“If your mind is set upon going,” their aged host told Colton and Tyran, “I will not stand in your way.” He paused in thought and added, “If you ever have a chance to speak to the king, tell him the Mechanic sends greetings. But listen now carefully: the desert, as you have learned, is a dangerous place. Cruel enough to take your life without a second thought. If you lose your way, there will be no turning back—you will die. You must ride straight and sure to the south, tending only a little west, if any direction. If you are on the right path, halfway across the desert you will come to an ancient statue—a depiction of a once-great king. A few miles from there is a watering hole. After that it is only desert till you reach the city, so fill your waterskins full.”
Colton and Tyran listened attentively to the man’s words. Little more than three weeks had passed since they had captured the horse, and Colton had spent every waking moment by her side calming her and training her as far as possibility allowed. Now, the sun was already low in the sky, and Colton and Tyran prepared to leave at last.
“There are not words to thank you enough for what you have done for us,” Colton said.
The old man grunted, but he offered a slight smile. “There is no need to thank me,” he said. “When two men show up on your doorstep, the one dying and the other in a sleep nearing death, it takes nothing short of cruelty to turn them away. No, it is I who should be thanking you, for ending the king.”
“You wish him dead, then?”
“Is it not strange how loyalties shift? I watched him grow up, after all. I went from something close to his father to his closest friend to his servant and mechanic. And after all that we have ended as enemies. The world is a bitter place.” He laughed, but there was no happiness in it. “I have become an old man, and Alastor… who would have known what fate we would have. But I am forgetting the present. The sun is setting; you must ride hard tonight. Take whatever you need, and let it be plenty to last you.”
“What of yourself?” Colton asked, as Tyran gathered food and filled the waterskins. “Will you have enough supplies to last you?”
“I will be alright. I know a man—a mere acquaintance, but we think similarly. He brings me what is necessary to pass each year.”
“Everything is ready, Colton,” Tyran said, appearing in the doorway.
Colton rose and stepped to the door, pausing at the threshold.
“Farewell, then,” he said. “And thank you again.”
“Wait,” the old man stopped him. “There is one more thing.”
He paused, eyeing Colton.
“You are different from the others, Colton. Men here are bred for war, for violence, into a cruel and selfish nature. But the truth is, that leads to a world able only to destroy itself. Many generations ago, civil war broke out and Vellatha almost reached eradication, so violent and costly it was. Neither was it the first war. The empire was following a pattern—the men were trained as they always had been, but after a certain amount of years the tension grew and they desired to break free from what they finally recognized as a totalitarian rule.
“Most of the time, fighting broke out across the cities, and if it was not ceased, war would break out. Of course, the king always won, and so the cycle would repeat. Vellatha is on the precipice of a war, this time much greater than any in its history. Alastor may be a coward, but he can always be counted on to recognize any danger to himself. He took many measures to protect the empire from war, selfishly, of course. Guards were spread everywhere, every move by his lords and generals and trainers controlled. But he soon realized the real problem was in the nature of men.
“Alastor knew that there was other life in space, planets thought to be unreachable. With my help, vessels were constructed to take specialized soldiers to your planet. It was his intention to seize a few hundred men from earth, but there were difficulties that were never made clear to me and only a few dozen were taken. The hope was that men such as yourself could bring unity and honor to our world, a kind of restraining influence. In short, Colton, you were meant for peace.
“I tell you this because, if the king is slain, the empire may fall from that precipice if you are not careful. Tyran, I fear, is too far gone in his anger to see the danger. As he seeks for revenge, you must seek peace.”
Colton was silent for a moment. “It is not only anger that drives Tyran back to Vellatha,” he said.
“Love, then?”
“And I am to blame for it, tearing him from his love and convincing him he had no choice but leave her.”
“You speak with such bitterness I would guess it was your own love you were parted from.”
Colton lifted his gaze to meet the old man’s eyes, silent.
“There was a woman you loved too, was there not?”
Colton swallowed and glanced away. “And I am all the more shameful, because I chose to leave her before I ever knew of the king’s treachery. I made her a promise, and I was a selfish coward to willingly break it.”
“What was her name?”
“Fianna,” he answered quietly.
“You are returning now; it is not too late to ask forgiveness.”
There were tears in Colton’s eyes, invisible in the darkness. “How can I face her now? She trusted me.”
“It is more honorable to face her now than hide your face forever in shame. Goodbye now, go back to her, let her keep you from rashness, and if you do succeed, she will be waiting for you.”
“Goodbye,” Colton said quietly, turning and mounting the horse. He took the reins as Tyran mounted behind him, and then with a last glance at the old man he urged the horse forward, and they disappeared into the darkness.
For three long days they rode across the endless desert, the sun their constant companion by day and the cool a briefly-enjoyed relief each night. The desert’s vastness was a much smaller threat this time, with a sure destination ahead and a horse who knew the desert as well as they did their old bunks back in Vellatha. Midday three mornings after they left, a statue rose in the distance, far more than a mere landmark to the two travelers. This was their halfway point, and more than that it told them they had not strayed from their path.
The statue was perhaps not quite as the old man had remembered, for though it stood tall and towering, its crowned head had fallen from its shoulders and lay upon the sand at the foot of the statue. What remained was a tall body standing nearly three times the height of a man, once strong, now weathered and crumbling from the beating of the sand and wind. The king’s head was half sunk in the sand, his face one of icy command and his lip turned in proud disdain. Upon the pedestal a single line was engraved: “Gaze upon the might of the king of kings, ye who are strong, and fall in fear.”
“See what his might has come to now,” Tyran murmured, gazing at the inscription.
“For all his pride, I imagine few have ever seen him,” Colton said.
He urged the horse on, and the statue faded away behind them, lost in the distance and the boundless expanse of sand. So the days stretched on, until finally a gray shape appeared ahead and they could offer each other tired smiles. Vellatha might have been a prison and ruled by a cowardly, deceitful king, but it was still their home and the city was welcoming even with its tall walls and the guards on every street.
They stood at the foot of the wall as the sun set, unpacking their belongings from the horse.
“Vellatha’s no place for such a horse,” the old man had said, and though Colton was sorry to part from the horse, he could not disagree.
“Go on, then,” he said, removing the horse’s makeshift bridle. “Your kingdom is still the desert.”
The horse tossed its head and was gone, its freedom returned as it galloped away.
“Perhaps we can have such freedom when this is over,” Colton said, staring after the horse.
Tyran smiled and clapped him on the shoulder. “Let’s take it one step at a time,” he said.
Colton turned and laughed. “Don’t tell me you’ve finally learned to be cautious,” he said.
“Maybe cautious isn’t the right word. But I do have a plan. Alastor must die—and it may be tonight. When we reach the palace we’ll arrange a meeting place, and then we’ll separate and slip into the palace. Whoever finds the king first takes the prize.”
“Last time we separated, you ended up chained to a table about to be slaughtered by an old woman.”
“We’re not going to let that happen. This time we’ll be playing the tricks.”
“I hope you’re right. Just remember we’re two men against everyone else. Which makes us sorely outnumbered.”
Tyran smiled. “And easier to miss.”
He led the way along the wall, till at last they reached the stone arch that opened a way in, and also formed the posts for a dozen soldiers day and night.
“What now?” Colton whispered.
“We at least have the advantage of surprise. They’ll be expecting men on the inside trying to slip out, not the reverse.”
He reached for his sword, but Colton stopped him.
“Wait,” he said. “Wouldn’t it be simpler to climb the wall?”
Tyran ran a hand across the wall, and found it surprisingly roughened from the sand. He smiled.
“That may be safer,” he said. “But be careful. The other side will be much smoother.”
“Isn’t this what we’ve been trained for?” Colton said.
“Assassinating the king? I’m not sure.”
Colton would have responded, but he had already begun ascending the wall and his focus was elsewhere. That climb was the most tedious he had ever attempted, and the reality and seriousness of their situation made it far more difficult than such attempts during his training. He reached the top with no more difficulty than could be expected, but slipping over and beginning the descent offered much more danger, with guards waiting not far from where he would reach the bottom. One slip would be their end, but their feet touched ground safely and they slipped away down the street without ever being seen.
Fantastic job as always!
I love how you incorporated them passing the statue of Ozymandias.