The Prince's Mark

The Road to Dezmer - Thirty Two

"What choice do we have? We can't stay here!"

"Lord Vartanian's leaving—he expects us to stay behind?"

"You all can leave if you want, but you'll have to live the rest of your lives knowing you're a bunch of cowards!"

"At least I'll have a life to live!"

Biting his cheek, Tracou gazed at the villagers crowded in front of him. They had gathered in the same fallow field they had used for Serpouhi's wedding. In some dips in the soil, gray had stuck to the ground. Perhaps this field would have to be left for another year.

Though the village lacked the dread and oppressive atmosphere of the day before, it hadn't recovered to its former self. Some of the dust remained, sucking the color from the world. So close to spring, the hills should have been alive with animals and insects waking from their slumber, but they had yet to stir. A solitary bird, smaller than Tsova, flew in the sky overhead.

The remaining villagers, now freed from impending doom, needed guidance. A firm leader would have been able to silence their fears and stoke the flames of hope, but Tracou had unwisely announced his intention to leave Ergakan.

Back when the silent sickness came, many people had died, including his own parents. He had been fifteen at the time and no one had expected him to lead them through that disaster, but he had been their lord for years. Surely by now he should have been able to do something more than run away.

"I'm not leaving to get away from Ergakan, I'm leaving to save it! Elves can fight and if I bring some back—"

"Why not ask Aodehn? Or the Zeibr? Why do you have to go all the way to the Elven Kingdom?" a woman asked, spittle flying alongside her words.

Tracou grimaced. "I don't think Aodehn or the Zeibr would help us."

"And why would the elves?"

"Two elves helped us yesterday," Serpouhi declared from her spot next to Tracou. "But that's not the problem. How long will it take to get to the Elven Kingdom, Tracou?"

He turned to her. "I'm not sure. Maybe a month or two."

"We don't have a month or two. What if something happens before you even arrive?"

"I doubt they'll attack again so soon."

"And what if they do?"

Tracou pursed his lips. At that point, what difference would his presence make? But he couldn't say that in front of his villagers—not when some were threatening to leave. If even fifty people left, only one hundred people would live in Ergakan. Life would become much more difficult without the right number of neighbors to fill certain roles within the community. Maybe Ergakan would empty completely, leaving Tracou as the owner of vacant homes on rotten land.

Hard footsteps approached from behind. Serpouhi glanced up, beyond Tracou, and frowned. Tracou turned around.

Pendaer loomed, a mere hint of disgust on his face. Perplexed, Tracou looked for Mirthal, but Pendaer had come alone.

"What are you animals squawking about?"

"They're upset about the situation, Pendaer. I'm leaving, which looks... bad."

Pendaer nodded, his gaze sweeping over the group of dezmek. "They should be upset."

Tracou tensed.

"Tell them that we'll spend the day building traps and creating contingency plans. If possible, we might want to dig some tunnels between homes and store food in key points underground. That way they can survive a small siege. I doubt you'll find it difficult—you dezmek will be returning to the mud of your ancestors."

For several moments, Tracou blinked at Pendaer, his words going around and around in his head. Despite what Pendaer had done for them yesterday, his continued grudging assistance made little sense.

"What?"

"Did the dust get lodged in your ears? Do what I said."

Dazed, Tracou relayed the information. The villagers looked at each other, some of them discussing the idea with astonished tones. Stepan burst forth from the crowd, grinning.

"Tunnels! Interesting idea." He approached Pendaer and clapped him on the shoulder, earning a glare. "It'll require a lot of planning."

"We'll need a map!" Elira gasped from the rear of the crowd. "My dad has one, I think! I can go get it. He loves that thing, you know." She turned to a woman next to her, who leaned in the other direction. "He used to take us children around to show us how accurate it was. Apparently my great great great great grandmother Kohar drew it."

"Maybe," Serpouhi began, "we could build little areas where we can shoot stones. Connected by the tunnels." She inhaled sharply, the winds of inspiration filling her lungs. "That way we can fight back wherever we choose."

Tracou's mouth fell open. Where had these ideas been before the Winlean's arrived? He had been so certain that nothing could be done, by him or anything else.

"Oh, good thinking! Heh, the people who left will look like idiots when they come back," Stepan said, smacking Pendaer's shoulder some more.

"Stop doing that!" Pendaer huffed, thwapping Stepan's hand away. "I take it they're pleased, dezmek?"

"Yes, very. Serpouhi wants to build places to shoot rocks from and connect them to the tunnels."

"Interesting... They'll have to build them properly. Do any of you dezmek know how to build with stone?"

Tracou shook his head. Driftwood, mud, tree branches, and any other material a dezmek could get their hands on could go toward making a home. Some did use stones or boulders they had come across, but cutting a rock into pieces and stacking them together to make a wall held together by anything other than magic was uncommon in Dezmer and especially so all the way in Ergakan.

"But your hovel is made out of bricks, isn't it?"

"True. A Lady Vartanian a long time ago commissioned an Aodehsh builder to do it."

That was it! Tracou grinned. This could provide him with a good excuse to travel.

"This elf here," he began in Dezmerian, "said that these places along the tunnel we want to build should be built like humans do, with stones. But no one here knows how to do it. So! On my way to the Elven Kingdom, I will commission some Aodehsh to come and help us."

It would cost him, but he didn't have time to attend the merchant's gathering this year. And if that wasn't enough, no doubt Mirthal could be convinced to let Tracou grab a handful of coins.

Smiling, Serpouhi put her hands on her hips.

"Okay! We'll hammer out the details, but I think we can do this! I'll send some people out to tell neighboring villages, too. Can we borrow your elf? You can prepare to leave with just Mirthal, right?"

"What, you want this one? Take him." He turned to Pendaer. "You're going to help them, okay?"

"It pains me, but I'm clearly needed by you pathetic creatures," Pendaer said, standing a little taller.

Looking over the crowd, who had moved far away from seething anger and into something closer to apprehension in some and optimism in others, Tracou let out a breath. The gray ax hanging above their collective throat seemed to fade. The sky, a dazzling blue, held only that singular bird.

Which happened to be coming closer.

Tracou watched it, tilting his head. The bird circled above them, dropping lower each time, until it drifted down onto Pendaer's hat.

Pendaer, sensing the weight, froze. Some of the dezmek noticed this strange development and exchanged glances. Either this was a rare event or elves attracted birds—both were equally as likely to them.

"Dezmek," Pendaer wheezed from his efforts to stay still. "Is there a dove on my head?"

"Mm-hm. Is that the queen?"

The dove ruffled its feathers. Then it pulled its head back for just a moment before launching its beak down at Pendaer's head. The hat softened the blow, but Pendaer began to tremble.