Dashyl's Quest

“Farley!”

Dashyl bolted up in bed, hyperventilating.

Again the voice shouted, “Farley!”

His roommate was screaming. Dashyl threw off his covers and swung his legs over the side of the bed. He watched the young man thrashing, holding his hands straight out in front of him.

“Watch out! The glaive knight!”

The nightmare took hold of the young man and he thrashed more violently.

“Noooo!” The young man’s hands flew to his face and he let out a raspy sob. Dashyl couldn’t wait, he dropped to the floor and tried to take a step, but his legs failed him and he collapsed between the two beds.

“Grilk,” Dashyl swore under his breath, then said out loud, “It’s okay, my friend. Be calm. Be calm.” His roommate did seem to quiet down after Dashyl’s effort to comfort him went awry.

One of the curics scurried in, picked up Dashyl and helped him back in bed. Dashyl explained, “He started screaming and thrashing and I wanted to help, but my legs gave out,”

Dashyl’s mouth fell open when the normally silent curic replied, “you are nice to try and help him, but you need your rest, too. We can handle this without your assistance.”

“But, you never talk,” Dashyl pointed out.

She smiled and shook her head, “I do speak, but only when necessary. Your friend seems to have calmed down. It is good that he has moved and spoke, that means he may wake up soon. Now get some rest that you may both leave here soon.” The curic smoothed the sheets around both of the convalescing roommates and walked out.

Glaive knight, Dashyl thought. The glaive knights were also Saraja from Sanctum, like the curics. If this guy was worried about or afraid of a glaive knight, perhaps Dashyl should be worried, too. Rathyra said she was not against the Legion, but that could be a lie. But why go through all this trouble to keep me alive? I’m not a prisoner. If I could walk, I would walk right out of here.  From there, the boy’s thoughts became muddled as he drifted back to sleep turning these questions over in his mind.

Dashyl's Quest

Dashyl’s face contorted as he grunted out, “twenty,” and fell back against his pillow with a fulsh ball between his feet. It was the last and most difficult exercise of his program. He had to clench the ball with his feet and then raise it up as high as he could, then lower it and repeat twenty times. The silent curic who observed his daily exercises gave Dashyl a drink of water, toweled off his forehead and took the ball away. The boy sank down into his bed, breathing heavily with his eyes closed.

It had been three days since they brought in the young man next to him and he had not stirred. His breathing was shallow. Dashyl had become accustomed to the slight sound and he wouldn’t even know the patient was there if he couldn’t see him. Dashyl had taken to calling out greetings to his roommate at random times, but there was never a response. To ease the boredom, for both of them he assumed, Dashyl would sing a few old Legion marching songs his father had taught him.

After catching his breath, Dashyl began to sing. He reached a rousing bit of the chorus and was singing at the top of his lungs when Rathyra stepped in through the doorway.

“My, my, you are loyal to the Legion, aren’t you, Dashyl,” she said, halfway between smiling and admonishing.

“Why shouldn’t I be? My father was loyal,” Dashyl retorted.

“Yes, and from what you’ve told me, his loyalty to their cause was the death of him.”

“Oh, yeah, I suppose you can look at it that way,” Dashyl said, furrowing his brow.  “But you’re Saraja, your people don’t like our people. That’s why you left the Legion and settled your own lands and became the Saraja instead of Sarion. At least that’s what my dad says. Said,” Dashyl corrected himself.

“Ah, yes, it is true that I am Sarajan, but my loyalties lie neither with Sarion or Sarajan interests. I serve my employer dutifully, regardless of what faction they may or may not support,” explained the curic from under her blue hood.

“Who is your employer?”

“You need not be burdened by that curiosity, child. You did well during today’s exercises; you should be able to try walking soon. Rest now before your last meal. Oh, and try not to sing too loudly. It is a nice gesture, but we don’t want to startle him awake.” Rathyra refilled the boy’s water and left the room. Dashyl picked up the song where he had left off but sang just under his breath, killing time until the end of the day.

Dashyl's Quest

Bored. That’s what Dashyl was all day. No one else shared any of the beds in the room he was in and no one came to talk to him. A woman dressed in the same yellow robes and blue hood as Rathyra brought him three meals, but never said anything. Rathyra had not appeared since leaving him that morning.

The boy sighed. He had tried to get up and explore, but his whole body was so weak he could barely get his legs over the edge of the bed. It was all he could do to roll over and change his position under the sheets. He tried remembering what happened to him, but nothing would materialize in his memory. At least he could remember his father and their last journey together. After that, his memory was a blur of recovering with Alerial and the assassin’s attack. He felt like crying a few times. Where was he? What was he supposed to do? Did anyone care?

Suddenly, Rathyra burst through the door. “Put him here,” she said to others outside the door. Four women appeared, all dressed the same as Rathyra, all silently clutching the sides of a stretcher. They placed the stretcher on the bed next to Dashyl. The four women then proceeded to lift a body as Rathyra pulled the stretcher clear.  They remained standing around the bed while Rathyra adjusted sheets and pillows around the unconscious body. “That will do,” she said, satisfied with the situation, and the other women left the room quietly.

“Dashyl, this is a young man just a little older than you. He’s been badly injured and has just been practiced on by the High Curic here. He will sleep for a long time. If,” she caught herself, “when he wakes up, please be aware he may be delirious or agitated. This is normal and nothing over which to be alarmed. Just know that he may say some fantastic things and to simply go along with what he says. Everything will be alright for both of you.” She smiled and patted Dashyl on the head.

“How are you feeling, my boy,” Rathyra asked him after a moment of looking into his eyes.

“Okay. I’m bored.”

“Well, that will change soon. We will begin a program of strengthening exercises that will help you to return to normal. Plus, you can talk with your new friend.”

Dashyl was going to ask his name, but Rathyra interrupted saying, “Now get some rest, you are still healing and you need energy for tomorrow’s exercises.” Her eyes seemed to sparkle a little under her hood, Dashyl thought, as she tucked the sheets in around him.

Dashyl's Quest

“Dashyl,” that voice again, calling his name, like a soft fabric rubbing on his ears. Again, “Dashyl, wake up.”

He did. His head was clear, his throat felt normal, but he was very tired. At his bedside stood a woman in yellow robes and a blue hood. She held a staff with symbols representing the moons of Rynaga. Dashyl had learned about the moons from his father, the chemist. On their research expeditions in the field, they would discuss the moons at night. The boy would dream about his father’s stories of a long lost race of inhabitants on Phaeton. Just as his father could use radia crystal technology to magnify very small things, so could Sarion zenyths use radia crystals and lenses to see things on the surface of the moons. In zenyth scholarly circles, it was a commonly held belief that Phaeton was once inhabited.

“You finally decided to drink the aegis elixir,” said the voice, breaking the boy’s reverie.

“Wasn’t that just water,” Dashyl asked?

“No, my dear. Aegis is a healing elixir, but it cannot be forcibly given, the recipient must drink it of their own free will for it to work.”

“Healing? What happened to me,” Dashyl inquired, realizing again that he could not remember anything.

“You were poisoned with nysik, a dreadfully strong toxin that wipes your memory clean and can kill you if you are exposed to it long enough. You are lucky you were found in such close vicinity to us here, most likely you would have died anywhere else on Veratar. The only ones knowledgeable and vile enough to use nysik are the Krill assassins. You must have had a run-in with one. Are you wanted by the Legion for some reason? You are Sarion, so I am surprised you would be the target of the Krill.”

A Krill assassin? Dashyl’s mind spun. Yes, he did have a run-in with one, but he was killed by Alerial, right? The last thing he could remember was running from Alerial’s place headed for Trader’s Haunt. Was he poisoned before Alerial sacrificed himself to take out the assassin? Or did the assassin survive and had hunted him down again? Or was there another assassin?

The lady in the blue hood reached out and stroked the boy’s forehead. “I can see my questions have troubled you. Forget that I asked. Please, just relax.” The woman rubbed his temples with her fingertips. “My name is Rathyra. I am a Sarajan curic from Sanctum.”

A Saraja? This was strange. Could he be in Sarajan lands? Generally, Saraja and Sarion were not friendly toward each other, but if this woman, and whatever this place was, were hostile to him, Dashyl figured they would have had plenty of opportunity to kill him before now, so he relaxed a little.

“I want you to drink this elixir, now.” The woman handed him a cup of a yellowish liquid. “It’s thistlewhip elixir, it won’t taste good but it will help you now that you are conscious.”

Dashyl must have made a face when he drank it because Rathyra laughed and patted him on the head. “Tomorrow you can have some sweeter medicine. Rest now.” The woman left the room but the bitter smell of the elixir lingered the entire day.

Dashyl’s Quest

Dashyl opened his eyes. He was incredibly thirsty. His tongue felt swollen and his head hummed with the hammering of bells. The boy immediately wanted to die. A raspy moan escaped his lips. He blinked his eyes rapidly. The room was spinning and he couldn’t focus on anything.

“He’s awake,” he heard another voice say. A concerned voice, one he didn’t know. Dashyl closed his eyes and waited for the one who spoke to say more to him, but there was nothing more said. The boy fell back asleep.

He awoke again, this time to darkness, still with his head hurting and his throat parched. At least his vision wasn’t spinning. Phaeton’s greenish-blue light cut squares into the floor where it came in through one of the windows in the room. In the darkness, through his blurry vision, Dashyl figured out he was lying on one of many beds in long corridor of a room. The bed next to him didn’t seem to have anyone in it. A figure in robes looked to be sleeping on a chair next to the doorway on the other side of Dashyl’s bed. It was quiet. There was no one stirring, no carapids singing in the night. This unsettled the boy. It had been quite some time since he had slept where he couldn’t hear the familiar chirp of carapids calling back and forth.

Where was he? He had no memory of this place. He felt like he hadn’t even dreamed in a long time. Dashyl tried to gauge the time of year from Phaeton’s phase, but what the small planet-sized moon told him only confused him. Could he really have been asleep for so long? It was hard to think, his head rang. Next to his bed was a cup of water. His throat scratched each time he swallowed, but the water tasted so good.  He felt a little relieved and relaxed enough to drift off again watching the squares of light move slowly across the floor.

Interlude: The Center of Death Tournament

Fretly Quickfinger, taking advantage of the mercenary from Farpoint being held still by his friend Farley, picked up Balto’s battle axe, dodged the glaive knight’s swinging sword and ran off. He couldn’t go too far, the axe was heavy and he had to drag it after a few paces. The wound in his side burned and still seeped blood. He thought of Fairewood, the only home he had known. He had been so eager to leave, to see the world and seek adventure. Quar’goth had approached him first with the deal, fight for him in a tournament and your travel and all your needs will be paid for.  Away from Fairewood had been the key phrase. Fretly seized the chance without hesitation. His time with the Urchyn’s Clan was coming to an end as he reached adulthood and Fairewood had grown boring. Oh, it was exciting and entertaining for visitors, but it had become too predictable for him. He convinced Farley to come along, see Veratar, visit the homes of all those who came to Fairewood on holiday. What could go wrong, he had asked his friend. They had no answer then. “We could die,” thought Fretly now, as he put down the axe and turned to rejoin the fight.

“Quar’goth is still afraid to move, try to free Balto” Xela called out to his sister the glaive knight. She was already on that tip and spun around, piercing the vulnerable anvyl’s armor with her sword. The Kirzan cried out in pain, but his grip on the mercenary did not lessen. The urchyn came running up to defend his friend, but Xela stepped between Fretly and Farley, whipping their wounds with the sharp ends of his robes. Fretly was able to reach into Xela’s robes while being attacked and steal one of the savant’s healing elixirs. He popped open the phial and drank it.

“You think stealing that will prevent me from healing myself, urchyn?” Xela scoffed at the boy. The savant closed his eyes and lulled himself into a meditative trance to build up his strength and mental acuity.

“You may be a mental master, but I am road-wise, I know how to survive on my instincts,” thought Fretly. The urchyn snuck around the savant and sucker punched the glaive knight. “Hm, maybe I shouldn’t have done that,” was Fretly’s next thought as he watched Ceylina’s face turn red with rage. She unleashed that rage with an elegant grace and fury, dashing and slashing around the anvyl and the urchyn, leaving them both bruised and bloodied.

Fretly shouted at his team leader, “what are you doing cowering over there, come and help us fight!” Then he had a thought, “we have to stop the savant so he can’t heal himself or his teammates anymore.” The urchyn leapt through the air and crashed into Xela knocking him to the ground. With deft hands, Fretly searched the savant’s robes, stealing his remaining healing elixirs.

Before Fretly could bring his friend Farley an elixir, he watched the glaive knight launch into her spin move and once again pierce the armor of the anvyl. This time, Farley did not cry out, but crumpled to the ground, releasing Balto. “No!” Fretly cried as the anvyl’s body let go a ragged death rattle. The urchyn ran at his closest enemy, the mercenary, and sucker punched him, knocking Balto to the ground. Fretly stood over the mercenary readying to land another blow. Before he could connect, Ceylina pierced the boy’s back with her sword and he fell dead on top of his friend’s body.

The sight of his two teammates meeting their end snapped Quar’goth out of his panic attack. “The odds are not in my favor,” thought the cipher, “but that’s the thing with odds, no matter how small, there is always that chance that they will fall in your favor at any moment.” The cipher called out to the savant, “Xela, even with this fight now being one against three, with my superior calculation ability, I still have the upper hand.”  With that, he snapped together four radia pieces and bludgeoned the glaive knight with an invisible force from afar.

Xela stopped to consider the cipher’s words. He did feel intimidated and a little afraid of the truth in Quar’goth’s words. Ceylina, on the other hand, shook off the blow from the cipher and sought to strike back and position herself to protect her brother. She ran, leapt, tumbled and popped up next to the cipher and slashed him with her sword. “Balto, get your axe,” Ceylina yelled to the mercenary after her thrust met its target.

“Heh, is that all you can do, glaive knight?” sneered Quar’goth, even though his wound was deep. His words gave Xela pause again. If the cipher could withstand Ceylina’s blows, perhaps he was stronger than anticipated.

Ceylina shouted at her brother, “Xela, do something!” Ceylina didn’t wait to see if he did do something and again slashed at the cipher, slicing off a swath of his black robes, exposing a skinny leg with blood running down it into his boot.

Balto reappeared behind Quar’goth and brought his axe down to finish the fight. The cipher was quick enough to fit together all six of his radia pieces just as the axe blade would have struck him. In a blinding flash of orange light, Quar’goth blinked in out of existence long enough for the mercenary’s axe to pass uselessly through the air and strike the ground beneath his feet. A concussive blast knocked the mercenary down and he struggled to regain his breath.

Quar’goth, still alive and still fighting, returned a piece of radia to his pocket and snapped the remaining five into a bracelet around his left wrist. He punched the glaive knight in the face with that fist causing blood to shoot from her nose. Despite the bolt of pain in her head that blotted out everything in sight but the cipher’s gaunt grin, she raised her sword and struck at the white teeth in front of her. The point of her sword bashed open the cipher’s mouth and smashed through the back of his skull. The fight was over.