Kared's Children - Chapter 1

There had been times, on some of those nights that he’d spent since, walking southward across the plain, that he almost had wished that he, too, had followed the line of ridges and encountered the Great Caravans. Surely one would have led him to that lessening of the darkness in the southern night sky.

. . .

But Kefed had looked after him, as she always had. Here, on the 22^nd moon of his journey, he finally had crested the last hill and seen the source of the lessening stretched out before him: strange rock structures with lighted holes in their walls and tents made of sticks and debris. Lights, scents, and music wafted toward him from them.

Men milled around an opening in the wall, illuminated crudely by torches. As Benjamin stumbled closer, down the hill, he saw they were rough, big men, with swords, armor, capes and helmets. He hesitated as he approached, put off by the way they loomed and rough-housed, but he was so thirsty and hungry that, when none of them spoke to him or even seemed to notice his approach, he kept moving forward, toward them, until he stopped at last and stood, waiting, while they all stared.

He tried to speak, but his lips were so dry and his throat so constricted he barely could croak. He tried to will a Scent of Jasmine and tried again. Nothing came out.

"Move along, dog," one of the men growled. He, too, spoke in that language similar to Cregish.

Benjamin’s mouth worked.

Another shook his scabbard. "Go on, move it, you drunken bum."

Benjamin backed away.

"Stinking animals," the first said. "Coming up to us. Begging. Doesn’t matter what time of the night it is. Always wanting something." He spat. "Aaron’s beard!"

Benjamin stumbled along the crumbling wall away from the guards. He wished, desperately, that he’d had the saliva left even to say his own name. If he had, he could’ve used it to grow a mudworm. Those two-inch long creatures excreted crystal clear water. They’d been how he’d survived his walk across the plain.

But he didn’t, and he moved on, one hand trailing along the dry, flat stones, his Alaran training finally wearing out. No more reserves were in his body. He wished he’d known a spell to change nougats into water. He wouldn’t have had any trouble then; he could’ve taken weeks, months, to cross the flatlands.

He finally made it to the stick-tents and leaned against one. Inside was silence. Too exhausted even to marvel at their existence and at how different they were from anything he’d seen, he tried to lick his lips. His tongue was harsh, thick.

He’d heard of houses, but where he came from, they slept in the trees, except in winter, when the branches would be too icy and caked with snow. Then the elders would gather and generate magical shelters with clear rooves that would melt with the coming of the morning.

Benjamin wished he had a little snow now.

Across the way, near another of the rickety structures, a small scruffy dog sniffed at some scrap or other. Benjamin watched as it scratched itself, took a step or two, stopped again, and leaned to sniff-at a puddle.

Benjamin pushed himself from the wall, stumbling forward, his fingers outstretched. The dog yipped and ran away as Benjamin crouched by the puddle and reached toward it. Just one touch, and-