Rogue Legacy, Jeffrey L. Kohanek [best pdf reader for ebooks .txt] 📗

The empty campsite appeared far less ominous in daylight. The area was now cleared of any men – even the two Tantarri who had died while attempting to escape. Lyra glanced toward the tree line, unable to convince herself that nobody watched her from within the shadows.

“It looks like they headed south, as I expected.” Cal kicked a broken spear shaft into the dormant fire. ”I doubt they’re bound for Sol Limar, so we’ll watch closely for signs of them leaving the road while we travel.”

“So we continue heading south?”

Cal shrugged. “Of course. Sol Limar is where the king is.”

“The king?”

“Yes. We need help.”

“What if we run into them along the way? Is that why you brought the sword?”

His gaze shifted to the weapon at his hip, its length almost touching the ground.

“No. I wouldn’t even want to try.” He shook his head. “I might cut off something important, and that cannot be healed.”

Lyra approached him, frowning. “Then, why bring it?”

He smiled. “I told you before. The sword’s not for me. I made it for someone else to use. In this case, that someone comes from Sol Limar. In the future, there will be others…assuming we get the right future. If things go wrong, it won’t matter anyway.”

Lyra shook her head and chuckled. “Never mind. I give up.” Circling the fire pit, she avoided looking directly at the red stains on the gravel. “Come on. Let’s keep moving.” She glanced toward the dark clouds to the west. “It looks like it might rain today.”

They resumed their journey south, with Lyra carrying the floating pack and her lute, and Cal carrying a more common pack and the sword. As they walked in silence, Lyra found herself frequently glancing toward Cal, who appeared not to notice. At some point during the past few weeks, her perception of him had changed. Yes, he still had his oddities, but she now found them more comforting than annoying. In addition, she found herself drawn to his powerful sense of selfless integrity. It astounded her that he had risked his life to save the captive Tantarri. Even with the aid of his magic, Cal had almost died to help people he had never even met. His single-minded goal of stopping The Hand’s nightmarish plan gave Lyra a clarity she had never had before experienced. She found herself believing in something larger than her own life, willing to go to extremes to see it succeed.

A cool gust blew from the west, and Lyra felt a drop of water hit her cheek. Another struck her forehead and she swung her pack around to access it while glancing toward Cal, seeing no visible reaction as his mind appeared elsewhere.

“I think it might start raining soon.” Lyra said as she pulled her grey wool cloak out before closing the pack. “You might want to grab your cloak.”

Cal looked at her “What?” He blinked as a raindrop hit him in the eye. He rubbed it. “Is it raining?”

Lyra stopped and tied the cloak about her neck, covering the lute. The cold sprinkles of water became more frequent. “I’m not sure. Maybe you should use your magic and see what it tells you.”

He frowned at her as she pulled her hood over her head. “You can be quite sarcastic at times.” Then, the rain hit.

“You’re welcome.”

Cal scrambled to pull his cloak from his pack, his wet hair sticking to his forehead as water dripped down his face. He pulled his hood up, tied the flap on his pack into place, and nodded for them to continue.

They walked in the rain for a couple hours, circling around the deeper puddles that formed in the potholes and dips. Despite the cloak’s ability to shed water, the constant rain eventually seeped through the fabric and left her wet underneath. When they reached a rise in the road, Lyra stopped and turned west in hope of finding signs to the rain ending. Below the dark clouds, between a gap in the trees, a row of tall foothills stood less than a mile away. Her gazed shifted toward what appeared to be a rocky cliffside.

“Maybe we can get out of the rain over there.”

He turned toward where she pointed, nodding after a moment before he led her off the road, through the wet brush occupying the gap between the taller trees. When they broke past the initial barrier of brush, they found themselves on a trail.

They followed a path surrounded by brush and tall grass that shed gathered rain upon them, somehow making them even wetter. After about a half-mile, the snaking trail emerged into a narrow ravine between two foothills.

Cal stopped short, causing Lyra to crash into him. He stumbled forward a step, but said nothing. He just stood there.

“Why’d you stop? We’re almost there,” she asked.

He stepped aside and pointed. Lyra gasped upon seeing two dead men lying among the rocks ahead. Despite the dirt and rain that covered them, it only took a moment to recognize the bright colors.

“Tantarri. We’ve found them.”

Easing closer to the corpses, Lyra recalled their names – Haru and Venarri. The men were dead and their spirits had moved on. Yet, she felt horrible for them being abandoned in this manner.

Cal turned toward her. “How do your people treat their dead?”

“My people?” She glanced at the men and realized that Cal still thought she was Tantarri. “I…I don’t know.”

His brow furrowed, and he turned toward the corpses. “Will they be offended if we use a funeral pyre?”

Unsure of what to do, her only response was a shrug. It was disturbing to see these men treated this way, discarded like old furniture that no longer held value.

Glancing around, Cal nodded before cutting off the trail, toward the two men.

“Help me move them.”

Lyra bit her lip and found her stomach churning at the thought of touching dead bodies. She closed her eyes and took a calming breath. Opening them, she followed the trail of trampled grass left in Cal’s wake. He walked around the first man and slid his hands beneath the man’s armpits while Lyra grabbed his ankles. With a grunt, they lifted the man off the ground, his rear barely above it.

Cal nodded his head to the side. “To the downed tree.”

Lyra turned toward the dead pine, its trunk split where it had fallen over a boulder. They carried the man toward it, his bottom side dragging against the gentle slope. Cal backed into needle-covered branches and leaned the man against the boulder so he was sitting upright beside the tree.

They returned for the other man and carried him to the tree, propping him up on the opposite side of the rock from his dead companion. Cal stepped back and began searching the ground.

Lyra glanced up at the cloud-covered sky, blinking at the rain as it fell in her eyes.

“Nothing’s going to burn in this.” She held her hands out, palms up as the rain splattered on them. “Even when it stops raining, it will be a while before this old tree to dry enough to burn.”

“Perhaps.” Cal shrugged as he bent to grab a long, narrow rock that fit nicely in his palm. “Or perhaps a bit of magic will do the trick.”

He walked over to the boulder and began scraping something into its face using the sharp edge of the rock in his hand. Apparently finished, he stepped back and stared at the symbol. Lyra watched in curiosity as the rune glowed bright red, pulsed, and faded. Cal grabbed Lyra’s arm and backed away, pulling her with him.

The boulder burst into flames, the intense heat of the flash forcing Lyra to turn away. When she turned back, she found the rock burning brightly, setting the tree aflame along with the two men who leaned against it. As the needles burned, they crackled and popped before dropping into the long grass and setting small smoldering fires that filled the air with smoke.

“May Issal watch over them,” Cal said solemnly.

He turned and returned to the trail, leading her deeper into the ravine. After hiking a few hundred feet, it became clear that there was a recessed area within the cliffside, perhaps two