As they emerged from the shade of the tower’s walls, they saw that the bloody red of the gaping sky had dimmed. An ordinary blue had begun to spread like ink from the joint of land and sky, as if this new color had been sent skyward from some point on a remote hill. In the distance, the sounds of battle had also faded. The fragrance of the orange trees swirled in gusts of cold wind that chilled both of them to the bone. Min La glanced at So Ga, regretting that he had not thought to look for a blanket or a coat of some kind before they’d left the inn.
The man who was escorting them through the orange trees did not turn to speak to them even once as they walked. Despite the unpredictable nature of their situation, Min La did not feel afraid of him. Perhaps it was enough to have seen him fight their enemies, Íojin and his comrades. As he thought this, Min La also realized that he still didn’t know why Íojin and his comrades had been their enemies. The strange, bandaged men had not seemed to know who So Ga was, and also seemed to have had no interest in robbing them. But an understood, almost implied animosity divided them from these other men, represented by the tall figure who walked a little ahead of them, like they were the bandaged men’s natural predators. Whatever made the two groups enemies, Min La reasoned, had nothing to do with him or with So Ga.
As they walked, So Ga’s labored breathing continued to worsen. Occupied with each pained inhale and burning exhale, his feet caught on every uneven patch of earth. Twice he nearly fell, and so Min La supported him by the arm. The labor of climbing the next hill taxed him so greatly that he bent with another coughing fit. When he stood upright again, Min La was alarmed to see a few drops of blood spattered on his chin. Noticing his concerned expression, So Ga gave him a reassuring smile and wiped the blood off with the back of his hand.
The man still didn’t turn around.
In time they found themselves again entering the valley, on the edge of it that was farthest from where the battle had turned the earth into a mottled, trampled patch of dirt and mud. A dozen or so men were gathered around a low fire where a pot of water bubbled in a way that seemed altogether too ordinary for their surreal surroundings.
Minded by a few of their company, their surviving horses were grazing nearby. But nowhere in the valley could Min La see any of the bandaged men.
As they approached the fire, the man at last turned and gestured to them with a small bow. Several stones — marble, like the tower — were positioned variously around the fire. It was hard to tell if they had always been there or if these men had carried them here. The man gestured to two of them, inviting them to sit.
The men in whose company they now found themselves watched their arrival with close attention. The soft murmur of their conversation had quieted as soon as they had approached; even the ones who tended the horses had half their attention fixed on the newcomers.
When So Ga again convulsed with violent coughs, the man brought him a skin of water. With a reassuring nod, he said, “It’s alright, take it. It is water from the well outside the inn we shared last night. It is quite safe.”
So Ga glanced at Min La. After a pause, during which he glanced around the company of men, he nodded.
Min La didn’t recognize any of the men who sat around them. They all bore the signs of battle, they all wore armor and a great deal of their enemies’ blood. But he did not see among them the man in blue or the warrior they had first met in the inn, nor the tall figure in red.
Once So Ga was done drinking, the man took the water skin back from him, and then he put his hand on his chest and bowed his head. “I am Tíovok1,” he said. “I am sorry I have not introduced myself to you before now, but I’m afraid had I done so before I would not have been able to give you my true name. I was, you understand, in disguise.”
Min La wasn’t sure how to reply to that. Before he could think of anything to say, So Ga had also put his hand on his chest and bowed his head.
“I am So Nan,” he said, and then gestured to Min La, “And this is my brother Min San.”
Tíovok sat upon a stone near theirs and listened to So Ga with shining eyes. Min La was overcome with the sense that he knew this was a lie. But in every other way this man and his companions were entirely unreadable. The faces that looked upon them were grim, but calm. They bore the bright-eyed fatigue of battle and the taut, trembling muscles of men who had just finished killing. Though they watched Min La and So Ga with fixed attention, they did not seem angry or even distrusting.
Tíovok seemed to have sensed Min La’s growing apprehension. He said in a warm voice, “You are not our enemies. That you are here at all is as much a surprise to me as it was, no doubt, to you. However, I am not the one who wishes to speak with you. If you wait with us for a moment, he will arrive shortly.” When they didn’t answer, he gestured behind him to the pot on the fire. “My men are making a very strong tea. One which I think you will find fortifying after this difficult day.”
Min La offered a stiff bow and Tíovok smiled.
When So Ga again began to cough — his face buried in the crook of his arm — Min La went to him and crouched by his side. Digging through their bag, which So Ga had upon his lap, he found a small linen towel that had once wrapped a parcel of dried apples. This he gave to So Ga, who nodded his thanks and used it to cover his mouth while he coughed. When he brought the towel away, it was spotted with blood.
“It’s alright,” he said in a quiet voice. “It will pass.”
“We should go back quickly,” Min La whispered. “You need your medicine.”
“I do not think it is a matter of merely going.”
Min La nodded. “I’ve been thinking the same.”
So Ga wiped blood off his colorless lips and glanced around the cluster of men. He said, “This is not an ordinary company of hunters.”
“No, it isn’t.”
Tíovok spoke then, calling their attention back to him where he sat on his stone nearby. “Your brother is unwell?” he said to Min La.
“He’ll be fine.”
Tíovok looked from one of them to the other, his warm eyes narrowed. He asked, “Was he wounded, perhaps, by the dreth?”
Min La glanced at So Ga, then turned back to Tíovok. “‘Dreth’?” he asked. Though he recalled that he had heard him use this word before; yesterday when they had met him on the road he had warned them about dreth. But it was a word Min La had never heard before then. And judging by the look of confusion on So Ga’s face, he didn’t know it either.
By way of explanation, Tíovok said, “The men you saw in the inn last night. The ones who all were bandaged in some way.”
“They are called dreth?”
Instead of answering, Tíovok clasped his hands before him and asked, “Tell me, what business brought you to that inn?”
Min La felt the cool point of scrutiny, he also saw the way So Ga trembled. “It is as we told you last night,” he said. “My friends and I are traveling to a wedding.”
Tíovok smiled and nodded. “That was a very poor inn for the four of you. Judging by your friends’ cloth, they should have sought a less remote point on the road, I think.”
“We had no choice. The rain, and my brother’s health—”
“Of course, yes.”
Min La could see that he did not believe them. Nor should he, of course. After all, they were lying.
After studying them for some time, Tíovok raised a hand and said, “You must forgive me. But for our own purposes, my men and I must check you both.”
Min La stood, pulling So Ga to his feet as well. He took a step back from Tíovok and the fire.
“You have nothing to fear from us, my friend,” Tíovok said. “Our only enemies are the dreth. If you are not dreth, then you are not our enemies.”
Min La gripped the bow tightly, but he had no arrows, nor did he have his knife. Glancing around the valley, he considered their chances if they ran for it. The only place to hide was the inn, where he might be able to find a weapon. Glancing at So Ga, however, he realized he would likely not be able to run to the edge of the valley, much less all the way to the inn. He glanced at the horses and considered whether or not he could take one before they stopped him.
“It’s alright,” So Ga said weakly.
Min La looked at him.
“They only hunt dreth. We are not that.”
“We cannot trust them,” Min La whispered.
“I think we can.”
Despite his own misgivings, there was something in So Ga’s calm expression that made Min La feel compelled to obey. It was a strange sensation, like he feared displeasing him, as one would fear displeasing a Housemaster or a captain. It reminded him in a strange way of the regret he always felt when he displeased his brother.
He nodded, and Tíovok motioned his men over.
Two men approached So Ga, separating him from Min La. They took the bag from him, checking its contents indifferently. Min La heard the clink of their gold and was sure they did as well, but that discovery didn’t move them at all. The bag was put aside.
Two other men came to him. They gestured to him to put out his arms, which he did. One of them pushed Min La’s sleeves up to his biceps and checked the skin of both arms. While they did this, he watched as another man performed the same check on So Ga, who submitted to this with infinite patience, coughing weakly all the while.
A hand pulled down the back collar of Min La’s golt and then bared each shoulder. The shock of cold on his skin sent a shiver through him. The chain around his neck didn’t seem to interest them. Though he tensed when their fingers caught the edge of it, lest they pull the seal out and expose the secret of his identity. It was impossible to determine how these men would react if they learned that he was Nŭnon.
But they didn’t examine the seal, or seem to care about it at all. They merely pushed his golt back onto his shoulders and then moved his hair to look at the back of his neck. As they lifted his jaw to examine his throat, he glanced over at So Ga. One of them pulled down the back of his golt, exposing the scar on his pale shoulder. And the thick gold chain around his neck glinted in the dim red daylight.
The breath caught in Min La’s throat. He had forgotten about the seal So Ga wore, the one that identified him as one of the four little princes. These men might not care if he was Nŭnon, but they would certainly be interested to learn that So Ga was the crown prince. So Ga, too, as if he only remembered the chain in that moment, gasped and clutched the seal through his clothes, backing away from the men who were examining him.
Surprised and annoyed, they moved to pull him back and resume their inspection. But So Ga dodged away, coughing and wrapping his wool golt tightly around his neck, as if he could somehow erase the chain from their memory by removing it from their sight. His efforts to evade them seemed to worry and anger the men, who saw his actions as confirmation of what they feared. Tíovok stood, his brow creased, his eyes narrowed.
Min La pulled away from the men examining him. When they reached out to stop him, he swung hard with the bow. The edge of it caught one on the cheek and he cried out. All the men around the fire now stood and moved closer. Min La watched as more than one hand reached for a sword.
Tíovok gestured to his men and they remained where they were. The tightened weariness of battle seemed to have coiled back through them all. Bright eyes glinted in the fire’s light, they pored into So Ga and Min La, studying every inch of them. Min La could sense that they were ready to strike the instant either of them moved.
He called for So Ga who came to stand behind him, and then he held out the bow knowing it was a poor weapon without arrows. But they had seen him draw blood with it, and their master was stopping them from attacking.
“We are not your enemies,” Min La said. “We are not these dreth, as you call them. We are travelers and my brother is unwell. We have let you check us and now we would like to leave. Unless we are your prisoners, there is no reason for you to keep us here.”
At that moment a new voice spoke from somewhere on the edge of the gathered company. With the sound of his voice, the men all turned in surprise.
“You must know,” the voice said, “it will not be so simple to leave a place such as this.”
The men parted to make way for this new arrival. A cold breeze seemed to push the figure in red into their midst. Lit as the valley was by the slowly dimming red sky, he appeared like a shining vein of crimson through a muddy pink block of gíth. A shock of color and a shock of presence. The men around the fire dimmed as much as the sky. Even Tíovok bowed his head.
The man in red was even taller than he had appeared astride his horse. He stood almost a head taller than Tíovok, one hand upon the hilt of his sword, the other behind his back. His red silk golt was mud-stained along the hem and darkened here and there with splashes of blood. Before, when they had been watching him fight from the edge of the valley, Min La had thought he looked young. Seeing him now, however, he was struck by the way in which his face seemed utterly ageless. His jaw was clean-shaven and smooth, but his eyes were dark and weary. Despite the richness of his silk, he wore no ornaments except the jewels and gíth woven through his wide belt.
Tíovok bowed his head as the man approached and gestured to the stone where he had been sitting. “My lord Soháth,” he said quietly.
Behind him, Min La heard So Ga gasp lightly.
As the man sat, his red silk making a gleaming red pool around his feet, the others in the company seemed to relax.
He turned to Tíovok and said, “I expect you’ve found nothing on either of them.”
“No, my lord.”
“These men are not dreth.” He looked at Tíovok and smiled. “Though you know that as well as I.”
Tíovok suppressed a smile. “It is not always so clear, my lord Soháth.”
“It is to me.”
Tíovok bowed, still smiling. Then he said a word to the men standing closest to Min La and So Ga and they withdrew.
“Please,” the man in red said to them, gesturing to the stones where they had sat before. “Please, sit. It is as you said. You are the enemies of no one here.”
Min La did not move. “We do not want to sit. We want to leave.”
He nodded. “Yes, you said. But you cannot, not now, anyway. So you might as well sit and rest for a moment. No one here will harm you.”
So Ga touched Min La’s shoulder and whispered, “It’s alright.”
“I do not trust them,” Min La replied, also in a whisper. But the small smile on the face of the man in red told him that he had heard.
“I do,” So Ga replied. When Min La glanced at him over his shoulder, he added, “At least, I do not think we need to fear them.”
Min La hesitated for several long seconds. Then, at last, he lowered the bow. So Ga stepped out from behind him and made his way back to the stone where he had been sitting before, picking up the bag along the way. Min La followed. He did not sit, but stood next to So Ga. The man in red accepted this and nodded his thanks.
“You must forgive Tíovok’s men,” he said. “Their sole purpose is hunting the dreth. And so they tend to see dreth everywhere. But they are good men, and noble. You have nothing to fear from them.”
Tíovok had sat upon a stone behind the man in red and, hearing this, bowed deeply to Min La and So Ga. They answered his bow with their own, Min La more stiffly than So Ga, who began again to cough.
The rest of the men also withdrew to where they had been sitting. Min La watched as the one whose face he had cut with the bow offered him a grim scowl and then began to clean the blood with a linen towel.
“If I have heard rightly,” the man in red said, his dark eyes moving from So Ga to Min La and back again, “You are So Nan and Min San and you have found yourselves, quite by accident, trespassing in this strange place.”
So Ga caught his breath and answered with a bow, saying, “We meant no offense by coming here uninvited. Please accept our apologies.”
The man smiled suddenly, an expression that warmed his face and made him seem suddenly a great deal older. “Oh, I’m afraid you misunderstand. I am not the keeper of this House, and so it is not to me that you owe your apologies. Though I expect our host takes no offense in your accidental presence.”
He looked again from one to the other — his gaze resting for a time on Min La, as if he thought he recognized him — then he put his hand upon his chest and bowed his head.
“I am Soháth,” he said.
They bowed in reply, So Ga as pale as the stones on which they sat.
“What does that mean?” So Ga asked, after he had coughed again. “To be dreth?”
Several of the men glanced over when they heard this question. But Soháth did not even seem surprised by it.
“It means they serve Volhathin.” After a pause he added, “There are many who do. For this reason, we sometimes call them voldreth.”
As strange as it was to hear it spoken of, it was not an idea that surprised Min La as much as it should have. But the remoteness of Volhathin had always made any mention of him feel like a myth, and not a reality as solid as the Ădol. It was strange, all the same, to think that anyone would have the desire to follow such a one as Volhathin.
Min La heard So Ga ask, “You hunt dreth?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because they are dangerous, as I’m sure you saw.”
So Ga frowned. “Yes, but there are many dangerous men in this world. Even in this princedom. Why must a company of warriors such as yours devote yourselves to the hunting of these followers of Volhathin? What makes them so dangerous as to warrant your especial attention?”
Tíovok looked upon So Ga with a small, surprised smile.
So Ga asked, “You are not from any House, are you?”
Soháth tilted his head, and then answered, “We are not.”
“I do not think you are even from Láokoth, not exactly. But your abilities as warriors are beyond anything I have ever heard of. And I know of most things in this country.”
“Do you?”
“I have never heard of you. And I would assume that that is by your design. You keep yourselves hidden and yet you would risk walking in Sona Gen in order to slaughter a group of some fifteen men.”
“We are not exactly in Sona Gen.”
“There is something about them, isn’t there? They are not like normal men. And it would frighten normal men to know of them. Is that why you hunt them? To hide them?”
Tíovok turned to Min La and said, “Your brother is as clever as he is pale.”
Soháth, with a smile, nodded in agreement.
So Ga went on, “Is that why they have those wounds? Because of their worship of Volhathin?”
“Not exactly. That is caused by something else, which is a much longer story and not one that is suitable to utter in this House.”
Though he wasn’t sure why he spoke, Min La heard himself murmuring, “I think the more interesting question is what they were doing in Sona Gen.”
So Ga looked up at him, a surprised expression on his face. “What do you mean?”
Min La sighed and answered, speaking only to So Ga, “These dreth seem to want to keep themselves hidden if for no other reason than to avoid the likes of them.” He motioned to Tíovok and Soháth. “And yet they were in Sona Gen. They no doubt knew this company would come to hunt them here, so why did they risk it?”
So Ga pondered this, his eyes wide and thoughtful.
Tíovok let out a single surprised laugh. Soháth turned and smiled at him with a small nod, then he said to Min La, “The pair of you are indeed something.”
So Ga opened his mouth to say something else, but another coughing fit stopped him. He doubled over, his head nearly touching his knees, and coughed into his towel. Min La, unsure what else to do, put his hand on his back. His whole body was tense and trembling, each cough roaring through him like a gale wind tearing through an open courtyard.
One of Tíovok’s men appeared at Soháth’s elbow with a small, black glass cup of steaming tea. He took it and sipped. Then he nodded and gestured to Min La. The man went back to the pot and then returned with another cup, which he handed to Min La.
So Ga looked up and watched with a furrowed brow as Min La sipped it cautiously. It tasted strongly of medicine and also of roses. A feeling like the smoothness of honey coated his throat and loosened the tension in his chest. He bowed in thanks and then handed the cup to So Ga. As he did this he understood that Soháth seemed to have guessed that Min La was responsible in some way for So Ga. The tea was given to him first not out of respect, but because they knew he would want to taste it before it was offered to his charge.
As he drank, the brightness of pain in So Ga’s eyes calmed. His hard, rasping breaths deepened and smoothed. With a great sigh of relief, his shoulders relaxed and he continued to sip the tea. Min La looked at Soháth, who had a small smile upon his lips, and bowed slightly in gratitude. Soháth’s smile broadened and he nodded once.
“You said we cannot leave,” Min La said to Soháth. “Why?”
“I would be surprised,” he said, “if you did not know where you were.”
It was So Ga who answered, his voice hoarse but steady. “We are in the House of Énan.”
Min La felt a tremor in his chest when he heard this spoken aloud. The fact that unreality had come to sit comfortably alongside the real felt to him like a naked blade gripped in the hand: the stronger the grip, the more damage was done. Within the barrier made by these unusual men and their fire, he had begun to detect an uncomfortable tightening, as if the air or the light was being compressed by their presence. They were, he thought absurdly, too present. As if each man here was many times more than what he appeared to be. And none more so than Soháth, who bore an impossible resemblance to the man of the same name from the old stories.
Soháth asked, “And what do you know of the House of Énan?”
Again, it was So Ga who answered. “It is one of the seven Houses made before the creation of man.”
Soháth nodded once. “Héothenin, of course, knew the appointed hour when mankind would begin to emerge from the Deep Light. He knew his son Níoth would give men physical bodies like their own, and so would come to be called níothrim. He knew they would need a world in which to build lives and families and civilizations. He knew all this, and so when the time was drawing near, he called the seven lesser Ădol to his mountain and he commanded them each to make a world according to what they believed would be suitable for the coming níothrim. When they were finished, he would choose which of the seven worlds was to be the home of mankind.
“And so they made, each of them, a world in their own image. Ávoth made his world of rivers, as he was so fond of the flowing waters of the Deep Light. Imnethrun made her vast forest. Éokov built a world blistered all over with his great, volcanic mountains and long, black-sand beaches. And the rest I’m sure you know. They bickered ceaselessly, each convinced that the world they had made was the ideal world.
“Only Ávoth and Énan did not join in this fighting. Ávoth, of course, sensed in his mysterious way the fate of his world. And so after he was slain by Volhathin and was divided from the other Ădol, his rivers and his world became the House of the Dead.
“But Énan’s purpose was far more mysterious, even, than this. When he made his world it was utterly empty, there was not even a single orange tree until his mother brought him the first, for fear that his lightless, soundless, empty world would be too great a burden for her son. Énan had not made a world for men. He had not even made a world for the Ădol. This strange, alien place has always been meant to serve only one purpose: as a barrier between the world of the níothrim and the Young Sea.
“This place, you see, is not welcoming to men like you, to níothrim. You are here, you slipped through the door, so to speak, when we and the attendants of this place, brought in our foes to hunt. But the House of Énan is not meant for idle visitors, and the door is now, as it is always, closed tightly.”
So Ga coughed lightly. Min La glanced at him, then turned back to Soháth. “If that’s true, how can we return?”
“When it is done, the way will once again be opened to allow my men and I to leave. At that time, you may walk through it. None will stop you.”
“When what is done?”
“The enemies have been slain. But they must still be disposed of, lest their rot spread to the orange trees, or worse, to your own world.”
As he spoke, the company again parted to admit two new arrivals. Min La recognized them at once. One wore a long golt of green and purple with a silver breastplate, and the other was clad in blue. As they arrived they bowed first to Tíovok and then to Soháth. They stood at least as tall as Soháth, with hair black as coal and matching eyes of shining brown. In the gleam of the firelight, Min La believed he saw a hint of red or perhaps glinting orange in their irises. It was clear that they were kin, and that they, like Soháth, were not entirely ordinary.
The one in blue limped and held his bandaged sword arm against his chest. His pale face was fixed in an expression of grim annoyance, while the other seemed melancholy but of a considerably warmer disposition.
Tíovok gestured to them. “My friends, let me introduce my nephews, my sister’s sons. This is Éotol2, and the one in blue is Somasoth3.”
The others made a place for them to sit near Tíovok. Éotol bowed when he was introduced. But Somasoth only sat, barely acknowledging the presence of the two strangers in their midst. But then he saw the bow in Min La’s hand and he said darkly, “I do not think that belongs to you.”
So Ga looked at Min La, who glanced at the bow and then immediately took the empty quiver off his shoulder. He walked to the tall young warrior with the silver breastplate and held out the borrowed items with both hands and his head bowed.
“I am sorry,” he said. “I found myself in need of a weapon.”
Éotol smiled as he took back his bow. “I think this was of greater service today in your hands than it would have been in mine. Moreover, I think I have you to thank for saving my brother’s life.”
He bowed deeply, but stopped midway to gave his brother a hard kick in the back. Somasoth grudgingly bowed his head, but still did not look at Min La.
Min La shook his head, saying, “You must thank So Nan. It was he who urged me to act.”
Éotol turned and bowed with a smile to So Ga. He returned the gesture with the simple, practiced graciousness of a prince. Min La was beginning to worry that everyone here could see the royalty in the young man who sat on a stone, wearing borrowed clothes and blithely sipping tea.
Feeling less secure without a weapon, he returned to So Ga’s side. So Ga glanced at Min La with a small smile as if, he realized with surprise, to express his approval of Min La’s returning the bow.
At that moment, a thought occurred to him.
“The men from the inn — the dreth — were they also bandits?” Min La asked Soháth.
Tíovok spoke then from behind Soháth. “Bandits?” he said, “No, those men were not bandits. They have been traveling for three days from the north. We have followed them the whole way and have not seen them rob anyone.”
So Ga and Min La exchanged a glance.
“You wish to ask something else,” Soháth said to Min La, his eyes shining.
“I know very little,” Min La answered, “and understand less. But I have never seen men like them. As my brother said, simple men would not require the efforts of this company to hunt them.”
“That is because, as you have already guessed, they are not men.” Soháth sipped his tea while he clenched and unclenched his left hand. Min La saw that his knuckles were bloody and raw. It seemed strange to him, though he couldn’t say why, that this man would even feel such a simple wound.
He also saw that Tíovok was surprised by Soháth’s answer. Perhaps conversation about the dreth was not usually permitted with outsiders.
Soháth went on, “Many years ago the one in whose House you now find yourself gave to them the name ‘dreth’4, as they were not formed in the natural way. But what they are is not important, not now. We could not permit them to move among men. They are, as I’m sure you realized, a threat to men. The dreth, as we call them, are not níothrim. But they are still men in some ways.
“It is true that we endeavor to hide them from the níothrim. As we hide ourselves.” He took a sip of the steaming tea and grimaced. “You could say,” he went on, “that, for now at least, the dreth are our matter and no one else’s.”
Min La was beginning to notice that these men did not speak of níothrim as though they considered themselves to be among them. A sensation began to warm his chest. Fear, perhaps, mingled with wonder. He felt strongly that he and So Ga should leave this place at once. He also felt a strong desire to stay a while longer, to ask more questions, to speak to these men as long as they were permitted to do so.
In the distance, a flash of cold white light burst soundless from the edge of the orange grove. Glancing over his shoulder, Soháth said, “It is finished then.”
As he stood, the entirety of the company stood with him. Min La helped So Ga to his feet. The men who had been minding the grazing horses began to bring them to their riders. Someone put out the fire and the entire company fell into immediate action, as if Sohath’s simple statement had been a firm order.
Soháth was the first to mount, though it seemed that his hand was continuing to cause him some trouble. His gleaming silver horse turned and looked upon Min La and So Ga with wet, solemn eyes. Min La was surprised to see several large, shining oranges filling the velvet bag that hung from his saddle.
Tíovok and Éotol helped Somasoth onto his horse. In addition to his arm, it seemed that one of his legs had also been wounded. Very soon Min La and So Ga were entirely surrounded by a mounted company.
Soháth turned his horse and looked at them. He said, “If you go back the way you came, you will find yourself again upon your original path.”
Tíovok brought his horse alongside Soháth’s and added, “I would part from you in friendship. I, after all, am glad to have met you, if only because you have preserved my nephew.”
So Ga bowed and said, “As a friend, then, you should know that your disguise is a poor one.”
Min La stared at him. Tíovok threw back his head and laughed heartily. “Was it?”
“They suspected you from the beginning.”
Éotol said, “I told you, uncle.”
Soháth smiled and slipped his hand into a pocket inside his golt. Bringing his horse closer to them, he drew out a small bloodied paper and held it out to Min La. With a small bow, he took it.
“We found that on one of the dreth we slew today. It means nothing to us. We meant to discard it, but perhaps it will mean something to you.”
Then he turned his horse. The spot of light that had emerged a moment ago had condensed into a single rider, a figure in white upon a white horse. He was approaching quickly.
“You should go, now.” He bowed in his saddle. “Though perhaps our paths will cross again in the future.”
Min La and So Ga bowed and turned to leave, but Soháth’s voice called them back.
“It would be better,” he said, “if you did not tell anyone of what you have seen today. Do you not agree?”
Min La glanced at So Ga, then both bowed their heads. They then turned and began walking towards the orange trees on the other side of the valley. When they paused to look back, the large company seemed already a long ways away. Tíovok lifted his arm and waved.
And then they stepped through the orange grove.
The rider in white appeared, his large white horse stomping the sparkling dirt under its hooves. When he began to speak, for a fraction of an instant, blinding white light shone from his mouth.
“My lords,” he said. “Our master asks that you do not linger in this place.”
Soháth bowed deeply. “He is gracious to allow us the use of his valley.”
“For the slaying of dreth, yes, my lord Soháth. But you have let níothrim walk here.”
He smiled lightly. “I had my reasons.”
The rider looked upon him with a stern and confused countenance. He said, “As usual, your ways are strange and unpleasant. I do not like when you come to this place.” Then he turned his horse and spoke over his shoulder. “Please, leave at once.”
And he rode across the valley to the line of orange trees in the distance. Nearing the grove at the top of the hill, the shape of him reduced to a glint of white light which slipped between the trees and disappeared.
Tíovok watched with a knowing smile as Soháth pulled one of the oranges out of his satchel.
“Was it you who let those two come here?” Tíovok asked him, a small smile on his face.
Soháth made no reply for a time. He peeled the orange thoughtfully, tossing the peel into the grass.
“And you made them think they had accidentally trespassed.” He laughed. “My lord Soháth, you have not changed in all these years.”
Finally, Soháth said, “They will need to be ready. They will need to know.”
“Not for many years,” Éotol remarked. “It is said that it will not begin until all of Láokoth has been united under one king.”
Soháth looked at him sharply. “Who has told you this?”
Somasoth brought his horse nearer and broke in, “Leave him be. My brother once spent ten weeks in the court of Ôdren.”
“The grand prince of Ôdenra?”
Éotol explained, “His bloodline is favored by Héothenin and are, from time to time, taken to view the walls of his mountain.”
Tíovok asked Soháth, “Have you not been forbidden from telling níothrim of the dreth?”
“The time for such promises has ended, my lord Tíovok.”
“I do not know what you hope to achieve. Níothrim will not believe. They are not ready.”
“They will need to be. And he will see to that.”
“Him?” Somasoth pointed to the two departing figures. “They cannot be. Both of them are too weak to even wield a sword.”
“The sword is not the only weapon. And we will need all weapons to be sharpened when the time comes. Not just swords.”
Éotol said quietly, “That may be a hundred years hence.”
“Good,” Soháth answered. “Perhaps that will be enough time.”
Tíovok smiled and brought his horse nearer to Soháth’s. He leaned close to him and said, almost accusingly, “You brought them here to test them.”
With a slight smile, he answered, “Perhaps.”
“And if they failed, you would not have let them leave?”
“It is important for the future of Láokoth.” He split the peeled orange in two and handed one half to Tíovok, who accepted it happily. “I had to be sure. The royal House of Láokoth has been weak for many generations, too weak to endure what is to come. Matters in the Palace are grave. Something drastic will need to change if this country is to survive.”
“What does that matter?” Somasoth asked, turning his horse. He looked at Soháth with narrowed eyes. “What does that have to do with these two wandering orphans?”
“My friend,” Soháth answered with a smile. “Do you not know who that is?”
Somasoth looked back at the two departing figures. “No. Who?”
“That is the future king of Láokoth.”
Walking through the pale pink light that filtered in dappling layers through the orange trees, Min La and So Ga said nothing for a while.
At last, Min La asked, “Why did you ask so many questions about the dreth?”
So Ga shuddered in the cold, or perhaps the memory of Íojin hunting them ceaselessly through the inn, smelling of rot. He said, “I don’t know. It just seemed like something I should understand better.” He shook his head. “I don’t know.”
After another period of silence, So Ga said, “What does the note say?”
Min La looked at it in his hand. He’d forgotten about it as soon as Soháth had handed it to him, and was half-surprised to see it there. The blood that stained it was mostly dry, but he could still smell a hint of the rot of those men.
“Dreth,” he murmured under his breath.
“Have you ever heard of them before?”
He shook his head. Opening the folded paper, he found the slender rows of towering glyphs that made up the Ethadux script. He said, “I have never learned to read Ethadux.”
So Ga held out his hand for the paper. “I have.”
As he watched him decipher the message, Min La found himself wondering if Soháth had known that So Ga would know how to read it. He suspected that Soháth had known a great deal more about both of them than he had let on.
“It says ‘Come at once. Do not use the Prince Road.’ And then it is signed ‘Adníothan’. Do you know what that means?”
Min La shook his head.
“I wonder why he thought we would.” He sniffed the paper and grimaced. “I do not want to keep this.”
“I will take it for now. We can burn it when we get back.”
So Ga said, “The man called Soháth, do you think he could be…?”
“I don’t know,” Min La answered. Then, “He couldn’t be. The stories about Netholom and Soháth are hundreds and hundreds of years old. He couldn’t be.”
“A descendant, perhaps.”
“Soháth was an attendant. He had no kin but those other attendants who came to Láokoth with him.” After a moment, he added, “In the stories it was said that Soháth had vowed to remain in Láokoth to protect the descendants of Netholom from Volhathin.”
So Ga nodded. “Níoth made him take this vow. My tutor used to say that that made him a Guest.”
“If he was made a Guest, that means he is immortal.”
So Ga looked at him with a smile. “You know the stories of Soháth and Netholom?”
“My mother asked me to read them to her when I was child.” He paused, then added, “She was very sick for many years.”
So Ga looked thoughtfully at the faintly sparkling dirt under their feet. “I don’t remember if my mother ever read to me. She must have, of course.”
Min La glanced at him, aware of a lingering tension. Distantly, he understood that this was likely caused by the tenuous thread that linked them across that bloody incident. So Ga’s mother had been killed, according to accepted belief, by the Nŭnon House. And Min La was the last survivor of the Nŭnon House. The nature of this link, however, Min La did not yet understand. Nor did he wish to. He was aware, again, of a faint fear of displeasing So Ga.
Presently, they left the orange grove and the cover of pink light faded into the dull white daylight of an overcast day. Stopping, they found themselves standing under the birch and elm trees that bordered the old, rundown inn. The fence hunched before them, half leaning, half crumbled. The stable was empty of all but three horses. A pair of hens paused in the courtyard to turn their beady eyes upon them.
Min La turned back and looked behind them. The orange grove was gone, replaced by the overgrown path to the Prince Road, which he could see in the distance. A part of him felt a sharp but brief pang of regret. He was sad to have left the House of Énan. It was the same in all the stories.
So Ga seemed to feel the same way. Wistfully, he murmured, “I don’t smell it anymore.”
Min La nodded. “Nor do I.”
“And so have we—”
But they were interrupted by the sudden appearance of a most welcome face.
“Here you are, at last,” cried Nŏl. He was walking through the trees that pressed against the back of the stable. “We have been looking for you for hours. Where have you been?”
Min La smiled and greeted him with a small bow. “I do not think you would believe us if we told you.”
Nŏl frowned, but then his smile returned. “Hino Son thought you might have gotten lost. We’ve been in the woods behind this place trying to find a trail of some kind. Did you come from the Prince Road?”
“From that direction, yes.”
So Ga coughed lightly. In the harsh white light of afternoon, he face was colorless, his lips faintly blue. A stark red and purple had settled around his tired eyes.
“Well, anyway,” Nŏl went on. “You’ll never believe what we found while we were looking for you.”
Turning, he gestured behind him. Hino Son appeared then, coming from the same direction. He was leading another man, gripping him firmly by the elbow. The man’s hands appeared to have been bound behind his back.
“So Nan, Min San!” Hino San exclaimed when he saw them. “I am most relieved to find you safely returned. Where have you been?”
“Never mind that,” Nŏl said. “Show them.”
Hino Son nodded and pulled his prisoner forward, then pushed him onto his knees. He said, “We found a little shack deep in the forest behind the inn. This one was hiding there with a great bag of dried meat. Isn’t that strange? Nothing but dried meat. We left it there. Seemed a waste, though.”
Nŏl walked to the prisoner, whose chin was tucked tightly into his chest, as if he was endeavoring to conceal himself. Grasping him by the jaw, he lifted his head so they could see his face.
And there, scowling at them from his knees, was the pale, scarred face of the man who called himself Íso Lin Bin Koth.
Or, if you’d prefer to make a small, one-time donation, you can
TIY-oh-vohk (an Ethadux name)
EE-oh-tohl (an Ethadux name)
SOH-mah-soth
Derived from the Ethadux root “dren” meaning “hollow”
Marvelous world building!
I really like your choice of the word “dreth.” It combines the sounds and associations of the words dread, dreck and death. That reminds me of how C. S. Lewis named his demons for the Screwtape Letters.
I like how they're called níothrim and not mortals, a nice linguistic detail, since the Romans do not exist here! There's a real sense of a larger world that exists in the background, which is exactly the kind of thing that fantasy needs more of, and arguably, is the soul of true fantasy.