Pursuit

Bilal rode at the head of their small column, followed by Rashida with her personal pack horse tethered to her mount's saddle.

Cita's clammy grip slipped on the leather reins, and his thighs ached.

"Don't fall. Don't fall. Let the horse worry about keeping up. Just don't fall," he chanted.

The sun rose and warmed the autumnal air. The wide trail remained oddly level, marked by crumbled grey rock-like material peeking through the sparse grass. Beside the path, the tall, dried grass waved in the breeze.

"The tracks cross the stream here."

Cita looked up at Bilal's voice and saw the path detour down the side of a hill to a stream. Broken columns poked up from the stream.

"Let us rest the horses before we press on." Bilal swung down. He left his glaive strapped to the saddle, blade pointed high in the air.

Rashida dismounted gracefully.

Cita kicked a foot free of a stirrup and started to swing down.

"Not on the left side, Cita. They are trained to be worked from the right," Bilal warned.

Cita's full weight was on the left stirrup when the horse jinked unhappily. With an inarticulate shout, he crashed to the ground, and the horse shied further away. The air was driven from his lungs and he gasped, trying to suck in a replacement supply. It didn't work.

Through tear-filled eyes, Cita watched Bilal hesitate between coming to his aid and restraining the loose gelding.

Rashida pushed Bilal after the horse and moved unerringly toward Cita herself. She dropped her reins, leaving both horses without a thought.

They patiently waited where they were ground-tied.

"Easy. Relax and don't try so hard. Your body will remember how to breathe." The healer knelt next to him and helped him roll to his side, drawing his knees up to his chest.

"Easy for you to say," he gasped as he was able to pull in a little air.

"Easy enough for you, too. Breathe in through your nose, hold it for a beat, and out through your mouth."

Cita closed his eyes to focus on his breathing.

"See? Nothing to it."

"I have the horses," Bilal called above them. "Cita, are you okay?"

Cita nodded and kept breathing.

Bilal hesitated, the leather of his sheath straps creaking. "I will water them, then."

Cita heard him murmuring to the mounts as he moved away. He kept breathing.

"There. All better." Rashida patted Cita's back.

"Uh, yeah." Cita sat up and then climbed to his feet. His right ankle twinged, reminding him to move carefully.

Rashida rose smoothly and dusted herself off.

"Good. Now, why did you dismount from the wrong side? It was incredibly foolish!" Her voice held no trace of compassion now.

Cita flushed. "I … forgot." 'It's not like I did it on purpose! I'm not an idiot!'

*Not an idiot. Courting attention from the pretty healer, perhaps?* A shadow clouded the bright sunlight.

Cita recoiled. A chuckle writhed through the air.

"Well, perhaps this will teach you to remember." Rashida strutted away, only to stumble and fall against the horse. It snorted but held its ground.

Cita followed reluctantly and knelt where the healer tripped. An unnaturally straight edge protruded from the damp earth. He dug at it a little and revealed the rounded corner of a thin piece of metal. He tugged, but it wouldn't come out.

"Cita! Do not touch that! It is cursed!" Bilal drug Cita away. "Jas povtorno nema da uspeam," he growled.

'I will not fail again.'

"What?" Cita scrubbed his dirty hands together. "Cursed? And what does that mean?"

"Come away from the stream and wash." Bilal held up a water skin. He avoided Cita's questions.

Cita followed Bilal away from the stream.

"What do you mean, cursed?" he asked.

"The Infected have been following an old road. The old roads are mostly safe, but some artifacts from … before litter where they run. Horrible things happen to those who meddle with the remnants."

"That's just a superstition!" Rashida challenged.

"Believe what you will," Bilal answered. "For myself, I will be glad when we are clear of it this afternoon. It shifts to the north at the border, and we will be on foot from there."

Cita tensed. In response to Bilal's arched eyebrow, he said, "I … thought Lord Blaah lent us the horses until we caught up with the guards. You said they were at least 2 hours ahead of us ..."

"Yes," Bilal agreed. "The township border is less than half a day's ride from the burned field. The guards will not go beyond the border."

"Is the land across the border … dangerous?" Cita imagined the dry but fertile fields they rode through ending abruptly in a desolate wasteland.

Bilal's laughter interrupted Cita's cringe. "You might think so, from how the township's citizens react to any mention of things beyond their boundaries." He shook his head. "No, the township sees no value beyond their borders. That is why they call it the township. As far as they are concerned, there is no other."

"They don't… but … the market … all those people? They couldn't have all been from this township?" Cita flailed his arms as if doing so would make his words clear.

"If the locals want it and it is inside their borders, it exists. Obviously so, since it is in their home. But once the merchants leave, they evaporate like mist." Bilal paused to stroke his mount's neck. "Lord Blaah … admits there is something beyond his land. But he does not think about it until it affects him. Michael appears to take after his father."

"That's… insane! Is there no government? No king or ruler above Lord Blaah?"

Bilal looked at Cita.

**Don't give so much away!** The youth kicked at the stream, and then crouched next to it. ** He'll only take advantage.**

Cita groaned, "Is there a pill for verbal diarrhea?" Cita scuffed his shoe in the dirt. "Or insanity?" he muttered.

Rashida huffed in annoyance.

"Will you never tell him he's talking gibberish?" she called from her horse's far side.

"He already did!" Cita shouted, startling their mounts. He glared through the red haze. Incorporeal laughter egged him on.

Rashida huffed again.

"We have discussed this already," Bilal spoke soothingly as he calmed the horses again. "I am sure it will continue to be something we learn about each other. For now, let us move on. We have rested enough."

They remounted in silence and crossed the stream. The clear tracks left by the guards were easy to follow in the red light. Licks of fire danced just out of reach, snatching at the crumbled grey material.

'She has no right. She's taking over everything, and Bilal barely questions her! He said he was mad at her — why did he let her come?'

The youth ambled beside Cita's horse, somehow keeping pace. He nodded agreeably with Cita's argument.

**This is more like it,** he said as he petted the flames. **Discrete yet deadly. They don't even know it's here.** He laughed.

**Ask if you want,** he continued. **But be prepared for the answers.**

"Why are you even here?" Cita burst out.

Bilal glanced over his shoulder, lips pursed in disapproval.

The youth looked up, brow furrowed and mouth twisted into a quizzical smile.

**Are you asking me, or that bane of a Healer?**

Cita ground his teeth as the flames drifted around his horse's knees. The beast's ears flicked back and forth, but he kept walking behind the others.

"I?" Rashida replied in an arrogant tone. "I am here because I was born here, and journeyed here, and continue to journey here. As I said before, I must go to the east to find a new familiar to contract with." She paused and then continued with an edged tone. "Why are you here?"

"What does that even mean?" Cita asked, ignoring her question. "If you were born here, how did you journey here?"

"I was not born in this township, but I was born in this world. You, I suspect, were not."

Rashida's cold response shocked Cita. Like a physical injury, he felt blood streaming from his parted flesh. Ringing filled his ears and the flames roared high.

*****

The fog was pleasant. It muffled vision. And sight. And sound. And touch. And smell. It washed the world clean again.

Then the rocking motion stopped. Hands came through the fog, touching him, urging him to dismount. He swatted them away, but it was too late. The mist thinned.

A deep voice pierced it further. "At least one of you must ride back to report to Lord Blaah. He is anxious for an update. Two would be better, in case there are more of the Infected around."

"But we're making lunch," whined another voice. "It can wait until after everyone eats. And we can return together."

Cita wrinkled his nose. It didn't make the voice go away.

With a sigh, the first voice continued, "I have no power to order you. But I cannot in good conscience fail to warn you: your lord will be most displeased if he has to wait."

Cita frowned and rubbed a finger against the grip on his bow. The wrap was sweat-stained and dirty. It needed to be redone.

'Should I re-wrap it before the competition next week, or after?' With a jolt, Cita looked up. 'If the tournament is next week, this week is midterms! Shoot!'

"What time is it?" he asked, looking around. Several people stared at him.

"The time? It is approaching midday."

That was the deep voice from before. Its owner was tall and muscular, with dark skin and a single wing arching over his left shoulder. Thin braids captured his curly hair, and the braids were further contained in a ponytail. His shirt looked like a piece of tan cloth wrapped around him, and he had weapons sticking out everywhere. In his hand, he held a long staff tipped with a sharp, curving blade on one end. Cita felt his mouth drop open.

"Are you practicing for a Ren Faire? Or do you LARP? Wait — midday? Noon? I'm late!" Cita slung his bow, checked his quiver, and searched for his backpack all at once.

"Where's my bookbag? It's got my math homework. And my pills .... and my earbuds?"

Cita looked around frantically.

"I can't face Gran if I fail another class!"

Cita forced himself to breathe. "It's okay. Find the bag. Take a pill. It will be fine. He said so."

"Ear … buds?" The dark man repeated the word as if he'd never heard it before.

"Pills? What sort of pills?" a sharp, feminine voice asked.

Cita turned to see a black-haired woman who seemed like she had come straight from a pharaoh's tomb. Her white dress had draping sleeves that covered most of her arms, which were crossed under her breasts. Next to her sat a rough pack.

'Why does she want to know about my pills? And is that her bag? That's not my backpack, but I swear I've seen it somewhere …'

"You may be out of period if you're hanging with this bunch — they're more fantasy than Egyptian," Cita told her. "Is this your bag? Only, I think it might be mine …"

"Of course it's yours, you muddle-headed —" The voice was familiar, like the bag.

Cita frowned, not quite able to place it.

"Enough!" The dark man cut her off. "Jas povtorno nema da uspeam."

'I will not fail again.'

Cita jerked and looked around. 'Where is that echo coming from? That's… that's not me, is it?'

"Wille uspeete ako se obidete da go napravite ova sami!" she shouted back.

'You will fail if you try to do this alone.'

The others, who seemed to be in some sort of uniform, shifted uneasily.

"Hold your peace, or you will be returning to the township with these guards. Even if I have to tie you to the horse myself. Your … historic attachments will carry you no further." The man was coldly furious, glaring at the woman in white.

Cita shivered.

"This isn't right. None of this is right." His eyes darted around.

"You would not dare! An—"

"Do not say his name." The man's snarl was a promise of violence.

The quarreling couple bracketed Cita, and the guards milled behind him.

'No escape. No choice. Be bold.'

"Guys, this is a great skit or whatever you're up to, but I need my homework, and then I have a history test. I'll just grab my bag and get out of your way. You can go back to ... whatever."

When Cita bent over to grab the bag, pain spiked through his head. "Ow!" He sat down, massaging his temples.

"Are you all right?" A dark shape loomed over him.

"Bilal? Yeah — it's just a headache. Did we reach the boundary?"

"For a short while now," Bilal cautiously replied.

Rashida threw her hands into the air and stalked off, trailed by her patient packhorse.

"What's up with her?" Cita asked.

Bilal shook his head and rubbed a knuckle between his eyes.

"We should rest awhile, and eat with Lord Blaah's guards," he said. "Then we can press onward, following the trail of the Infected. We will want to move quickly, but caution is required. This swarm is not acting like any other I have seen, and they may double back."

The guards stirred. After a murmured conversation, two broke away and rode off. The others built a small fire and began heating water.

Cita sat for a moment, fingering an arrow in his quiver.

"Bilal, I'm — well, look. I've got 15 arrows, not counting the one that's flat broken, and a couple have damaged fletching. The arrows from the market are too lightweight for me, so I left them with Nathaniel. But … I'm not sure what I can do for replacements."

*Always lacking.*

Cita whipped his head around. The shadow remained a cold pressure just out of sight.

Bilal frowned.

"I am not an archer, myself. Why were the arrows you bought not good enough?"

"Well, they're too lightweight," Cita repeated.

Bilal waited for Cita to continue.

"If the arrows are too light for the bow, at best they will not fly straight. That makes it hard to hit your target, and that's ... well, that's a bad idea when you're fighting off a swarm of Infected." Cita shuddered at the memory of his frantic fight.

Bilal nodded and Cita continued, "But if the bow is too strong, the arrow can also shatter."

Bilal winced.

"I owe you another apology. It is a mortal offense to handle another's weapons without their express permission. Grace is usually granted in the event of injury. Normally arrows are not so closely guarded — nor are daggers. I would not have requested access to your arrows if I had realized how … irreplaceable they are."

"What?" Cita blinked. "A mortal offense?"

"Yes. Clan wars have been fought over it; I know of three clans that were destroyed for such an offense. There are rumors of more."

"Oh. Well, I'm used to sharing gear sometimes." Cita flinched from the renewed pain in his head.

A heavy pause pressed down on them before Bilal spoke again.

"We are traveling into land held by no lord or master. It is not unpleasant, but it is unclaimed. If we were on horses, it would be about a half day's ride to cross to the lands held by Baron Dorf."

"Baron … Dorf?" Cita echoed in disbelief. He struggled not to laugh out loud.

"Baron Dorf is a hard man," Bilal cautioned. "He rules his land with an iron fist and is not to be taken lightly. Because of his harshness, few mage crafters are willing to remain in his barony. A skilled, innovative mage crafter is our best chance of resupplying you with arrows. I would prefer to do so sooner, rather than later, but ..." Bilal hesitated.

"If we go back to Lord Blaah's township, we will lose the swarm. And the guards witnessed yesterday's pyrotechnics ..." Cita trailed off. "How exactly do people around here deal with evil flame summoners?"

"Instead," Bilal continued as if Cita had not spoken, "I think you will be up to the weight of my lighter sword once your wrist finishes healing. We can start training and, hopefully, you can gain some proficiency before you need to use it."

"But you just said … and what will you use?" Wide red eyes met golden ones.

Bilal smiled, ivory teeth bared.

"You gave me the glaive, did you not? It will serve quite well. I will demonstrate when we make camp tonight."