Dreamers Do Lie Read online

  “It seems no one is any closer to their goal. We all thought the war would end when the curse on Corvala lifted.”

  Arimand set his empty bowl on the ground and stared into the flames. “So did we. But then the emperors started pointing fingers. It's only a matter of time before someone drops the pretense and closes on their true target. Even if Corvala can pull their army out of disarray, I don't see how they can win the war without allies.”

  “Politics,” Eselt spat. “I never had the stomach for it.”

  “Nor I,” Arimand agreed. He hadn't believed politics mattered so long as he performed his duties. Perhaps the master's intentions mattered as much as the soldier's. He'd have plenty of time to ponder that, no doubt.

  The children returned to gather the dirty dishes. Arimand eased to his feet, regretfully abandoning the fire to relieve a tiny straggler of his burden. Laughter followed him to the cooking fires. He ignored it. Eselt had already revealed the way to gain further grace, and he had contributed no effort to the making of the meal.

  The camp women didn't protest. While they hated sharing their meal, they were pleased to share their work. Arimand scrubbed dishes until the skin of his fingers shriveled. Then he shifted heavy crates until Dwenba was satisfied.

  When the work was done, a stranger led him to a tent. Ten occupants squeezed into the space he thought would suit six in a pinch. Those who shared his assignment had already settled, leaving him with the draftiest location near the front flap. Still better than nothing.

  Exhaustion crashed over him as he lowered himself to the ground. A thin smattering of hay and a blanket covered the floor. It wasn't much different from a bedroll on the hard-packed ground of the forests in his homeland. He'd slept in worse conditions.

  Arimand huddled close to the warmth of the tent's other occupants. Sleep claimed him the moment he closed his eyes, leaving him no time to wonder if the dead could dream.

  Chapter Two: Clan Vorilia

  Morning came too soon.

  Jostled awake by an absent kick, Arimand snapped his eyes open. It was dark inside the unfamiliar tent, and cold. Where was he? The sounds outside were too loud, too chaotic for a unit cutting through enemy territory.

  He sat up, his legs and back aching in protest. He reached for his cloak but found it missing. The previous day came flooding back; the surprise attack, the empty hours on the crowded riverboat, the wasteland.

  Another of his tent-mates tripped over him on the way to the exit. This time, he left the front flap open.

  Though the sun hid behind a cluster of bloated, grey clouds, the Vorilia camp was alive with activity. Men chatted as they stripped canvas from its crooked supports. Women doled out strips of dried meat for morning rations. There were no signs of children. Perhaps they were allowed to sleep in.

  Ignoring the tightness in his thighs, Arimand slid to his feet. Shifting his weight from foot to foot, he stood awkwardly outside his tent, uncertain what to do. He could try to win himself breakfast, but it hadn't been included in his negotiations. He should help strip the camp, but he wasn't familiar with the protocols.

  “Morning, Commander!” Eselt's gruff voice interrupted his indecision.

  Arimand tensed. “Shouldn't I greet you that way, Chief? There are no longer men under my command.”

  “Indeed,” Eselt grunted. “I see you haven't tried to steal breakfast. I hope that means I won't have to escort you out of our territory.”

  “I won't force your hand. But I had hoped to find you open to further negotiations this morning.”

  “You've got a way with words, Commander. Most people are down on their knees by now.”

  “You don't seem the type to be swayed by fancy words and empty promises.” Though he'd take to his knees if it would help. “I know my efforts last night hardly make up for your hospitality-”

  “That was clever,” Eselt admitted, running his fingers through his scraggly beard.

  “I'm willing to work hard. I don't care what task. I'm smart enough to realize I have a better chance with your clan than on my own.”

  “You heard Dwenba. Our stores are dwindling. The more we accept into our ranks, the harder it gets to provide for 'em.”

  Arimand bowed his head. “I won't fight if you tell me to go. But I would like a chance to repay your hospitality, even if it won't earn me a place in your camp.”

  “You're either humble for a military commander, or a sly negotiator. Fine.” Eselt placed his hands on his hips. “You seem worthy of a chance. Make a decent contribution to our supplies and you'll be welcome among us.”

  Arimand swallowed a swell of excitement. He didn't imagine it was easy to find food in a place like this. Yet his empty stomach fluttered, clinging to the tiny thread of hope.

  “Chin-up, lad, I've got a gift to start you off.” Eselt gave him a hearty clap on the shoulder, then extended his other arm.

  Blinking, Arimand took the water skin from the clan leader's hand. He sniffed it suspiciously but smelled only leather. He was thirsty enough not to question where the liquid came from. Tilting his head back, he took a gulp.

  The color drained from his vision. All light suddenly bled out of the world. He had never been happy, could never be happy again. All the work he had done, his dreams and aspirations, meant nothing. He died before he could make anything of himself and left no legacy to succeed him.

  Three hard thumps brought him back to reality. Eselt smacked his back once more for good measure.

  Gasping, Arimand tugged the neck of his shirt away from his body. He leaned forward, coughed and realized he had fallen to his knees.

  “There, there lad,” Eselt's gruff voice sounded surprisingly gentle. “It happens to everyone the first time.”

  The first time? ”What did I just drink?”

  “Water. From Acheron, the river of woe.” Straightening, the stocky clan leader retrieved the water skin from his belt and took a swig. A moment later, he sighed. “It's the only source of safe drinking water in this ring.”

  Invisible weight hunched Arimand's shoulders. What was the point of hunting when it would never be enough? Shouldn't he press his cheek to the cool stone and await the inevitable?

  His cut knee ground against the edge of a rock as he lowered. The pain sliced through the haze in his brain. What am I doing?

  Gritting his teeth, Arimand pushed to his feet and dusted himself off. “I thought it was the Styx that cut through Hell.”

  “It does. But no one dares drink from the river of hate. Not if they want to maintain some semblance of civilization.”

  “So each of Hell's rivers carries a different power?”

  “Of course. It wouldn't be miserable enough if anything behaved the way you expected. Those that drink from the Styx go mad. They try to destroy everything in their path or kill anyone they meet. Some desperate, lonely souls will take the risk, but the clans won't touch water from the Styx. It would undo us.”

  “Doesn't Hell have five rivers?”

  “Aye. But only three touch Ethilirotha; Styx, Acheron and Phlegethon. Acheron marks the outermost border of Hell. The closer to it you land, the less damned your soul. It's only accessible from this ring. The devil only knows how they find water in the deeper rings.”

  Arimand regarded his companion curiously. How did Eselt know so much about Hell's layout? From the way he talked, he must have been dead a long time. “What happens if you don't drink at all, or eat for that matter?”

  “It's unpleasant.” Eselt shrugged. “There are ways for the dead to die, make no mistake. But thirst and hunger ain't among 'em. It's either the endless ache of emptiness or the bitterness of eternal despair.”

  “Fine choice,” Arimand muttered. He drew a deep breath. “Point me in the proper direction, and I'll do my best.”

  Eselt led him through uneven rows of tents to the camp's outskirts. It was actually much larger than it had seemed the night before; some of the smaller structures had been obscured by night's long shadows
. They skipped the breakfast line, much to Arimand's chagrin. It seemed he would have to earn his meals from now on. Beyond the dilapidated structures, a small cluster of men sharpened the ends of twisted sticks along with a mismatched array of swords and daggers.

  “Kimuli,” Eselt barked as they waded into the group.

  “Yah?” A large, rugged man set his sharpened stick aside. His face sported several scars that may have come from a wildcat's claws. He was bald aside from a single shoulder-length braid dotted with worn, discolored beads. The dusky shade of his skin made it difficult to identify which region he may have hailed from.

  “Arimand, here, wants to earn his keep. Show him how it's done, and keep a close eye on him. Good hunting.” With that, the clan leader departed, leaving Arimand the center of the hunting party's focus.

  Grumbling to himself, Kimuli turned his head and spat. He wiped his lips against his bare arm as he regarded his newest recruit. “Seems yeh already got a sword.” He nodded to the blade sheathed at Arimand's side.

  Arimand drew the blade slowly, tilting the edge so both men could observe it. “Still seems sharp,” he agreed. “It should serve.”

  “Good,” Kimuli grunted, retrieving a bundle of sharpened sticks. “Make sure yeh keep up.” He said nothing more, not bothering to introduce Arimand to the rest of the hunting party.

  Only a few took it upon themselves to make his acquaintance as they started out, including a strangely cheerful man by the name of Sulard. He was midnight compared to Kimuli's dusk, clearly hailing from Irynt in the south. He stood a full head higher than the rest of the group, which would make him easy to pick out of most crowds. Sulard had several helpful hints that Arimand took note of. Everyone else was more concerned with the hunt than Arimand's success.

  After hours of stumbling through biting winds the night before, Arimand was unprepared for the day's swelter. Though the sun never peeked from behind the clouds, heat beat down on his face and neck. Sweat soaked his clothing, but he dared not remove his armor, for fear he'd never recover it. He didn't know what they hunted, but he assumed protection would prove useful.

  Of all the hunters, Kimuli had the keenest eyes. It was him who drew attention to several rough indentations in the hard-packed sand that looked to Arimand's eyes like places where small rocks had been lifted away. These were evidently tracks, carved by the thick nails of their prey. They led into a deep canyon littered with fallen rocks and boulders, some twice the height of a man. The precarious nature of some of their perches warned the hunting party might not survive if anything triggered a rockslide during their passing.

  It was midday before Kimuli ordered the group to surround an oblong boulder resting in the remains of a recent rockslide at the base of a rugged tor. Arimand drew his sword and tried to imitate the other hunters' crouch. He expected a wretched beast bearing claws like those that marked Kimuli's face to leap at them the moment their leader slid the boulder aside. Anything that survived in this wasteland must be terrifying.

  But while the creature huddling behind the boulder proved unlike anything Arimand had ever seen, it was definitely a scavenger — as everything in Hell seemed to be. It wobbled on the ungainly legs of a baby deer, but its ears were floppy and half again as long as its head. Thick patches of coarse fur clung unevenly to its skin, and a pair of budding antlers protruded from its brow.

  What he took to be an awkward abomination soon proved swift and graceful. Though the hunters launched several spears in the creature's direction, only one bit flesh. It grazed the creature's hindquarters, drawing blood, but didn't lodge deep enough to do real harm. As the creature swept toward the edge of the circle, the hunters used their weapons to drive it back and keep it cornered. Someone lunged with a second spear, but a powerful kick from the creature's hind legs snapped the spear in two before it penetrated.

  Kimuli's voice rose above the din with harsh encouragement, proclaiming it the largest beast he'd seen in years. The party shared a hungry desperation; a bounty like this would fill their bellies for days. No doubt the shaggy fur would make a fine blanket and its hide a sturdy new tent or several pairs of shoes. But the creature was as desperate to live as they were to claim it, and no one seemed willing to close within range of its sharp hooves.

  Arimand gritted his teeth, recalling Eselt's ultimatum. He was unlikely to receive a second chance if he returned empty-handed.

  As the creature pranced toward the boulder, seeking an escape route, Arimand took advantage of his position to slash at its hind legs. He struck a glancing blow, and the creature skidded down the slope with a high-pitched screech.

  It recovered faster than he anticipated, leaping straight at his chest. He dove, trying to keep away from its clawed hooves, but the beast was nimble. It kicked as hard as a horse.

  The air fled Arimand's lungs as the blow flung him back toward the circle of hunters. The rabbit-deer leapt again for the slope. This time the hunting party's spears bounced harmlessly off the rocks.

  Amid frustrated curses, Kimuli drove his men into action. But the rocks were too loose to support their frantic attempts to scale the incline.

  With a rueful smile, Sulard hauled Arimand back to his feet. “That was brave of you, Arimand, but foolish. You all right?”

  Still struggling to catch his breath, Arimand nodded.

  Kimuli cast them both a stormy glare. “Come on, men, we'll hunt elsewhere. Quickly now! That will have put us behind.”

  “Don't mind him.” Sulard grinned, helping Arimand dust the grit from his armor. “Kimuli thinks everything is a competition.”

  Arimand laid a hand on his chest through the hole in his shirt. This time his fingers came away bloody. The creature had scratched him, but the wound appeared to be shallow. Sulard waited for him to confirm his wellbeing before he joined the rest.

  A sharp sting joined the ache in Arimand's calves and the dull throb of his feet as he shuffled after the hunters. Sulard quickly outpaced him. If Arimand fell behind, Kimuli probably wouldn't bother to take him back to Eselt for dismissal. Yet his best efforts barely kept pace with the rear ranks.

  He paused a moment, kneeling to catch his breath. He leaned one arm against the side of the slope, and a splash of crimson caught his eye.

  Heart racing, Arimand leapt to his feet. In the distance, Kimuli uncovered a new hole. His hunters formed two rings around their quarry; a smaller creature, unable to leap over their heads. Arimand glanced again at the bloody streak. He had one chance to prove himself.

  As he scrambled up the slope, ignoring the pain in his legs and chest, Arimand tried to disturb as few rocks as possible.

  He needn't have worried. The wounded beast lay huddled between two large rocks. It barely lifted its head to note his approach. A large gash marked the underside of its chest.

  Arimand's breath caught in his throat. His blade must have clipped it when he dodged.

  He hated to kill a defenseless creature but necessity compelled him. Besides, it would be cruel to let the thing bleed to death. With one swift slice, he slit its throat.

  Then came the difficult task of dragging the carcass down the hill without damaging it. In the end, he swung the body across his shoulders. Blood soaked his clothing by the time he reached the base of the slope, where a group of stunned hunters waited. Perhaps one of them had noticed the bloody trail.

  For a moment, they stared in disbelief. Then they swarmed him. Strong arms relieved him of his burden. Kimuli ordered the carcass bound to a pole made of spears to ease the rest of the journey. Meanwhile, Arimand endured several backslaps and handshakes that only aggravated the pain in his chest.

  As the light faded, the clan's hunting parties converged. Aside from Arimand's lucky kill, their success amounted to a small bundle of squirrel-sized creatures. No one could believe their good fortune when they marched the rabbit-deer carcass to the supply tent. Dwenba laid one hand over her heart when she saw it.

  Eselt's eyes bulged from their sunken sockets. “In all m
y years, this is only the second of this size I've seen.”

  “Aye, and it's intact,” Kimuli boasted, sharing Arimand's glory. “That hide is going to be useful.”

  “That it is.” Eselt's eyes found Arimand's. “And you killed it alone?”

  “I don't think I can boast that,” Arimand protested. “I landed a lucky strike. And I paid for it. But I'm glad I took the risk.”

  A hint of a smile graced Eselt's lips. “Well then, Arimand, I believe you're once again welcome to share my fire.”

  Relief couldn't heal his wounds, dispel the night's chill, or ease his aches but it certainly helped. This time, he received an equal size dinner portion. Even so, he rose at the end of the meal and made his way to the cooking fires to scrub dishes. He'd better not get cocky; one stroke of luck wouldn't replace hard work.

  When the cleaning was done, the grateful women offered to tend his wounds. They scrubbed the scratches clean and dabbed them with a warm salve that eased the sting. Dwenba even took off with his shirt and returned it with most of the blood stains scrubbed away. Arimand thanked them profusely before excusing himself.

  In the morning, he would offer to skin the new catches and prepare the meat, unless Eselt wanted him for other tasks. For now, he returned to his crowded tent. His lucky kill hadn't afforded him a better sleeping position, but his tent-mates seemed more accommodating. They huddled a little closer, sheltering him from the drafts that drifted through the closed flap.

  ~*~*~*~

  He missed the sun, the glittering blue sky and the forest after rain. Each of Hell's days was much the same. The sun rose but remained hidden by the clouds. Clan Vorilia broke camp at dawn and trudged through the heat of the day across the monotonous, blasted landscape. They saw few signs of life and gave other clans wide berth. As the night winds began to howl, Eselt called a halt. The clan hastily reassembled their shelters, sat beside their meager fires and devoured a humble meal before shuffling back to bed.