11th Bell - 7th Day of Summer, 517AV - Near the Saer Ruins
He saw the pillars from a horizon away, and his eyes kept drifting to them. Much to his annoyance.
It was a hunt, like a hundred others, but there was a charge of urgency in this one, as if he could feel lightning crackle between him and the half-dozen other Drykas stalking through the grass. He couldn't see them, of course; even a novice Horse Lord, from a fallen pavilion like the Pridesuns, was a tracker and hunter beyond Konrad's ken, but they were out there.
Sightless. Scentless. Soundless. Apart from the occasional rumbling stomach.
No, that was you.
Four days without meat. Just the same stew with corn meal, black bread, and wild vegetables chopped up and tossed into the pot. Hunt after hunt giving them nothing, as snares came up empty and tracks became scarce. The drought was bleaching the Northern Sea of Grass, not just of moisture and vegetation, but life itself. Konrad had even noticed less mosquitoes buzzing around him... but plenty of carrion flies.
Little sods know they're always gonna eat. Good or bad.
His nose crinkled. He looked down, and away from the grey obelisks, and his gaze found a dried turd that looked more like bark than waste. He bent down, grateful for the heat drying the smell a little, scanning the dust for tracks.
Grass stalks shifted. Parted. He turned his head and as he did draw back on the arrow he had notched-
-then relaxed as a gaunt, curious Drykas face peered out at him.
Found something?
Konrad just nodded, not bothering to sign the Pavi. Hells, at least he could understand it by this point. The boy came over and both of them stared until Konrad pointed with his free hand... and the boy smirked at the faded hoof-print of a wild pig. It looked like a flower to Konrad: the two thick bulbs in the middle, then the two smaller ones flanking it, lower down.
He leaned over and ran hopeful fingers over the imprint.
"Not old," he whispered, as if their prey were still present and listening. "Could still get."
We go.
Konrad didn't bother to answer, either with his tongue or his hands. Nor did he rankle at the youth's commanding tone. He'd probably been stalking through the tall grass since he could walk; Konrad was still learning. Around him, he could hear bird calls warble back and forth, as the message was sent.
Found something.
Tracking.
Hope and pray.
Konrad wouldn't be doing either. Not in this dry and deathly land, where night brought no relief and morning naught but hunger. He licked his lips and fanned his face with his hat for a moment, then began to move again, after the Drykas. Both men followed the tracks, stopping now and then, to make sure they were the same ones.
He was focusing on the task at hand, but the shadows grew longer, and not from Syna. They reached the horizon and he could see snaps and flashes of stones once proud and smooth, now faded and crumbling. His head bobbed, up and down, attention split between the prospect of dinner and the ruins of history.
But they were the same, that day. The pig was leading them straight out of the grass... and into that strange collection of pillars and rubble that was the Saer Ruins.
"You've been here before?"
The words were repeated before Konrad answered. His mind was not with his body, nor his ears. They were seasons away, more than a year's worth. When he'd swung his sword for money and rode a caravan from the grim East into the sunny West. He remembered them from that time. The Drykas guides he'd hunted with, the wrong turns they'd taken, the ruins being their North Star when they tried to find their way back to camp... and found another's, instead.
He remembered what happened to that other caravan, too. What him and the other mercenaries had done. It seemed so much farther back than it really was... and now he was back.
"Long time. Just stones." He ducked his head down and lowered the brim over his hat a little with it, as if to block out the stones and the memories they stirred. "Not eat stone. Find pig."
Something snuffled among the ruins. Konrad, the youth, the other handful of hunters who'd drifted from the edge of the grass, all of them froze as if bewitched. Eyes swiveled to each other, bodies afraid to move anything else. Then they heard it again.
From more than one snout.
Petch me, Konrad thought as he slowly, slowly rose, and licked his lips. We petch this up, we deserve to bloody starve to death.
It was a hunt, like a hundred others, but there was a charge of urgency in this one, as if he could feel lightning crackle between him and the half-dozen other Drykas stalking through the grass. He couldn't see them, of course; even a novice Horse Lord, from a fallen pavilion like the Pridesuns, was a tracker and hunter beyond Konrad's ken, but they were out there.
Sightless. Scentless. Soundless. Apart from the occasional rumbling stomach.
No, that was you.
Four days without meat. Just the same stew with corn meal, black bread, and wild vegetables chopped up and tossed into the pot. Hunt after hunt giving them nothing, as snares came up empty and tracks became scarce. The drought was bleaching the Northern Sea of Grass, not just of moisture and vegetation, but life itself. Konrad had even noticed less mosquitoes buzzing around him... but plenty of carrion flies.
Little sods know they're always gonna eat. Good or bad.
His nose crinkled. He looked down, and away from the grey obelisks, and his gaze found a dried turd that looked more like bark than waste. He bent down, grateful for the heat drying the smell a little, scanning the dust for tracks.
Grass stalks shifted. Parted. He turned his head and as he did draw back on the arrow he had notched-
-then relaxed as a gaunt, curious Drykas face peered out at him.
Found something?
Konrad just nodded, not bothering to sign the Pavi. Hells, at least he could understand it by this point. The boy came over and both of them stared until Konrad pointed with his free hand... and the boy smirked at the faded hoof-print of a wild pig. It looked like a flower to Konrad: the two thick bulbs in the middle, then the two smaller ones flanking it, lower down.
He leaned over and ran hopeful fingers over the imprint.
"Not old," he whispered, as if their prey were still present and listening. "Could still get."
We go.
Konrad didn't bother to answer, either with his tongue or his hands. Nor did he rankle at the youth's commanding tone. He'd probably been stalking through the tall grass since he could walk; Konrad was still learning. Around him, he could hear bird calls warble back and forth, as the message was sent.
Found something.
Tracking.
Hope and pray.
Konrad wouldn't be doing either. Not in this dry and deathly land, where night brought no relief and morning naught but hunger. He licked his lips and fanned his face with his hat for a moment, then began to move again, after the Drykas. Both men followed the tracks, stopping now and then, to make sure they were the same ones.
He was focusing on the task at hand, but the shadows grew longer, and not from Syna. They reached the horizon and he could see snaps and flashes of stones once proud and smooth, now faded and crumbling. His head bobbed, up and down, attention split between the prospect of dinner and the ruins of history.
But they were the same, that day. The pig was leading them straight out of the grass... and into that strange collection of pillars and rubble that was the Saer Ruins.
"You've been here before?"
The words were repeated before Konrad answered. His mind was not with his body, nor his ears. They were seasons away, more than a year's worth. When he'd swung his sword for money and rode a caravan from the grim East into the sunny West. He remembered them from that time. The Drykas guides he'd hunted with, the wrong turns they'd taken, the ruins being their North Star when they tried to find their way back to camp... and found another's, instead.
He remembered what happened to that other caravan, too. What him and the other mercenaries had done. It seemed so much farther back than it really was... and now he was back.
"Long time. Just stones." He ducked his head down and lowered the brim over his hat a little with it, as if to block out the stones and the memories they stirred. "Not eat stone. Find pig."
Something snuffled among the ruins. Konrad, the youth, the other handful of hunters who'd drifted from the edge of the grass, all of them froze as if bewitched. Eyes swiveled to each other, bodies afraid to move anything else. Then they heard it again.
From more than one snout.
Petch me, Konrad thought as he slowly, slowly rose, and licked his lips. We petch this up, we deserve to bloody starve to death.
