Avarice Desperation Valley Ch. 58

These two chapters were very short so you get two this time, enjoy.

Mantle of White

Xonereth had been reading, tireless in pursuit of some vestige of hidden knowledge buried in these ancient tomes that would help his people and their plight. Giant hinged volume clasped in one long and elegant white hand, fingers bedecked with a plethora of glinting gems of assorted darkness.

There were no colors here in this monotone world. Only every shade of gray sandwiched between the starkness of white and the contrast of umbral black. His long unbound, hair trailed down on to the desktop spilling over his raven robes like the darkest ink.

The Monarch's study was interrupted by the swish of fine diaphanous silk gliding over the flagstones. No word of greeting was uttered. A beauteous feminine form sought his sandaled feet, as she cowered and bowed before her ruler awaiting his notice.

He looked up, then down towards his graceful and beautiful subject. One of the lesser handmaidens of his court. The two did not speak. Xonereth stood, setting down the volume with a dull thud. He strode from the room.

He did not have far to wander. Down beyond the colonnade, alabaster posts thrusting up from the blackened earth like teeth of an ancient reptile. There a tight knot of his people stood, his Prince's and Lord's amongst them. There were whispers and accusations being bandied about.

Some distance beyond this throng of concerned onlookers the proud ruler spied a handmaiden bowed to the ground in a gesture of acute sorrow. Then further ahead a black cowed figure seated on a large basalt boulder, facing away from his gaze.

Xonereth strode through the press of his people, they fell to silence as he passed. Axtros dared to reach out to touch his magnificent personage. To pluck at his King's robe, an unseemly gesture. Xonereth shot him a withering look of disdain, and any words he had to utter died in his throat.

Xonereth strode forward, past the distressed demoness who was tearing at the earth, she was of little consequence, he being of the ruling caste. Rulers do not look deeply at their servants after all...

He paused behind the seated, shrouded figure. Eyes leaving for some moments to gaze at the vista of the ever rising waters, complete with the hillock and the great tree Nethrizil beyond. Impatient waves lapping at the substance of his world.

Xonereth then turned and with an imperious and even callous gesture bid the distraught handmaiden to leave. Though greatly distressed she hurried away immediately, leaving only the marks of her anguish in the volcanic black soil.

"Sheharizade." Xonereth stated in his regal and commanding tone.

The figure before him sat, quite motionless as though unhearing. The proud king was unused to being ignored, he had rent souls for an eternity in torment over less.

"Sheharizade." He called again patiently, walking closer behind her. His bejeweled fingers sought her shoulder, and still she did not turn about to face her Majesty.

For a moment the Lord of all he surveyed just stared before him at his mute and unseeing Princess, then it came to his attention the lock of snow white of hair drifting beyond the confines of the cowed robe. His fingers sought the snowy mane nestled on the velvet black. He felt a tinge of great unease as he bowed lower and eased his love's familiar face to look up into his.

He was appalled at what he saw. The final line of the first prophecy screamed into his mind.

'And those beautiful, straight and true will be bowed in a mantle of white.'

''NO!" He shouted in anguish at the oppressive leaden dark...

Friends in Strange Places

Carlos looked up from the welcome warmth of his dirty gray blanket. His head itched, and he scratched absently at his scalp noting his hair had grown significantly since the onset of his illness. He could hear the sounds of the camp about him, comforting and regular. Many different voices and conversations woven into one living, comforting sound. A baby cried, the soothing voice of its mother to follow, men conversing, the crackle of the fire close by.

He had to admit that he felt strangely better today, and he had coughed far less than he ever did in recent lucid memory. Though the weather was still bitingly cold he was grateful that perhaps the worst was past him after all.

He knew the men were preparing another field trip. Though in this cold it hardly seemed wise. It seemed Gareth and Dwayne were the ones chosen to leave. Carlos had to confess he didn't envy them at all, and yet there had been a time he would have only wished to be chosen. He lay there confused at his thoughts. It's the sickness he decided, perhaps soon he could think clearer, when he got well.

*****

True to his word the ebullient bard had soon amassed a substantial ration of food, flasks of precious water, and even the occasional carafe of wine. He had invested in a fine saddle, and saddle packs. Abundant warm clothing, bed rolls and blankets, food and water for the horses, and even procured a very large saddle for Aurianne's trusty mount Isabou. Along with a simple rapier he preferred for a show of defense.

As the days passed the duo traveled, Jhary singing and weaving stories for all to hear. Those about him welcomed him into the villages he passed and paid for the entertainment with what little they had. In a very short amount of time both he and Aurianne were living very comfortably.

The archer had also fashioned herself another bow, and an ample assortment of raven feathered shafts, complete with a new leather quiver which she strung over her back as she rode. There could be found great comfort in simple things.

*****

Kario had the sense he was being followed. That pervading back of the neck tingling feeling of unease. It would not abate. He had no idea of where he was headed or even where he was. Pangs of fear stabbed relentlessly that perhaps he was being pursued by that fearsome leather clad man, and his retinue of guardsmen. He was cold, tired, and hungry.

Yes, he may have had power of illusions, but they would not shelter, feed, or give him tangible relief. The pain in his feet was intense and he would stop from time to time to re wrap the rags he had torn from his robe about his bleeding and tortured toes. Sense told him he could not do this much longer. Many fears and discomforts gnawed at his sensibilities. His mother had rescued him, only to leave him in this situation. Perhaps it was all she could offer?

Kario paused once more and stood quietly, casting about. He needed badly some direction to follow, a plan of action, not just this haphazard march to nowhere. He listened but there was nothing to greet his ears but the sound of the frigid wind thrashing the twigs and the denuded brush, and the silence of the somber skies above him. Today the world seemed much larger than he had ever previously thought it to be.

Behind him movement. Not the kind to bolster his flagging hopes either. The exhausted fugitive trained his eyes to the northern horizon, the way from which he had journeyed. Yes, definitely movement, he had not imagined it. For a moment he forgot his current discomforts to be replaced by a new one, fear. Straining his eyes toward that horizon he sought to know more of this threat.

It was not the group of human pursuers he had anticipated. He was unsure if he was relieved or equally concerned at what he saw. It was a wild dog, black, sleek and swift. Kario guessed the animal was as down on its luck as he was. It had scented his weakness and was pursuing him with the thought of a decent meal.

He could only see one animal, thankfully not an entire pack. Even now he was having visions of slavering fangs drawing his weakened self down onto the sands. His fingers sought the pommel of his blade for comfort.

Kario resumed his pained walking, hobbling now, constantly looking back, the predator drawing inexorably closer each time he turned. It was disheartening to say the least, and along with his other worries doing much to wear him down.

After some hours Kario could walk no more. It was by his reckoning late afternoon, though with the heavy cloud cover it was hard to say. The hound was close now, not more than fifty feet away. It was still coming fearlessly toward him on feet far less tired and broken than his own.

He nestled himself down in a kidney shaped dune that sported a copse of dead bushes, which at least protected his back from the worst of the wind. I will face it here he thought, as he drew forth his dagger into cold hands.

He was shivering violently now he had sat down to rest, and instinctively he knew he was far too weak to resume this march into the unknown. He tried to tell himself he would dispatch the animal, rest some, and then he would have more energy and will to continue. However in the back of his mind he knew he was conjuring false hope, his illusions may have fooled others but he was having difficulty fooling himself.

So he sat and waited. The dog came on swiftly, it appeared unafraid. As it should be, for he appeared an easy meal and a man who was soon to die. Kario raised his blade. The golden eyed hound stopped in front of him only six feet distant, laid her head on her paws, tail wagging in the age old signal of friendship.

From Kario's cracked lips burst laughter, which seemed ludicrous for one in his predicament. Perhaps he was delirious and he was not seeing right? He had expected growls and bared teeth. Not a friend in his time of need. Tentatively he stretched out his hand.

The dog wriggled submissively on its belly forward into his outstretched touch. The sensation of soft black fur caressed his fingertips. He laughed again and the canine responded by coming in closer to lick his sand encrusted face. The animal was alive and warm, his situation was dire, however he was no longer alone.

'I will not fail you Mistress again.' Selene promised with fervor.