more candles, in the grout between marble squares, in the frames of paintings portraying stiff, scowling, unnatural-looking humans.

“What is this interruption?” a voice demanded. It was a sneering, petulant voice, and it belonged to an older human male.

“Oh, he’s in search of something, all right,” Khara said. “Gold for his family’s coffers. And power.”

The plan I had worked up with Khara, Gambler, and Tobble—who could be surprisingly devious when he managed to focus—was risky and tenuous.

The plan I had worked up with Khara, Gambler, and Tobble—who could be surprisingly devious when he managed to focus—was risky and tenuous.

Araktik was no fool. She knew something was amiss. I could smell the subtle scents of a human body preparing for trouble.

The Murdano ranted for five uninterrupted minutes about the perfidy of Dreyland, how they had financed pirates and coastal raiders, how they had preyed upon Nedarrans, how they had humiliated the Murdano and more.

“It would have to be kept secret,” the Murdano mused, thinking aloud.

“Release this Donati, the dairne, and the rest. Give them horses and provisions. And send an escort with them. Handpicked men. Silent and discreet men.” He flashed a sudden smile. “If they find more dairnes, kill all but, oh, let us say five. That should be more than enough. Kill the rest.”