Closed Adrift (Shahar)

[Jalen]

40th of Winter, 514 AV

Black orbs shined in the morning light, looking over the meager supplies laid out before him. Jalen's pack, sadly empty, sagged pathetically in the dirt. A waterskin, last drops drained days before. A comb, dull knife suited only for eating, flint and steel... and a pouch containing three hundred gold mizas. All of it was stolen from his captors. If he wasn't currently chewing the last of his rations he might be glad of the coin. At least I won't die poor. Sighing, he sat back, ignoring the tall grass that tickled his ears. Hunger gnawed at his gut, and the meager hunk of dried meat on his tongue would do little to ease it. The situation was rotten no matter how he looked at it. Kneeling, he gathered the items into his pack. Standing, he hoisted the pack onto his shoulders. Wincing with the effort, he tried to ignore the sharp stab of pain radiating from his side. Movement was not his friend.

Glassbeaks. He'd heard of the creatures; the men of the caravan had warned each other not to stray from the fires at night. They'd even caught sight of a small pack trailing them. Jalen wondered if maybe it was this group that had tracked him down the night before. They were bigger than he'd expected, and undeniably fast. The only thing that saved him was the fire he'd built for warmth that night. As the talons had raked his abdomen he kicked out, sending burning coals leaping into the dry grass nearby. Immediately man and beast alike were on the run. The birds disappeared into the night, but Jalen barely escaped the blaze unscorched. He lost most of the food that night.

Now, thanks to the wound, he couldn't keep up the pace he'd hoped for. His pant-legs were both torn off below the knee, tied in a makeshift bandage around his middle. He was amazed the smell of blood hadn't attracted more creatures. If not for the fact that Eywaat had surely abandoned him long ago he would almost believe the god of birds was looking out for him.

"Are you out there, Crow Brother?" he whispered. The plains rolled out in every direction, shimmering in the cool wind like waves. On the horizon, green met grey in a long flat line that seemed to taunt him as he turned. Vast. Endless. He began slogging on, putting one bare foot before the other, weaving his way between tall stalks of grass. It mattered, somehow, if he died here or if he died ten leagues to the south. That was ten leagues closer to home. Days before, wary of pursuers, he had left the well worn wagon ruts and stone markers. Now he kept the morning sun on his right shoulder. No need to worry about specific directions until he reached Eyktol. If he reached it at all. Every step sent a flare of pain up his side and clouded his mind with hopelessness.

[Colt]

The Great Race, after so many days of preparation, had finally overtaken the streets and hearts of Endrykas.

Which meant, of course, that Shahar had forsaken it. The noise, the people, the mulling crowds––there was too much, and for once the cacophony had reached farther than the borders of the tent city. Oh, there were no riders or people the physically came close––they were all congregated along the rim of the Stardowns––but the noise pierced the clanless hunter’s camp relentlessly and prevented him from accomplishing anything. It didn’t help that nearly every business in the city had closed in favor of watching the Great Race, so there was little reason for him to stay there.

And so he had found himself elsewhere, back in the vast, golden, quiet expanses of the Sea of Grass.

Although quiet might not have been the right description. There was always sound of some sort or another that pressed upon Shahar’s senses, but in the open plains that sound was cohesive; there was wind, there was rattling grass, there was birdcall and the barest rustling of fieldmice going about their everyday business. Each sound was meaningful, bringing Shahar closer to the world around him and what was happening within it.

He’d brought Akaidras and Tuka with him, both of whom seemed quite happy to be away from the city. There was not an express need to hunt right now, but neither did Shahar dismiss the possibility; if there was prey to be found, he would not refuse it, but neither did he ride with the express intent of pursuit. He just wanted to be away from the city.

He let his strider hold a gentle canter while Tuka cut a strafing pattern ahead of them, as alert and curious as ever. Akaidras, now away from the city, relaxed and let his hooves fall heavy, as happy as his rider to be in the orderly and utterly more sensible environment of the grassland.

Still, despite the ease of the solitude, there remained in Shahar’s heart a subtle ache––not huge, not crippling, just… an incompleteness. He would glance skyward every now and again, half-expecting her familiar shadow above him, and every time would find nothing. She had her own business today.

He was drawn to attention by the excited chirp of Tuka, who came dashing back to horse and rider to dance in circles around them. Akaidras snorted irritably and halted, picking up his feet to avoid the cheerful cat, while Shahar slid from the yvas to the ground. Tuka immediately butted her head against his hip, and after a quiet string of inquiry, excited found what is? the hunting cat dashed off to whatever had excited her.

When Shahar caught up, he was quite surprise to discover a human-shaped footprint. He blinked, knelt, and when Tuka insisted on a response he rewarded her with vast approval, well done and scratched the crown of her head where she like it most. As the hunting cat was overtaken by a rumbling purr, Shahar returned his attention to the trail, and to what it might tell him.

The first thing he noticed was that the individual was both burdened and limping. Shahar couldn’t identify exactly how much extra weight the individual was carrying, but the strained nature of their stride was obvious. The prints themselves were wide enough to suggest a male, somewhat tall and relatively sturdy.

Frowning, Shahar straightened. A Drykas this far out would almost certainly be mounted or have a horse nearby, neither of which was indicated by the tracks. Was it possible that they belonged to an outsider? For an outside to make their way so far into the Sea of Grass was difficult to fathom, and it was also concerning; a single man trespassing on the grasslands was usually of little concern to the Drykas––the grassland always claimed those that did not belong. It was when a trespasser survived long enough to make trouble that drew the Drykas against them, and this creature had obviously survived longer than he should have. This was enough to shift Shahar’s focus to a new task.

Both horse and cat sensed the intent in his posture as he set after the trail, and both followed. Tuka made to forge ahead, but a quick sign of stay close brought her back to Shahar’s side, movements lithe and controlled.

The trail was very, very fresh; the three of them couldn’t have been more than ten minutes behind their unexpected quarry, and the trail itself was bold against its surroundings and easily followed. Here the man had rested, set out some things and then gathered them back up. The longer the man had walked, the slower he had become, making Shahar almost certain of some sort of injury.

In a few moments Shahar had paused, doubling back around towards Akaidras to swing back into the yvas. The horse shifted, compensated for the weight, and again they were moving; Shahar didn’t know how skilled this outsider might be, despite injury, but he did know that the outside was on foot. Horseback would give him an advantage.

Tuka, vaguely aware that their task was important, did not stray and did not get under Akaidras’ hooves. It wouldn’t be long before––there. The unmistakable shape of a person lingered on the horizon, and Shahar urged Akaidras to go faster.

Letting out a neigh, the strider drew on the latent magic around him to fuel his hooves and gain even greater speed, moving faster than any normal horse. They cut an arc around the lone man, making no effort to hide their approach, and circled wide in front of him. Although Shahar had no weapon in his hand, the javelins on his back and the axe at his hip were open for the world to see––if he needed to resort to violence, he would.

[Jalen]

Heavy breaths whistled between Jalen's clenched teeth. His right arm was hugged tightly to his side, keeping pressure on his reopened wound. The day's trek had not been easy on him. Forging a path through the amber stalks had been an easy task a few hours prior. Now, pushing through the thick grass sapped his strength. His encounter with the glassbeaks left him cautious of what else might be lurking beneath his gaze. The constantly rustling grass confounded not only his efforts to listen, but to feel what may be hiding out of sight. His left hand hovered above the tips of the grass but he felt nothing but the current of the wind as it hissed across the plain. It was unsettling how blind he felt out here. To make up for it his eyes were glued to the ground. Who knew what snakes or other such creatures waited to strike at his heels?

It was not his eyes, however, but his ears that first caught wind of trouble. Hoof beats, thundering in the distance but quickly growing louder. Turning wildly, he tossed his gaze about the expanse of gold behind him, looking for--there! A rider! Jalen threw himself to the ground, burying his mouth in the crook of his arm to stifle his own cry of pain. Had he been seen? Almost certainly. But more importantly, who was this horseman? Jalen had only gotten a glance, but the man didn't look like he was from the dynasty. A hired mercenary, sent to execute a runaway slave and return the stolen mizas? Perhaps.

His head lifted to peer up through the tall grass, Jalen waited for the horse to run him down. He could hear the hooves approaching, feel the weight of it in the ground and the air. At its rider's guidance the stallion wheeled around, cutting off any chance of fleeing south. Not that there had been much chance to begin with. How had the animal moved so quickly? Jalen had seen the Eyktolian-bred horses run. Their speed was impressive, but to close this distance so quickly...

The top of the rider's head appeared over the grass that hid--or rather, failed to hide--Jalen's prone form. Metal glinted between the stalks. The man was armed. Jalen cast about, looking for some sort of weapon but finding none. Nothing but grass and stones, and against a trained warrior such things were less than useless. This was foolish. Better to die proud and free than cowering in the dust like a slave.

Pushing himself up on one knee first, he managed to get his feet beneath him and stand. One arm still hugged his wound, but he did his best to stand straight and meet the rider's gaze, his black eyes unflinching. His heart beat wildly and told him to flee, to hide, to fight, to do anything but just stand there. But he saw the javelins on the stranger's back, the axe at his side. Resistance was useless. And so stand he did.

He must have looked a sorry sight. His legs and feet, bare below the knees, were covered in cuts and scrapes. His coat was tattered and torn and covered in dried mud and dust. The shirt beneath was patched in multiple places and now stained red by his own blood. The ragged hole in both coat and shirt were hidden beneath Jalen's arm. His wild black hair, tied tightly back when he began his escape now lay in a tangled mess around his stark black eyes. His mouth was set in a pained line, his jaw lined by uneven stubble. Partially obscured by his hair, a tattoo in the shape of a crocodile was emblazoned on the right side of his face. He looked every inch the wild man, though the man astride the horse opposite him hardly looked civilized.

Hesitant to make the first move, Jalen waited, studying and presumably being studied in turn. Say something or get it over with, he thought, eyeing the tips of the javelins. It would be a quick death, at the very least.

[Colt]

The man ahead of him turned, spotted the Drykas, and dropped to the ground. Frowning, Shahar drew Akaidras in another arc, cutting an inward spiral that drew him closer and closer to the invader. Though he could clearly see where the man lay, any individual features were obscured by the rattling grass––at least, until he was almost upon him, and then the man stood up. He was, unsurprisingly, both ragged and injured; blood was visible underneath his arm, presumably from the wound that had caused him to limp, and it was being controlled by cloth the same color as his ripped trousers. He was dirty, wounded and certainly did not have much longer to live if he was left to the Sea of Grass.

His eyes, though, were what drew Shahar’s immediate attention; they were black and bottomless––Chaktawe, then––but beyond that, they were defiant. He looked at Shahar unwaveringly, almost proudly, and despite a hint of respect the Drykas couldn’t help a twinge of annoyance; he was a trespasser, regardless of his appearance, and didn’t show a hint of apology for that fact. Though it was possible, Shahar reasoned, that the man was unaware of his crime.

The two of them remained in a silent stalemate, each examining the other, while Tuka circled farther out and flicked her tail curiously. Caught in his gaze, Shahar was unsure what to do with the man; he had survived this long, but he didn’t appear to be bringing any actual harm to his surroundings––Shahar couldn’t just kill him. But neither could he just turn around and leave him where he was; he was a foreigner and an invader, and had put himself at the mercy of the Drykas the moment he set foot off the road.

Shahar brought Akaidras to a slow walk and circled the Chaktawe, trying to examine him from all sides. The wound he bore didn’t appear to be a fatal one––assuming it was treated––but it was obviously crippling him. And since Shahar was horsed, it was reasonable to assume that the foreigner would not be able to outrun him should he try to flee. If Shahar could just find a way to immobilize him, perhaps he could take the man back to Endrykas; the Opal could see that he didn’t die, and the Topaz or Watch could decide his fate.

There was just the small matter of moving the man to the city.

Halting, Shahar drew on what little Common he knew to try and communicate.

“Trespasser,” he rasped. “Belong not. You come.”

[Jalen]

The man regarded Jalen silently from his horse. The moment lingered longer than the Chatkawe thought was necessary. Say something or get it over with. But the man didn't kill him, didn't even draw a weapon.

The man didn't look like a slaver. Or a mercenary--at least, not the type the dynasties usually dealt with. Was this one of the Cyphrus horse-clans? A few whispers of them had reached his tribe in The Burning Lands, and one of his fellow slaves had claimed to be a... Drykas, if Jalen remembered correctly. It would explain what the man was doing riding alone in the Sea of Grass. And what he said next. "Trespasser. Not belong. You come." Trespasser? Jalen frowned. If these Drykas treated their territory the way the tribes did, his intrusion would not be welcome.

Regardless, Jalen did not want to go with him. "Where will you take me?" he asked, speaking slowly. It didn't seem like the man spoke common very well. From the rasp of his voice, he didn't speak often at all. Quickly, Jalen assessed his options. Either he went with this stranger to who knows what end, or he stayed here. If he struggled, the stranger might kill him. Of course, it had become very apparent that Jalen would not last long out here. He didn't know the land, he didn't know how to find water or where to find the food. In the desert it would be another matter, but here in this strange land? Try as he might, he was as good as dead.

He'd almost decided to make a run for it, die on his feet rather than in whatever cell this stranger had in store for him, when a shadow passed between them. Jalen lifted his eyes to the sky. A crow. An Eyktolian crow. His heart jumped at this sight from his homeland. Was he that close to the border? In legends, Eywaat often appeared before his people as a raven or a crow. This must be a sign, a sign that he was almost home! And yet, as Jalen watched the bird wheeled about in lazy circles before flying north. Away from Eyktol and towards the direction that the rider had come from. If it truly was a sign from Eywaat, the message was clear.

Jalen narrowed his eyes at the rider. Eywaat had never answered his prayers before. There was no reason he would now. "I will go with you." But the same part of him that yearned for his tribe knew also that to ignore such things was folly beyond compare.

[Colt]

The Chaktawe regarded him warily, before finally voicing a few words of his own. They were slow and clearly stated, at least enough for Shahar to understand them.

“Endrykas,” he replied, though he didn’t know if the word would hold any meaning for the man.

For a moment, it looked like the Chaktawe was prepared to run. Akaidras and Tuka sensed it as well, and each began to coil in preparation––but then relaxed when he looked up and the urge seemed to pass. To Shahar’s immense surprise, he leveled his gaze once more and narrowed his eyes.

“I will go with you,” he said.

Shahar didn’t need fluency in Common to understand that.

Nodding curtly, Shahar signaled for Tuka to return to his side and brought Akaidras around to the Chaktawe’s side, angled in the direction of the tent city.

“There,” Shahar said, pointing and urging his strider to a slow walk. “Go.”

As her leader started moving, Tuka took the chance to dance behind Akaidras and around their new companion. She was too shy to make any real approach, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t look; she weaved back and forth, towards him and away, tail flicking and ears perked for his reaction. Shahar noticed, but made to move to stop her; she did not intend harm upon the stranger, and unless he dealt some upon her there was no reason to interfere.

Should no resistance be offered, Shahar would let their dialogue fall into silence. He kept Akaidras as slow as was needed, accepting of any speed the stranger set as long as he kept moving. The wound looked painful, even from where it was hidden, but the Drykas did not offer to let the man ride; he was outsider, and to let an outsider onto his horse would be wrong, to say nothing of what Akaidras himself would think of the matter. No, Shahar would let him walk for now; Endrykas was perhaps a half hour’s journey away at this pace, provided they were not delayed––and that the Chaktawe was capable of making it there on his own two feet.

[Jalen]

Jalen glared off in the direction the man pointed. Who knew what lay in that boundless field of gold? Endrykas, presumably. Whatever lay in store, he'd resigned himself to see it through. With one last longing glance to the south Jalen started walking. The exertion pained him, but as he understood it he didn't have a choice. The earth was cold beneath his bare feet as he plodded on. Almost immediately he noticed the hunting cat dashing about in the grass around him. Jalen stopped short, warily locking eyes with the animal. Her golden orbs stared right back at his black. There was a great deal of intelligence there, mixed with animal fierceness and curiosity. Slowly, Jalen relaxed and started moving again. The cat did not seem threatening, just inquisitive and playful as she circled him and weaved her way through the grass.

The rider did not seem worried about it, and Jalen assumed it was a pet of some sort, or a guard-animal like the Lynint Dynasty had used. Occasionally Jalen's would look back to his captor and ensure he was still walking the same direction. The man just kept riding straight ahead. He seemed content to keep silent as they traveled and, though Jalen's mind was teeming with questions and concerns, the Chaktawe didn't ask. If the human didn't want to talk then they wouldn't talk. Perhaps it was an instinct from years of slavery, but he did not want to antagonize his captor.

Their pace was agonizing. Every step felt like an eternity, and Jalen was pushing himself as hard as he dared. His breath came in shallow gasps. The cool wind whisked away the droplets of sweat, causing him to shiver despite the effort. They'd gone on for about twenty-five minutes when Jalen had had enough. Lifting his eyes from the ground, he opened his mouth to ask for a break when he saw it. On the horizon... a mirage? A trick of the light on the shifting grass? Or was that really the tops of white tents and pavilions reaching up to the sky?

The sound reached them then, too. A dull wave of noise rising just about the rustling of the grass: people calling to one another, laughing, horses galloping. You could see them, riders on the outskirts of the city, their horses sprinting gaily in the festivities. The nearer they got, the louder it became, until it was a
dull roar in their ears. After a week alone in the grasses, the sound was deafening, disorienting. He looked to his captor, wondering if he should wait for some directions before approaching.

[Colt]

The Chaktawe didn’t seem colossally uneasy at the actions of the tawny hunting cat, and so Shahar continued to let Tuka do as she wished. As for the stranger, there was an obvious effort required to keep up with Akaidras––but it was an effort he managed, silent in what was surely considerable pain. Another unexpected swell of respect rose up in Shahar, although he, too, remained silent.

As they walked, Shahar kept a careful eye on his new companion’s stride. Each passing chime seemed to weigh more heavily upon the stranger’s shoulders, aggravating the wound and making his breath come in shallow pants. Time wasted, blending into itself as the heat of the sun mixed with the chill of the earth and left the wind somewhere between both. The distance between them and their destination shortened steadily, and in spite of himself, Shahar was concerned; if they weren’t already so close to Endrykas he might have let the man onto the yvas.

But no, there were the tents upon the horizon, displaying proud colors against the open vastness of the Sea of Grass. The travelers had come upon the outskirts of the Opal district, leaving the tents stark and white to symbolize the healers within. Good. It would mean less travel once the Chaktawe’s fate had been decided.

There were a number of Watch just outside the boundaries, no doubt disgruntled at having been taken away from the Race. Two of them had reacted by making small races of their own, while three others stood by and watched.

As the clanless hunter and his companion approached, a grizzled gray-haired man atop a pinto mare looked their way and signed a quick greeting.

Greeting, Shahar replied, non-dangerous assistance?

Necessary?

Yes.

This way, irritable.

“Stay,” Shahar said to the Chaktawe, signaling for Tuka to guard, go nowhere. He urged Akaidras to greater speed and closed the gap between himself and the grumpy Watch.

That, said one, pointing to the stranger. “Who is he? He is not of the Web.”

Stranger, alone, found outside north.

Surprise. “How’d he get that far?”

Road near perhaps?

“Long way from the Kabrin.” Trepidation.

Him, what do?

Clarify.

Him, where go? Fate, to be done?

The Watch snorted. “You found him. You decide. He’s not Drykas.”

Inquiry, do not want.

“Why’d you bring ‘im in, then?”

Outsider, trespass wrong.

“Why’d you bring him here?”

Decide, to be done.

“Send ‘im back out there, then.”

“No,” said second one. “If he managed to get that far from the road, there’s no telling how long he’d last.”

“Then kill him if you’re so indecisive,” snapped the first. “Here.” The irate Watch hefted a longbow, pointed it towards the Chaktawe and was halfway to a draw before Shahar could grab his arm with a stop!

“What?” the archer huffed, posture carved with exasperation. “You want to keep him?”

Not kill him.

“Then you’ve got your answer,” the Watch growled, returning his bow and arrow to their resting places. “You deal with him.”

And with that, the rider turned his horse away, bringing a pointed end to the conversation. Shahar ground his teeth in frustration and wheeled Akaidras back to where he had come from, and in another few moments had returned to the Chaktawe.

“Come,” he said, pointing into the city. “There. Find healer.”

[Jalen]

Jalen was glad to let his silent captor go ahead. He very nearly threw himself on the ground in exhaustion, but if he did that he wasn't sure he'd be able to stand back up on his own. The rider went ahead and conversed with one of the guards, an older, grumpy looking fellow who did not seem happy to see them. Jalen observed them with interest, watching and listening to the way they talked. Both Drykas used strange, complex hand gestures, though the guard also spoke in a foreign language the Chaktawe had never heard before. The man's thick grey brows crinkled as if he'd just smelled something distasteful, and his disgusted glances Jalen's way told him the guard was neither interested nor pleased with the Chaktawe's presence.

Frowning, Jalen dropped his gaze to the cat that sat watching him intently. The animal hadn't taken its eyes off of him since its master had gestured to it. Did the creature understand such intricate signals? Perhaps you are more intelligent than you look, Jalen mused. The thought was interrupted by the familiar sound of stretching sinew--an arrow being drawn.

Jalen's head whipped back up to stare wide-eyed at the two Drykas. The guard had nocked an arrow, pointed straight at him, but his captor had stopped the shot. The guard spoke impatiently with the rider. After a moment the weapon was withdrawn and Jalen released the breath he was holding. His heart, still recovering from the hike, was once again pounding behind his ears. Whatever the two horseman had said, judging from the look on the rider's face as he wheeled his mount around and trotted back to Jalen it had not gone well.

The man pointed the way, instructing Jalen to enter the city. "What?" the Chaktawe demanded. "Where are you taking me?" The man ignored his questions, and he gritted his teeth in frustration. Resigned that it was in the god's hands now, he started walking, glancing back to ensure his captor followed. After the guard's reaction, he didn't like the idea of heading into the city alone. Not that he trusted this man either. The strange, silent rider had made no sense from the start. Jalen didn't know what to make of him, or his tent-city. Had the man saved his life? That remained to be seen.

Edited[del]Okay, edited so he didn't somehow understand Pavi.

[Colt]

The Chaktawe’s eyes were wide when Shahar reached him, having obviously seen and recognized the bow being drawn and aimed.

His words, though, seemed to draw an even greater surprise; the black-eyed man spoke in a quick string of common that Shahar had difficulty understanding, but he understood that Shahar was asking him to go somewhere and had also understood the word ‘healer.’ Tilting his head warily, Shahar wondered if the man spoke Pavi––did he know only that one word, or did he know more? More questions that needed answering, and now question that he would have to deal with––for it looked like Shahar was now responsible for this man, whether he liked it or not.

Without answering the Chaktawe’s inquiry, Shahar turned Akaidras to face the city. “There,” he said again. “Walk.”

Since fortune had seem them approach the Opal district, the walk was not far––something for which Shahar was thankful for, since the stranger grew ever more ragged the longer they walked. If there was no refusal, Shahar would guide them towards the tents––pointedly away from the gruff Watch––and into the city.

Shahar hailed the first white-clothed Clansman he saw.

Immediate help, he finger-shouted. This man badly need, where go?

The Clansman––a sandy-haired youth somewhere around fifteen winters––took one look at the Chaktawe and turned east.

“The River Flower is that way,” he directed, pointing. Calm, reassuring. “Straight down there, you’ll come to the main path. Follow it north, it’ll be the biggest one. You can’t miss it.” Speed to you.

Shahar nodded and ducked down, wrapping an arm around the Chaktawe. “Up, now,” he said, giving a tug on the uninjured shoulder. Walking would be too slow, but he couldn’t physically haul the man into the yvas––not without causing further damage. His companion would have to cooperate to if either of them wanted to reach the River Flower with any semblance of haste.