Paul Thompson: The Middle of Nowhere

“The pirates set their prisoners to polishing it,” explained Ezu.

“When I get home, I’ll ask about this Gramdene,” Raika said. “Handsomest man in the world, ha! Everyone knows the best-looking men come from Saifhum!”

“Like Enjollah?” Ezu teased.

“Enjollah is a fine figure of a man but not handsome.” Raika looked thoughtful. “He has other qualities.”

The three men raised their eyebrows.

“He’s an excellent … navigator,” Raika said stiffly.

The men said nothing.

By dawn the gray peaks of the mountains were in sight. Howland and company encountered more traffic here: wagons laden with iron ingots, escorted by rough-looking hired cavalry. When asked, they denied working for the Throtian Guild. Most of them were independent workmen, they said, hauling iron to dealers in Sanction and Neraka. Listening between the wagoneers’ words, Howland deduced the Throtian Mining Guild was an outlaw operation, despised by legitimate miners and merchants.

The western slopes of the mountains were dotted with pits and tunnels of iron mines. The party rode south, working their way along the foothills, inquiring after Rakell and the Throtian concern. No one had any information more substantial than “they’re south of here” or “try farther south.” Two days passed until they got their first serious lead-a burned-out caravan of six ore carts. Bodies littered the ravine, and they’d not been dead long. Some were laborers in coarse woolens, while others were lean, rangy men in mismatched armor, just like the ones who filled the ranks of Rakell’s bandit army.

“What happened here?” Raika wondered. “Was it the dragon?”

Robien looked over the scene. “Not a dragon or rival bandits-rebellion. The slaves rose up and attacked their captors.”

“How do you know that?” she asked.

The bounty hunter’s practiced eye roved over the scene. “The horses are gone, but not the arms.”

Desperate slaves attacked their guards, took their horses and the ones pulling the carts, and rode hard for freedom. A red dragon would have slaughtered men and beasts indiscrimately. Victorious robbers would have stripped the fallen riders of all their arms and armor. Had the guards taken matters into their own hands, they would not have left their dead comrades by the trail.

It was a simple matter to backtrack the caravan to its source. The trail led up a narrow, winding canyon, penetrating deep into the foothills. As darkness fell, Howland halted his comrades short of the mine.

“Better to enter by day,” he said. “Tonight, rest. I’ll go ahead and scout around.”

Robien gave his reins to Ezu and slid off to the ground. “Let me go. This is my sort of job.”

Howland agreed, and Robien went ahead on foot. The others withdrew up the hillside a hundred yards, camping behind a hedge of boulders. Since they couldn’t afford to light a fire and give away their position, they ate cold rations. Raika, unaccustomed to the mountain chill, wrapped herself in one of Caeta’s homemade blankets and went to sleep.

Howland sat with a naked sword on his lap. As he did most nights, he half-slept, resting but alert to any stray sign or sound. Long after Raika had begun snoring and he’d closed his eyes, he heard Ezu rise.

Opening one eye, he saw the traveler had changed clothes. Draped head to toe in charcoal-colored robes, Ezu was almost invisible against the rocky hillside.

“Going somewhere?” Howland rumbled.

Ezu seemed genuinely surprised, turning to peer at the old soldier through his tinted spectacles.

“I thought you were asleep!”

“It’s an old trick that kept me alive on many a campaign.” He shifted the sword off his knees, laying it on the ground by his right hand. “Where are you going this time of night?”

Ezu tapped his special glasses. “Darkness is no barrier to me,” he said, smiling.

He moved toward the gap in the boulders that led down the hill to the trail. Howland was up in a flash, blocking the traveler’s way.

“I’ve been thinking a lot about you since leaving Nowhere,” Howland said quietly. “You have an astonishing ability to appear and disappear just when you’re needed most. How is that, Ezu?”

“Travel is not easy. The world is full of cruel and dangerous people, you know. This one has cultivated many ways of getting by.”

“When we first found you, you were trussed up, waiting to be rescued. How is it no one since has been able to hold you?”

“I learn from my experiences.”

Howland frowned. “Old Marren said you blinded everyone in Rakell’s camp the night we were there. How? You were separated from us, taken by Rakell, but he didn’t harm a hair on your head. He murdered Marren. Why didn’t he hurt you?”

“This one removed himself from Rakell’s presence.”

“But not for more than a day.” Howland presented the point of his sword to Ezu’s chest. “I’ve figured it out, partly. The lynching party was right all along. You are a spy.”

“How can you say that, after I’ve helped you?” Ezu asked.

Howland stepped closer, keeping his sword point over Ezu’s heart. “Yes, that threw me for a time, then I realized the truth. Rakell wasn’t the real master of this scheme. There’s a mastermind behind everything, a lord whom you serve, too. Rakell blundered when he chose to remain at the village, fighting. It furthered your master’s scheme, which was to get rid of Rakell.”

Ezu held up both hands, like a petty thief caught by a shopkeeper. “You’re a wise man, Howland. This guise of mine, Ezu the traveler, is a pretense-but you’re wrong about one thing. I am not a spy.”

Howland pushed his blade forward, pricking Ezu ever so slightly. The strange foreigner grimaced but held his ground.

“What lies at the end of this trail?” Howland demanded, voice rising.

“Just another pebble on the path of life, my friend.”

Howland leaned on his blade. He only meant to cut Ezu a little, to wipe the smug tone from his answers. Instead of flesh and blood resistance, Howland found himself blundering forward, passing through thin air where Ezu had been standing. His sword clanged loudly against a rock. Raika awakened, grasping for the weapon she no longer carried.

“Howland?” she said, bleary with sleep.

“I regret parting this way.” Ezu’s voice came from behind. Whirling, Howland saw the traveler’s silhouette against the stars. He was standing atop a boulder a good twenty feet high. No one could have climbed up there so quickly.

“I would have liked to have seen your journey through to its end,” Ezu continued, “but I cannot be fending off swords every time I chose to go wandering. Farewell, Howland uth Ungen.” He bowed his head. “And to you, lady. When you meet Gramdene of Kernaf, remember it was I who first told you his name.”

“Ezu!” Howland rushed to the foot of the boulder. Before he reached it, the traveler’s black outline had merged into the night.

Raika got up, scratching her matted hair. “What just happened?” she said, spicing her question with a few favorite expletives.

Howland explained his suspicions and his theory that Ezu had been working for the same boss as Rakell.

“Do you really think so?” she asked.

He was no longer sure. Indeed he felt a little foolish and ashamed of having driven Ezu off.

Raika went to the boulder where Ezu vanished. She’d seen him do amazing things, but he had never disappeared in plain sight before.

“Will he return, do you think?

“I take him at his word. He won’t be back,” Howland said.

They leaned their backs against the boulder and gazed at their quiet, empty campsite. It suddenly seemed much darker and colder than before. Like a ghostly mask, the single moon peered between the mountain peaks. Howland felt suddenly and strangely bereft.