The Dragon Star (Realms of Shadow and Grace: Episodes 1-3 of 7)

THE PHILOSOPHER - KADMALLIN

Kadmallin's eyes caught motion to the east of the road, the sight of three approaching travelers chasing away considerations of dreams and gods and the artifact. Two of the pilgrim men packing the camp noticed the strangers and walked to greet them. New pilgrims commonly joined the band during the day along the road. The three strangers talked with the two men from the pilgrim band at the edge of the campsite. He could not hear what they said, but recognized the broad gestures of the taller pilgrim as he questioned the three newcomers.

Kadmallin noted the appearance of the three strangers. They wore clothes familiar to any farmer in the land, but their dry shirts and breeches indicated that they must have managed to hide from the worst of the rain. The men carried long knives, not uncommon among pilgrims as the roads presented grave dangers to those unarmed. Something about them reminded him of the three men he had sent away with a pouch of coins a few weeks previously. These were not the same men. Their sizes did not correspond, but the way they moved, their calm manner and easy stance, made his neck itch. Pilgrims were usually less confident when joining a new group, especially when so few in number.

Kadmallin grabbed his socks and boots as he tapped the side of the tent.

"Best come out."

He heard Sketkee stir as he slid his boots on and laced them up. She emerged to stand naked behind the tent, the pale light from the clouded sky and the warm glow of the fire casting competing bluish and orange shimmers across the dark green scales of her flesh as her tail flicked out behind her. Rakthors found no rationality in modesty. The sight of her nude, her smooth ovoid skull, her taut muscles beneath alien skin, her flat and breastless chest, the hairlessness of her female region, her slender tail — alive like another symbiotic creature — all aroused in him a conflicting cascade of desires — to run, to hold her, to gape in disgust, to pull her by the hand back into the tent and satiate the curiosity at the heart of his unending fascination with her.

"New arrivals." Kadmallin pointed toward the men at the edge of the camp.

He looked away as he handed her the dried clothes from the makeshift rack of sticks. He pointed to the newly arrived pilgrims as she dressed, using the tent to shield her body from the campsite. She stared over the top of the canvas at the men.

"Ah, yes. It makes sense now." Sketkee's tail wrapped around her waist as she slid her legs into her pants. Rakthors did not divide their manner of dress among their sexes. All wore simple functional pants and shirts. He had seen her once in a dress for a formal ball in her ambassadorial capacity decades ago. She had been uncharacteristically unpleasant the entire evening.

"What makes sense?" Kadmallin stood to his feet, strapping on the belt with the two swords.

"The number of graves and the unburied bodies when we arrived." Sketkee pulled a black cotton shirt over her shoulders and stepped from behind the tent.

"What about them?" Kadmallin looked to the rows of earthen mounds, partially washed away by two days of precipitation.

"The pilgrims did not depart before completing their task." Sketkee tightened the drawstrings of her pants.

"I see." Kadmallin nodded as he turned to watch the newly arrived men who were certainly not pilgrims. "They left bait for the next pilgrim band. They likely only waited because of the heavy rain last night. Hard to fight in heavy rain. And now the rain has stopped, and the pilgrims are half-dressed and packing to leave. Not as great an advantage as a night assault, but good enough." The three new arrivals chatted easily with the two pilgrims, the men laughing at an unheard jest.

"I will need my sword." Sketkee extended her open hand.

"Are you certain?" Kadmallin placed his hand on the hilt of the second sword, the one he never drew to use himself.

"These imitation pilgrims will be joined by their companions soon enough. You will need help in killing them."

"Don't let the battle provoke you." Kadmallin pulled the sword free of its scabbard and tossed it to Sketkee. "It'll frighten the real pilgrims."

Sketkee snatched the hilt of the sword from the air. "I will restrain myself as appropriate."

"Good."

"Kadmallin."

"Yes?"

"Take care."

Sketkee sprinted toward the men at the edge of the camp as a glint of metal glimmered in the hazy daylight. One of the newly arrived men held a long knife in an upraised hand. As Kadmallin dashed to follow Sketkee, he heard the pounding of many footsteps approaching through the woods. He shouted the alarm, calling the pilgrims to defend themselves, and wondered at his companion's last words. Odd that she should voice the concern for him that he felt for her.

Time did not allow for more consideration of Sketkee's statement. She attacked the three knife-wielding men, and he rushed to help as dozens more bandits emerged from the shadowed forest to assault the camp, and terrified screams and cries for help filled the air.