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Did this thing just. . . die? Or is that just me?

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Chapter 7

 

Culvin ran. He didn’t think about the trouble he would surely be in, and he certainly didn’t think about what his punishment would be. He only ran. He had to know. He just had to. If there was even the smallest chance that they were here, and alive. . .

Culvin burst into the Uldorian Captain’s tent, and said Captain looked up from his maps. Culvin was almost immediately tackled from behind by guards.

The Captain rolled his eyes. “Get him out of my sight.”

Culvin fought to stay in the tent. “No! Please! Sir, I have to know if my family is here!”

The Captain’s eyes softened a little, and he motioned for the guards to let go and step back, then moved some papers aside. “Name.”

“Culvin Maverlock,” the boy answered.

The Captain’s eyes scanned the list in silence for about a minute, then he looked up. “There is no other on this list by the name of Maverlock.”

Culvin’s heart slammed to a startled stop in his chest. They couldn’t be dead. . . right? How. . .

He forced himself back into reality, realizing that the Captain was staring right at him, waiting for a response.

“I. . . I thank you for your help, sir,” he said softly, after a moment’s hesitation, “though that was not the answer I was hoping for.”

He didn’t fight the guards as they led him out of the tent.

The Captain moved his papers back into place, and looked at a man standing at one end of the table. “You were saying, Janxor?”

“Captain Terinor,” Janxor said, frowning, and pulling out the list again, “look.” He pointed to three names grouped together. “There are others by that family name — there is a Mendia, a Kaldir, and a Jendar.”

“Janxor,” the Captain said, “it is for the best that the boy does not know.” He looked up, and sighed at the look on Janxor’s face. “He is young, and it is only a few more years until he reaches the working age. He would know they are alive, only to be seperated from them once more as soon as we reach Chivall. Mendia and Kaldir are young, and must remain with their father, and besides, all those of their age that can be brought have already been chosen to go to Uldor. You know as well as I that, if a young one of their age from the boy’s family was sent with him for any reason, said young one likely wouldn’t survive the trek, and the coast is too rocky for ships to be an option. And even that is beside the point, for Head Gryphonrider Alvcum of Chivall has already claimed them as his own.” He paused when Janxor looked down. “I know you do not agree with me, Janxor, but please, do not question me.”

After a moment, Janxor nodded reluctantly. “Have it your way, Captain. I will not.”

***

A month and a half later. . .

The Uldorian capital of Jacsuv was ahead, just over the next rise, and Culvin wasn’t sure if he was excited or more terrified than he had been for weeks. He shivered, almost wondering how he’d lost track of the days. First, there had been a five-day trek from the remains of his village to Jumpoff Point, the one part of the rocky Marv coastline where ships could land, then a two-week voyage to the opposite side of the Karon Sea, where the five ships put in at the bustling Port Jacksohor in Chivall. During the week that they remained there, most of the youngest prisoners, along with some of the working age, were left there, and the rest spent the next three weeks trekking through the mountains surrounding the kingdom of Uldor. Culvin had spent all of that time wondering what fate awaited him, whether prison, or servitude, or some other such thing, and now that he was finally about to find out, he wasn’t sure that he even wanted to know.

It was all Culvin could do to keep from stumbling, and his feet were sore from day after day of endless traveling. He blinked, and forced himself to continue. It won’t last much longer. You can handle a few more steps. You know you can. He took a deep breath, continually telling himself that he could go on for another minute, then counting down the seconds. Pain flared up his feet and legs.

The prisoners around him walked with bowed heads, just as exhausted as he was. Then, almost before he knew it, he was at the top. Those in front of him turned to the left, rounding the side of the mountain. Culvin felt one of his feet slip on the loose ground at the edge of the worn path, and quickly jerked to his left, away from the steep fall, earning him annoyed looks from the prisoners in front of and behind him.

Culvin glanced to his right, then quickly looked straight ahead again. The ground fell away steeply beside him, creating a steep, rocky chasm between it and the neighboring mountain.

The walk continued on slowly, then, at last, Culvin rounded the side of the mountain. The land of Uldor went on as far as the eye could see, and, directly in front of them, there lay a city, shining silver in the sun. He felt his jaw fall slightly ajar in amazement at its beauty, for surely no city in Mardem could possibly match this place.

Culvin took a step forward, and felt a rush of air from high above. Something huge, and black swooped into the chasm between the mountains, mere feet from him, enormous wings tucked. A wyvern, he realized with amazement.

These huge, flame-breathed creatures made their homes in the mountains of Uldor, and they were sleek, built in every way for speed, making them the ideal mount of the fearsome Knights of the Order of Urs’gathon, or Ember-stone.

The wyvern launched upwards once more, and this time, Culvin saw an Uldorian boy, hardly older than he, was seated upon its back.

“Come on, Fyre, come on, boy!” the boy urged as the wyvern surged still higher into the sky.

Culvin craned his head back to see the two better, and as he did so, he saw, high above him, two more wyverns, both with grown men seated upon their backs. One of the creatures was a sharp bloodred in color, and the other was a deep blue.

One of the men laughed, just loud enough for Culvin to somewhat hear him, and said something about the boy being “awed with the sky”.

Culvin looked ahead again, watching where he stepped, and his mind wandering once more to his predicament.

***

When, at last, the prisoners descended down into Jacsuv, Culvin was more exhausted and sore than he would have thought possible. But then again, he’d thought that often over the last week or two. But despite his fear and fatigue, he somehow couldn’t help being interested in his surroundings. The streets were nearly empty, and those that did walk them were mothers and fathers, the former ones often either with babies or hand-in-hand with their elder children, and the latter ones with young children, five at most, sitting upon their shoulders. Most of them moved at a trot, heading. . . somewhere — Culvin wasn’t sure where.

The Uldorian soldiers ushered the prisoners quickly through the city, leading them by way of side roads and alleyways. Culvin’s eyes roamed his surroundings, then the sky. The sun shone overhead, but nowhere near as brightly as it had in Mardem. Then he heard the sound of loud cheers. He blinked, confused, then realized that they were on the main road now. It was lined with rows upon rows of Uldorians, some of the women throwing flowers. All of them were cheering.

Cheering the raiders.

Culvin closed his eyes and took a deep breath as he moved. When he opened them again, he straightened, and holding his head high, he looked directly ahead, ignoring the noise. After a few minutes, he let his eyes rove the crowds on either side of the road, and he quickly spotted, far ahead, the Knights he’d seen — at least, he assumed that they were the same Knights — their wyverns crouched behind them. They were, all three of them, silent.

As Culvin drew nearer, he saw that the men wore swords at their sides and shields upon their backs, and though the boy wore no such things, it was clear that he could hold his own in a fight. His wyvern straightened, lifting its head to sniff the breeze. Its black scales glinted in the sun’s warm rays, with a few flecks of a deep bluish-purple, and its eyes glinted like amethysts.

Culvin inhaled and exhaled deeply, and looked straight ahead again.

The prisoners continued down the road, reaching at last the city center, where they were gathered into a crowd. The Uldorian Captain sat down at a nearby stone table, over which was erected a canopy to block the sun’s hot rays, and then laid out several papers across its surface. One by one, men from the crowd of citizens approached, signing one or another of the papers, and then leaving. Every time a paper was signed, the Captain set it aside.

Last of all, Culvin saw the men and boy, their wyverns striding leisurely a few steps behind them, approach the table. One signed the last paper, and the other leaned forward, saying, “And Captain Terinor, it’s the Palacegrand — remember that.”

The boy said nothing, only watched the Captain with a smile playing on his lips. As soon as the Captain had finished his transaction, he stood, and with a smile blossoming on his face, he stepped around the table. “Jaldur,” he said gently.

The boy glanced at the men he’d been with for permission, then when one of them nodded, his smile grew wide, and he half-ran, half-leapt into Captain Terinor’s arms. “Father!”

They stood together like that for several minutes, then the Captain stepped back, and bent down to his son’s level. “Jaldur,” he said, then paused, and his eyes flicked over to Culvin. The rest of his sentence Culvin couldn’t hear, but he sensed that it concerned him in some way or manner. The boy nodded his affirmation, and the Captain seemed to relax.

Then Jaldur returned to the men he’d arrived with, and they left together.

Culvin closed his eyes, and inhaled and exhaled several times, trying to keep his mind from his nerves. Unsure of what was going on, he didn’t know what to think or how to feel. He took a deep breath to steady himself. Calm down. Frazzled nerves won’t do you any good. Just calm down. Calm. Down.

By the time he’d opened his eyes again, the Uldorian crowd had dissipated, with almost no one in sight.

Then the Captain gave orders to several of his men, who, in turn, exchanged the Marvs’ connected chains for shorter lengths, separating the prisoners into different groups. Then he carefully checked each group, putting check marks on a piece of paper. Culvin’s group was last.

The Captain looked up from his paper, meeting Culvin’s eyes. Culvin fought the urge to turn his gaze downwards.

“Looks like it’s the Palacegrand for you, Maverlock,” he said, though not unkindly.

Culvin was perplexed as to why he had told him. He didn’t answer; only ran his tongue along the inside of his mouth, and swallowed hard. What’s. . . what’s the Palacegrand?