Dashyl's Quest: The Tournament Plains

"All I can see is grass in every direction," Dashyl exclaimed as he dismounted his igwaza.

"Yes, that's why this is a good place to stop, no one can sneak up on us here," answered Soern, who had already dismounted and let his igwaza drink from the stream that ran through the ditch where they had stopped. "This ditch," he continued, "marks the mid point of the plains. This one still has a trickle of water running through it."

"So these ditches are not natural and were dug here," asked Fretly.

"Is that not the definition of a ditch," Soern asked back.

"Who made these ditches," asked Dashyl as his igwaza knelt over to drink with the other two.

"No one knows," said Soern flatly. "An ancient civilization, perhaps. Perhaps these plains were leveled as farmland ages ago and these are the irrigation ditches of those long lost farmers. They trisect the plains all the way to coast."

"Trisect," quizzed Dashyl.

"These ditches divide the plains into three parts. We will come upon another dry ditch that will signal that the final third of the plains are ahead of us," explained Soern. "In fact, we may need to use that ditch as we used the first ditch for an escape."

Dashyl blinked a few times and said, "You mean we might face another swarm?"

"That is a possibility. Or who knows what? We'll need to be on our toes and keep our heads on a swivel," Soern warned. "We haven't seen anyone following us yet. My guess is that the deadeye was working alone and did not share information about his task or employer with anyone else. Lucky for us, I bet he was a greedy cogrel and wanted all the pay for himself."

"How can you be so sure," asked Fretly.

"Oh, I am not sure. But, having dealt with many Sarion and most of the races who call Veratar home, I just have a gut feeling that he was working alone."

"Does your gut know if anyone else will come looking for me in the future," Dashyl asked anxiously.

Soern laughed a little at this question. "Dashyl, to that question, my gut answers yes. What we know is that whoever is searching for you knows your name, but not enough else to give a description of you. We can use that to our advantage." Soern stroked his beard for a few moments, then added, "In fact, we should call you by a new name starting now. Any suggestions?"

Fretly chimed in immediately, "Rigglewort." Fretly laughed out loud at his own suggestion.

"Shut it," Dashyl said as he got up an punched Fretly in the shoulder. After some thought, he offered, "How about Kilkarak, after my father?"

"No dummy," Fretly answered, "you need to hide the fact that you are Kilkarak's son."

"Oh, right," Dashyl said, plunging back into thought.

"Don't think too hard about it," Soern urged as he ruffled the boy's hair. He opened the pack with their food supply and handed out three of the smashed bars of dried fruit and torgen leaf that they had been eating since they left Soern's.

"How about Volkard, after the great warrior from the Sarion legends," Dashyl finally decided.

"Can I call you Vollie," Fretly teased.

"Ugh, no." Dashyl said.

"Hush, Fretly," Soern commanded. "Volkard it will be. I know of the legend of Volkard. May you have the same level of courage your people believe he possessed."

Dashyl, growing very serious, solemnly bowed his head and said, "Thank you, Soern. I will try."

"Eat up, Vollie," Fretly called out as he popped the last bite of his bar into his mouth and winked at Dashyl.

"Yes," agreed Soern, "let's be on the move again. If we time it right, we can approach Trader's Haunt under cover of darkness and not from the main road. We must hurry, we do not want to be exposed in the plains much longer."

"Will things be better in Trader's Haunt," asked Dashyl.

"I wouldn't say that, Volkard, but we will be closer to our goal, won't we," answered Soern.

Dashyl nodded in agreement, but felt that his journey would be far from over once they reached Trader's Haunt.

Dashyl's Quest: The Tournament Plains

When the three travelers reached the road they found the deadeye's own igwaza runner tied up and anchored off to the side. When Soern rode right past it without saying anything, Dashyl spoke up. "Are we going to take his igwaza with us?"

"Why," Soern asked back, riding on.

"Well, I mean," Dashyl pasued, "He could find his way back to the runner and it could carry him back to wherever he came from and he would be saved...and maybe come after me again."

"Earlier, you wanted me to spare his life and now you are wanting to doom him to die in the these plains by taking his only hope of survival?" Soern scoffed.

"No, I mean, I don't know," Dashyl stammered.

"Let the poor carapid crawl through the ditch and find his runner and ride it to safety. Let him take a longer drink from the tea cup of mercy," Soern said, adding, "it would be delightful to have some tea, don't you think."

"If we are not going to take the igwaza, let's see if there's anything worth taking off the igwaza," Fretly said as he dismounted his runner. He searched through the bags and sacks the deadeye had packed on his runner.

"You're going to steal from a blind man?" Soern asked.

"Well, I am an urchyn," explained Fretly. "Some qu might come in handy in Trader's Haunt."

"Fretly Fast-fingers is what I'll call you from now on," Soern said.

"Not a bad nickname," Fretly replied, pulling out a little pouch that sounded like it was full of coins.

"Bah," said Soern, "an old Kirzan saying goes: 'Fast fingers are quickly lost.'"

"Ha," laughed Fretly, pocketing the pouch full of qu. "As long as I have my fingers, I shall not fast and qu will be quickly lost. That's my saying." The dextrous urchyn had pulled out a coin and ran it back and forth over the knuckles of his left hand. "This day's starting to get better," Fretly said as he flipped the coin into the air, climbed back onto his igwaza, then caught the coin in his right hand.

"Enjoy it while it lasts. If that deadeye does live, I wouldn't want to be the one who stole from him," Soern warned.

"Aye, and I wouldn't want to be the one who stabbed his eyes out," retorted Fretly. 

"See," said Dashyl. "Doesn't it seem like a good idea now to bring his igwaza with us?"

"Leave it," Soern commanded. "We must get on our way. I think we should be good to run the igwaza along the road. We're about a third of the way to Trader's Haunt. We'll have one more night to sleep on the plains." Soern gave the signal and the three igwaza broke into a run carrying their riders ahead smoothly and swiftly, each one secretly hoping the deadeye would die and no one one else would be following them.

Dashyl's Quest: The Tournament Plains

"Did you really think I wouldn't find you wallowing in this ditch," asked the man in black armor. "Did you think I would just keep walking down the road hoping to come across your corpses?" He didn't wait for a response. "I knew how you escaped the second I came across this ditch. It was just a matter of following it away from the road." The man never took the aim of his arrow off of Soern. Soern never took his eyes off the archer.

"Let me guess," Soern spoke finally, "you're a Sarion. A deadeye from Tanglefern. Am I right?"

"Bullseye," answered the deadeye. "Now, which one of these little twerps is Dashyl?"

Dashyl sucked in air when he heard the question and Fretly's head snapped sideways to look at his friend.

"Ah yes, the younger one," the man said as he studied the boy. "Are you Dashyl," he asked.

Dashyl looked at Soern but the warrior still did not take his eyes off the archer, so Dashyl looked at Fretly. Fretly slowly shook his head.

"Why do you want to know," Soern asked the man.

"I have been hired to find him," the man admitted. "I have been looking a long time for you," the man addressed Dashyl directly. "My waiting has finally paid off and now I can get paid," the man said, chuckling to himself. He turned his attention back to Soern. "I am only getting paid to find one Sarion boy and you, my Kirzan friend, are no Sarion boy, I'm afraid."

As the man pulled back on his bow string, Soern yelled, "Rush him!"

Dashyl froze, unsure of what he should do. He saw Fretly jump over to his backpack and look for something inside. The archer fired his arrow as Soern charged him, screaming. The arrow pierced Soern's left hand and the warrior fell to his knees clutching his hand with the arrow stuck halfway through.

Fretly had found Dashyl's knife and flung it at the deadeye, but it bounced harmlessly off his armor. Fretly followed up his throw by throwing himself through the air at the man. The archer deflected the leap with his left forearm, knocking his attacker to the ground. The deadeye reached behind his back to grab another arrow. Fretly took the opening and grabbed the bow with both hands and hugged it to his body as tightly as he could. The archer tried to shake the bow free at first. He dropped the arrow he was holding and started punching Fretly in the face and head, but the urchyn would not let go.

While Fretly and the deadeye wrestled, Soern stood up and with a great bellow pulled the arrow all the way through his hand. He snapped the arrow in two and dropped the back half. "Fretly, move aside," roared the huge Kirzan. Fretly let go of the bow and rolled away. Soern then charged at the deadeye ramming the middle of his armored chest with his shoulder. The man fell down with Soern's big bulk on top of him. The old warrior held down the deadeye.

"Who hired you," the warrior asked the man.

"I'll never tell, he could make my life a living terror, you can only kill me," the man answered.

"What does he want with Dashyl," Soern asked.

"Save your breath, old one, I'm not one for conversation,"the deadeye said, obviously struggling under the warrior's weight.

"I see. Then that's that. Fretly, open the visor on his helmet," Soern calmly commanded.

Fretly did as he was asked and turned away as he realized what Soern was going to do. Dashyl watched, however, as the Kirzan stabbed the broken arrow into each of the man's eyes, then stood up.

"Try finding your way back to Tanglefern, now, deadeye," Soern said as the man rolled on the ground and screamed in agony.

"Get on your igwazas," Soern again calmly said, "we're getting out of here."

"We can't just leave him here like this," Dashyl pleaded.

"Look," Soern said sternly, "he's a hired assassin. He would have killed us and maybe you. We are showing him a mercy he would not have shown us."

"Mercy? But..." Dashyl protested, but words failed him.

"Let's go, Dash, Soern's right," Fretly consoled.

Soern bandaged his hand as the other two gathered their gear quickly. The three travelers mounted their runners and headed back toward the road. The deadeye ran after them for a short ways, pleading for them not to leave him, but he couldn't run far without tripping and soon they were out of range of his cries.

Dashyl's Quest: The Tournament Plains

A gentle chorus of trilling and chirping soothed Fretly as he slept. A smile crept on his face as the sound grew louder and louder until it woke him up. Through sleepy eyes the young man saw a group of birds hopping and scratching at the ground on both sides of the ditch. Then Fretly remembered his watch duty and he jumped up, shaking off the grass stalks that had been covering him. He spun around to see Soern laughing at him.

"Oh boy, way to keep watch, there, watchman," Soern said as he laughed his signature belly laugh.

Fretly scratched his head. "I guess I fell asleep before the end of my watch. Sorry," he said before yawning. "What are all these birds," he asked, coming over to sit next to Soern.

"Rockhoppers. They know razorwig swarms will knock grass seeds from the stalks and the rockhoppers follow them out of the woods to feed on the bounty," Soern explained.

"Oh yeah," Fretly said, "these are those birds that can't fly. They sure are tame here, I've never seen them come so close to a camp."

"Not many people around to hunt them here," Soern replied.

"How's Dashyl," Fretly asked.

"I'm fine," answered the boy who also had just woken up. Dashyl sat up and rubbed his jaw. "I can move and I can talk, I guess that means I'm doing alright." He winced and felt the sutures on his cheek and then explored the wound on his neck. "Still hurts all over," Dashyl said.

"Now you know why a razorwig swarm is so dangerous," Soern reminded him.

"Oh, thanks, for a moment I forgot why I feel like this," Dashyl snapped.

"Now, now. You're lucky to be alive. We all are," Soern said. "Eat some rations and let's make a plan of action so we can move on soon. Maybe we can catch whoever set off those explosions and put the swarm in motion towards us. I'm going to feed the igwaza while you two eat."

The two friends ate their breakfast in silence. Dashyl had to eat gingerly due to the cuts on his cheek and neck. Soern returned from feeding the runners and crouched down with the others to begin discussing a plan. Before he could say anything, a loud screech pierced the air followed by a soft thud and an flurry of feathers spinning in the air near them.

"Whoa," Fretly said, startled. "What was that?"

"Look, it's a merlyn, it must have dive bombed a rockhopper," Soern pointed into the air. "There, it's got one in its talons as it flies away."

As the three travelers watched the merlyn rise into the sky with its prey, something whizzed over their heads and struck the merlyn, knocking it from its course. It released the rockhopper it had killed and both birds fell from the sky like deadweights. The rockhopper's lifeless body fell right at Dashyl's feet. The shocked companions were staring at the dead bird when they heard a strange voice.

"Greetings," said a man wearing black armor and a green mask with what looked like a large orange eye on the front. The man stood on one bank of the ditch and was wielding a bow with an arrow notched and ready to fire. "Any of you move and I will put an arrow through your throat."

Dashyl's Quest: The Tournament Plains

"Soern, hey, Soern," Fretly repeated as he shook the old kirzan where he sat against the dirt wall of the ditch. "Don't fall asleep now," he pleaded.

Soern opened one eye that didn't really focus on anything and pushed Fretly away by the face.

"Wake up, Soern," Fretly yelled.

"Why," Soern mumbled.

"Because, we can't stay here," Fretly said as if it were obvious.

"What," Soern asked as his head bobbed up to listen.

"Somebody made those explosions happen. Somebody who wanted to hurt us, maybe," Fretly reasoned.

Soern blinked his eyes a few times then stared straight at Fretly. "Hupht," he spat, "you're right. Those explosions could have been deliberate. The chances of someone taking this road with any kind of unstable radia that would just happen to go off just at that point are very slim."

"Right," Fretly confirmed.

"That someone is probably going to follow the swarm after a while to look for our dead bodies." After Soern said this, both he and Fretly looked at Dashyl lying motionless in the moist dirt of the ditch. They then met each other's gaze with a new resolve despite being exhausted.

"We've got to move farther down the ditch to get away from the road. With any luck, our pursuer was not watching from afar and failed to notice our escape," Soern said. "Even if there is no one on our tail, it will be good to rest in this ditch overnight, heal and set out just before first light."

"Right," Fretly agreed.

The two stood up and started getting ready to lead their igwazas away from the road. Fretly readied Dashyl's igwaza as Soern crouched over the boy, asking him questions.

"Are you awake, son," Soern asked.

"Uh humph," was all Dashyl could answer, still unable to move his jaw.

"Did you hear what we just said," Soern continued with his questions.

"Uh humph."

"I'm going to pick you up and drape you over the back of your igwaza. We'll make our way away from the road slowly. Are you good with that plan?"

"Uh humph."

"Fantastic. Up we go." Soern grabbed Dashyl's body and gently rested him on the back of the boy's runner. "Is that fine," he asked, patting Dashyl's head.

"Uh humph."

The tired trio traveled in silence frequently casting furtive glances back toward the road, but they never saw anybody.

"Here is good," Soern announced after some distance. "The ditch has curved away from the road enough that we should be covered from the sight of anyone searching for us. Let's make some shelters out of the grass stalks before we eat and sleep."

"I'll take watch for as long as I can," Fretly volunteered. "Maybe our pursuer will pass us in the night and we will be pursuing him tomorrow."

"I hope so," Soern replied, then spat on the ground and rubbed it into the dirt with his boot.

Dashyl's Quest: The Tournament Plains

Dazed and upside down, Dashyl couldn't focus on anything that was going on around him. Overhead, an incredible jumble of razorwigs whizzed by, their bodies blocking out the sky until it seemed like thousands of lights were flashing before the boy's eyes. The noise was deafening, like he was about to be caught in the sharp, grinding gears of some dangerous machine. Dashyl closed his eyes and tried to move, but his body felt numb and tingly. He squeezed his eyes tighter and waited for the noise to stop roaring above him.

As quickly as the swarm had crashed over him, the last of the razowigs leapt over the ditch. The full light and sudden quiet cleared Dashyl of his confusion. He could see Fretly hiding behind his igwaza as it bit into the segmented body of a razorwig that must have fallen into the ditch. The igwaza easily crunched through the creature's exoskeleton as it became lunch for the runner. Beyond this fracas, Soern smashed at what must have been multiple razorwigs around him. The carapids were soon exterminated and Fretly ran to Dashyl's side.

"Dash, are you okay, oh my, are you okay," Fretly asked as he knelt next to Dashyl. At that moment, Dashlyl felt his heart beating hard in his throat and he had trouble moving his jaw. All he could do to answer was shake his head.

"Soern," Fretly yelled. "Dashyl is hurt. His neck has been slashed open and he is bleeding a lot."

"I am checking on my runner. Find some kind of cloth and apply pressure to his wound," Soern shouted back.

"Forget the igwaza, you dumb kirzan, Dashyl might be dying here," screamed Fretly.

Soern rummaged through his pack and retrieved a few strips of cloth and a pouch. He handed a piece of the cloth to Fretly. "Here," he said, "take this and apply pressure. He will be okay. Just don't let him bleed out." Soern changed his focus to Dashyl. "You'll be okay, son. Try to be calm. I've got to attend to my runner. If he has a broken leg, then its no use mending him. But if I can help him, we need him to cross the plains. The other igwaza are not big enough to carry me." "Besides, I can't afford to replace this igwaza," he muttered as he returned to his injured runner.

"Whatever you say," Fretly snorted as he held the cloth firmly against the gash in Dashyl's neck. "Your left cheek is cut pretty bad, too. Your chin is scraped up and your bottom lip is busted open." Fretly squinted as he continued. "I thought you would have seen us bolt for the ditch. We would have waved you down."

Soern came over and took Fretly's place tending to Dashyl. "The leg wasn't broken and I don't think there were any ligament tears. I sewed up the wound and he should be able to run again just fine. Now let's look at you." The kirzan held Dashyl's face with one of his big hands. "I'll have to sew up your neck and cheek. It's going to hurt. On the bright side, the razorwig's legs are so sharp that the wounds heal up with with hardly any scar. You'd never guess that I've been sliced up more times than I can count by razorwigs. Well, you might guess that I've been sliced up, but you'd never tell where the razorwigs got me."

Soern pulled out a needle and some threadlike material from his pouch. "Here we go," he said as he threaded the line on the the needle. "This needle is from the proboscis of another type of carapid. One carapid slices you open and another carapid closes you up. Isn't that life on Rynaga, eh?"

Dashyl didn't have time to consider an answer as he felt the needle bite into his flesh. He couldn't open his mouth to scream, so he screamed and hyperventilated through his teeth.

"Hold on, Dash," Fretly consoled. Dashyl calmed down and clenched his jaws tight. Once his neck was finished, he hardly felt the cheek being worked on, the numbness had reached the top of his head.

"Soern, look," Fretly called out as he pointed farther down the ditch. Three razorwigs were leaping down the ditch in their direction.

"Leave this to me," Soern said, grabbing up his hammer. The hefty kirzan waited calmly as the slashing carapids raced towards him. At just the right moment, he twirled his hammer in his hand twice then brought it down on the head of the lead razorwig. Wasting no time, he jumped into the air, spun around and smashed the other two hapless creatures with one great arcing blow.

Soern turned around, let his hammer fall to the ground and stood with his arms in the air and his face beaming. "Ha ha," he laughed, "I've still got the moves!"

"Oh yeah? What happened to your beard," Fretly asked, cracking a bit of a smile.

"What..." Soern asked as he frantically grabbed at the area under his chin where the majority of his beard used to be. "Blast, one of those confounded beasts sliced off my beard," Soern said before sputtering out a long stream of kirzan curses.

The old warrior trudged back to where Fretly was continuing to clean up Dashyl. "Here, let me feel your jaw," Soern said once again taking Dashyl's head in his immense hands. He rubbed Dashyl's temples and felt where his bottom jaw connected to his skull. Pain shot through Dashyl's head and he winced. "Hm, you might have broken your jaw or damaged your skull. We'll have to wait until the swelling goes down. Dashyl nodded and just tried to relax and not think about the pain that draped itself over every part of his body.

"Oh, I may still have the moves, but it takes more out of me." Soern let out a long, loud sigh and collapsed on the ground next to Dashyl. "Time to rest," he said. "Then we need to think about our next move."

Dashyl's Quest: The Tournament Plains

The igwaza Dashyl rode was considerably slower than the other two. Soern and Fretly were increasing their distance ahead of the boy and he had no idea how to make his runner run faster. "Goooo," he yelled and dug his heels into the animal's hide. The reptilian creature grunted and Dashyl quit trying to make it go faster. "You're probably already running as fast as you can," he told it. Dashyl turned around to take another queasy glimpse of the swarm on his tail. "But will it be fast enough," he muttered.

Facing forward, Dashyl noticed that Soern and Fretly had vanished. He could see no sign they were ever running in front of him or that they had ever been on the plains with him. Dashyl's mind raced faster than his mount, which was careening down the road so fast that Dashyl could hardly keep his eyes open. An even greater fear seized his heart and tears came to his eyes, not from the wind but from the fear that he was suddenly alone. 

All that was in front of the boy was the open road cutting its path through the unending grasslands. What was Dashyl rushing towards, he didn't know. But he did know he was running from a dangerous swarm of razorwigs, a type of carapid that could be deadly for some reason. He could now hear the faint noise of the swarm over the galloping of the igwaza's feet. The sound was not exactly a buzzing, it was a sound more like a thousand knife blades being sharpened simultaneously. 

Dashyl did not want to look back. He just wanted to close his eyes and let the igwaza take him where it would. Even with his eyes shut, he could hear the shhhkk, shhhkk, shhhkk sound growing louder, closer. But there was another sound, also growing louder, something familiar. His own name. Was the swarm calling out his name?

The bewildered boy spun around to make the madness make sense and immediately it did. Soern, calling Dashyl's name from the back of his speedy igwaza, was gaining on him. "Stop," he heard Soern bellow. Dashyl gave the command in kirzan to stop and the igwaza gracefully came to rest, panting heavily, eyeing the swarm behind it. 

"There's a ditch back there," Soern yelled once he had caught up to the boy. "We might be safe in it. Come on!" Soern's runner adroitly spun around on its hind legs and ran the other direction. Dashyl's igwaza soon followed. They were now running full speed towards the swarm. He could see the individual razorwigs now. The carapids shot themselves forward in great leaps using their back legs. Dashyl could also see the danger. The forelegs of the razorwigs had razor sharp edges that sliced through the grass stalks and presumably anything in their path. 

Soern disappeared into what must have been the ditch a little ways off to the side of the road. He popped up a moment later without his igwaza and waved his hands in the air. Once Dashyl realized his igwaza was headed straight for Soern and the ditch, he closed his eyes. The swarm loomed right above him now like the crest of a wave ready to break.

The massive wave of carapids crashed over the ditch just as Dashyl's igwaza leapt for safety. The boy heard Soern cry out and his igwaza gurgle in pain, then pain shot through Dashyl's cheek and neck and he cried out. His eyes shot open in time to realize he was flying through the air headfirst into the opposite side of the ditch. His chin hit took the brunt of the landing as his body slammed into the dirt wall and then crumpled into a heap at the bottom of the ditch. 

Dashyl's Quest: The Tournament Plains

Dashyl could barely feel the igwaza runner galloping beneath him. The tops of the golden grass stalks whipped by him in a mustardy blur, the wind deafened his ears, his heart felt as light as it had ever felt. Dashyl laughed and screamed, then let the wind force its way down his throat, puffing out his cheeks. Tears shot away from the corners of his eyes and his nose began to ooze, but he didn't care.

"This is incredible," Dashyl shouted to his companions who were ahead of him on their own igwazas. Dashyl's was the smallest and must have been the slowest runner of the three. Unable to contain himself, the young boy let out another yell, "Wooooooo!" Fretly turned around. He heard me, Dashyl thought, but Fretly did not focus on his friend who was following him. Instead, he looked past Dashyl, back toward the tree line. His eyes filled with fear before he turned back around and began urging his igwaza to run faster.

Reluctantly, Dashyl turned around to have a look. He instantly became queasy not looking in the direction the igwaza was running. Fighting the urge to close his eyes, Dashyl saw what he first thought was a line of smoke or fog obscuring the tree line far in the distance. But the cloud did not disperse or rise into the air. Rather, this cloud hovered over the tops of the grass stalks and was getting closer. Dashyl could look no longer and faced forward again. Even though the weird cloud moved toward them quickly, the igwaza could surely outrun whatever it was, he reasoned. Then Dashyl looked back once more. The cloud had moved closer than he figured. It must be moving extremely fast, he thought, but how? Dashyl's body suddenly pumped adrenaline due to fear instead of exhilaration. He finally understood, they were being chased by a razorwig swarm.

Dashyl's Quest: The Tournament Plains

"Let's just jog the igwaza at first as we go," Soern called out as he took the lead on the road across the plains. He said a couple commands in the kirzan tongue and the three igwaza started trotting at a medium pace. "We'll head due east," Soern continued. "We could run the igwaza the whole way across the plains, but then we'd have to rest a day on the other side. I would like to keep them fresh enough so we can keep moving and not stay in one place for too long out in the open. If we run into trouble, then we can run away from it."

The road they followed was flat and not heavily rutted. They slowly lost elevation after the initial steeper decline from the tree line. The sky was clear and even though the temperature was a little warm, the breeze from trotting was just enough to keep the riders cool. Dashyl imagined the sky being full of airships of every size and color. He had only seen them from afar, but marveled at their ability to soar high above Rynaga. Compared to the previous day's ride, today the young sarion felt like he was soaring smoothly through the sky on his igwaza.

"Riding this way is much easier," Dashyl announced.

"Igwaza runners are built for speed. The faster they go, the more natural the motion and the easier it is to ride them," Soern explained.

"Let's run. I want to run," Dashyl begged.

"Be careful, you may just get a chance to before long," Soern warned.

"It couldn't hurt to just run a little ways so Dash could get the feel," reasoned Fretly. "If we do have to go all out, he would be used to it and not freaked out."

"Good idea, Fretly, but why don't we wait a little bit longer. We can run them right before we break to eat," said Soern. Dashyl smiled at Fretly when he looked back at him and thrust his fist in the air. Fretly shook his head and laughed.

The three riders didn't say much for the rest of the morning. Dashyl now thought that jogging the igwaza was more hypnotizing than anything. Their motion seemed to rock him gently and almost lull him to sleep. The scenery didn't help either as it was all level grasslands as far as the eye could see. Behind them, he could still make out the thin, dark mustache of the tree line on the horizon. Dashyl started to ask if they could run when Soern stopped suddenly.

"Hush," Soern said sharply to Dashyl as he put his finger to his lips and squinted.

"Was that thunder," asked Fretly. No one answered, but there did seem to be a soft rumbling fading away overhead.

"Is that smoke above the tree line where we just came from," asked Dashyl as he pointed back down the road.

"That's smoke," Soern said as if he had a sinking feeling.

They heard another muffled boom from the tree line followed by more smoke billowing into the sky.

Fretly and Soern looked at each other and then at Dashyl. Soern said with urgency, "Boy, you're going to get your wish, now. We've got to run!"

Dashyl's Quest: The Tournament Plains

The three travelers had eaten, rested their legs and were now scouting the lowlands that rolled away from their vantage point down to the horizon. Soern squinted as he scanned the view, sweeping his head from side to side. The kirzan hummed as he pondered the state of the plains they were about to cross.

"How far does it stretch," asked Dashyl. 

"A fair ways. And we'll be exposed the whole time. Of course, so will anyone who tries to attack us," Soern replied.

The tree line reached from north to south as far as they could see, as if the woods had been planted a long time ago and the planter had run out of saplings all of a sudden. A strong wind started to blow into their faces as they gazed at the unending sea of golden grass before them. 

Soern inhaled deeply through his nose. "Ah, even this far north you can smell the sea. The winds from the coast can travel all the way up the plains, bringing a reminder of salted air. That smell will get stronger and stronger as we get closer to Trader's Haunt. It will grow so thick, that once you are in the gates of the city, the salty air will choke you and you won't ever want to smell that place again. But now, in the fresh air of the plains, good memories of the coast are all it inspires."

"This Trader's Haunt place sounds terrible. Why do we have to go there," Dashyl asked. "Isn't there any other place to catch an airship?"

"Son," Soern said, "We are in the hinterlands of Veratar here. We are far from the safety of the Protectorate cities, or even important independent cities. The Legion prefer to stick to the coast and sail past these lands, viewing them as strategically irrelevant. The only reason airships go to Trader's Haunt is because the goods that can be gotten there are so precious and rare that their potential owners want to procure them as quickly as possible."

"Oh," is all Dashyl said.

"Besides," continued Soern, "I need to return to my post. My duties do not allow me the time to escort you all the way to Legion lands. I suppose I could let you keep the igwaza runners and send you off alone, but how would you find your way, who would defend you? This is the quickest, safest way for you to return home or go wherever it is you want to go next. You must leave this area before the people hunting you have figured out that you have left so you can throw them off your trail."

"I agree," chimed in Fretly. "This really is the best way, Dash. We'll be fine, Trader's Haunt isn't as bad as our big friend here makes it seem. When I came for the Center of Death Tournament, we were able to go quickly from the airship anchor to the outer gates without much fuss. Trust us. Wait until you see the airships!"

Dashyl smiled at his two companions. "Okay," he said.

"Well," Soern said as he sighed, "things look clear from up here. No razorwig swarms, no Krill Assassins waiting to ambush us, no vaygr crouching among the blades of grass ready to pounce on us." Soern laughed and kept laughing as he mounted his igwaza runner. "Come on, let's go, you two."

Dashyl's Quest: The Tournament Plains

"Ah, it's been so long since I've ridden one of these things, my backside isn't used to it," Fretly moaned as he shifted from cheek to cheek on the back of his igwaza.

"At least you knew what to expect," snapped Dashyl. "Both my legs are numb, but my feet are swollen and throbbing." Dashyl let out a loud, fake sob.

"Hush, you two," Soern growled at them. "Even though we are on a road, we are in the wild. You never know what could be lurking among the trees."

"Like what, vaygr" Dashyl asked, his eyes growing big. He had never seen a vaygr in the wild, but he knew they could be vicious and deadly if encountered.

"Perhaps. To our luck, vaygr don't hunt much on the Tournament Plains, they are too exposed to large mob kilwings that patrol the skies over the plains, especially here in the northern end."

Fretly scowled. "Those flying carapids? I've heard that the larger ones will kill and attack vaygr. Would they attack us?"

"No, as long as we stay in a group, the mob kilwings won't bother us. It's the razorwigs I'm worried about," Soern admitted.

"What are those, they sound icky," asked Dashyl, crinkling his nose.

Soern stopped his igwaza and the other two stopped behind him. He turned around on his mount and said, "We're in the late days of the Forlan cycle, soon the Blossoming will be turning to the Reaping. During the Senna cycle, razorwigs will begin to cross the plains in great swarms. One does not want to be in the path of a razorwig swarm. Right now, they are feeding on the new growth of these woods. If we disturb them, they could decide to take flight and swarm early."

"Why don't we want to be in a razorwig swarm," asked Dashyl.

"Because...just trust me," Soern said as he nudged his igwaza onward. "We'll be clear of the trees very soon and drop down to the plains. We'll stop to rest and eat at the tree line. We can scout the plains from the high ground to see if we spot anything unpleasant and prepare for it."

Dashyl and Fretly exchanged glances and then both grimaced, their current pain interrupting any fear of a gruesome future fate.