Blade of Glass: Chapter 36

Meriwether lay on his belly, peering over a dune’s rise into the encampment below. It looked like a small military setup. He spied a makeshift smithy, complete with bellows and furnace. Horses were listless in a pen with a fabric gazebo to keep the sun off. Tents lay in neat rows, and Vhemin patrolled like soldiers. They were equipped with new-looking armor, but didn’t wear it the same way a human might. Many made do with a cuirass, not bothering to strap the breastplate and backplate together. It couldn’t be heat, what with them being cold-blooded, but it could be plain old laziness.

The horse pen was their destination, but Meriwether couldn’t help but stare at the monstrous structure of the temple. From where he lay with Sight of Day on the sand, he could see the main building was a circular structure, perhaps a couple klicks in diameter. It had a smooth finish like polished steel, and he imagined if the sun hadn’t set it’d be painful to look at. He felt it was maybe three stories high, but there was nothing like windows on the outside to mark internal floors.

Above the main structure a massive spire reached for the heavens. It was over a klick high, going from a wide base, to narrow like the world’s longest hourglass before spreading back out. He spent a lot of time looking at the top, which held a dual-forked tip. The body seemed to be a single piece of shining metal. Unlike the main structure, the winds, sands, or plain old time had played havoc with it. Pieces of the metal were eroded or flaked away, revealing an inner skeleton of struts that seemed impossibly thin to hold such a thing off the ground. 

Meriwether marveled at the temple. Eight hundred years and it’s still here. The temple’s top was smooth, without any chimneys or whatever ancients used to get smoke out and air in. It resisted sand, the top a perfect shiny disc. Smaller mounds around the building showed where lesser structures bowed to time’s pressure, rotting into the sands beneath them.

The tents around the temple were a respectful hundred meters from the front of the structure. Meriwether labeled it as ‘front’ because of a thing that might have been a door. It was shiny metal like the rest, but marked around the lip by a seam. He’d not seen it at first; the cat pointed it out to him. Almost too small to make out were small, dull metal discs set to either side of the door.

Sight of Day touched his arm. The cat lay next to him, golden eyes lazy. {Are you finished ogling ancient wonders? We’ve got horses to feed.}

Meriwether nodded. {I can’t believe the ancients fell when they could make things like this.}

{The ancients were human.} Sight of Day half-smiled. {I marvel they managed to tie their shoelaces, let alone make this.}

Meriwether held a snort down. It wouldn’t do to make a sound. Their dune hiding place was a couple hundred meters from the nearest tent, and the camp had plenty of its own noises. Bawdry laughter, the odd fight, and shouted orders, even after sunset. {I can go by myself. The Vhemin hate cats.}

{Don’t be silly.} The cat shook his head. {You can’t tie your shoelaces either.}

The plan was simple. Wait for Geneve and Armitage to make a ruckus getting inside. Once the diversion started, Meriwether and Sight of Day would sneak to the horse pens and make off with enough grain to keep their horses alive for a few more days. As far as plans went, it had simplicity on its side. It also had the nice advantage of Meriwether not going against people with swords, because the last time that happened he’d almost been blinded.

He touched his face below his left eye, where a shard of frypan left its mark. That was close. What was I thinking, diving in between them? Truth was, he’d been thinking of Geneve killing Armitage, or Armitage savaging her, and he didn’t want either to happen.

A shout went up from below. An enterprising soul—probably Armitage—set fire to a tent. Flames billowed, smoke bunting the night sky. Sight of Day tugged his arm. {Time to try not dying.}

Meriwether scrambled to his hands and knees, then followed the cat down the bank. They kept low. Meriwether found Sight of Day’s pace difficult to match. The Feybrind didn’t run on all fours like an actual cat, hunching like Meriwether, but still managed to … flow over the ground. He slipped from cover to cover without seeming to focus on it, and when his hand came to rest on a tent guy-wire, it landed as softly as a night moth. It was frankly embarrassing trying to keep up with someone who did so much with so little apparent effort. 

Shoring up next to Sight of Day, Meriwether tripped on a guy-wire. The cat’s hand snared his shirt, holding him up while his arms flailed for balance. Once Meriwether’s feet were settled, the cat shook his head. {Remember the not dying part?}

{I tripped.}

{Which would lead to you falling through the tent, disturbing its occupants, and dying.} Sight of Day shook his finger in a no-no gesture. {Can you walk the next five meters without killing yourself?}

{I’ll try.} Meriwether curled his lip, then ducked as something explosive detonated a couple hundred meters away, followed by the throaty screams of Vhemin dying. {What was that?}

{The oil stores.} Sight of Day shrugged. {Or a dragon.}

{There aren’t any dragons!}

Sight of Day flicked his ear, then led off again. He kept to the cover of the tents. They made the pens without more guy-wire incidents. The penned horses circled in agitation, liquid black eyes wide. Meriwether counted five of the beasts, all in good condition. They headed for sacks stacked on a wooden pallet, a small tarp drawn over the top. Meriwether caught the rich smell of grain and hefted a bag over his shoulder. It was heavy, but he’d manage.

The cat eyed him suspiciously. {Will you be okay with that?}

Meriwether shifted the load on his shoulder to free his hands. {Why do you ask?}

{I’ve seen Feybrind children carry more weight with less visible effort.} Sight of Day stilled, eyes scanning, then he drew his bow from behind him, notched an arrow, and fired it past Meriwether’s ear without blinking.

A chock sound came from behind him. Meriwether turned, taking in a Vhemin clutching a shaft sprouting from his throat. Another arrow sprouted from his left eye, and the monster dropped. Meriwether considered the fallen creature. {I’m curious about something.}

{Why I’m such a good shot?}

{No—}

{Is it how I heard the Vhemin approach?}

{Not that either. It’s about the people here.}

Sight of Day squinted. {I’m not sure I follow.}

{Monsters.} Meriwether pointed at the fallen Vhemin. {Horses,} he swung his finger to the pen, {do not let monsters ride them. The black creature of hate and spite we’ve dragged across the desert would kill Armitage if he got too close. So, where are the five riders?}

Sight of Day looked to the horses, then back to Meriwether. {Does it matter?}

{It might.}

{Does it matter right now?} Sight of Day hefted a bag, then a second one, and a third. He made it look effortless.

Meriwether felt guilty at his more modest load. {I’ll make another trip.}

The cat said nothing, hands full, but still managed to flow like water away from the pens. No more Vhemin discovered them. Meriwether had time to think about how the horses hadn’t panicked when the Vhemin drew near, or at the smell of blood when the monster died. That could mean one potentially bad thing: they were Tresward horses.

Tresward horses came with Knights. That’d suck.

They scrabbled over the dune’s top, dumping their pile of stolen loot. Meriwether arched his back, but at Sight of Day’s wide-eyed astonishment, ducked low. {Sorry.}

{Dying! It will happen!} The cat shook his head.

Meriwether was about to offer a witty rejoinder, fit for stories of the ages, when Geneve’s cry came from across the camp. “Meri! We need you!”

Ah. His feet were moving before he knew what was going on, tumbling down the dune in a headlong rush to get to her position by the temple. He was a hundred meters into his run before he also realized her position was beset by Vhemin. This is not how you avoid death. The cat will be upset. The cat, as it happened, was by his side, running with an easy lope. Fair enough. I guess we’ll die together, then. The thought was chased by another, less comfortable one.

What could Geneve need me for?

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