This wasn’t the first time Aralim walked with a limp, but it was the first time in a long time. He had switched back to carrying his lantern staff today, two weeks after Mulio’s knife had embedded in his thigh. He felt as though he had been stronger yesterday, with a proper cane, while his showy staff put a little more weight on the healing muscles.
He blinked, as he realized how lost he had become in the sensations, testing each step to see how it felt. Lerela and Yovin walked in the lead, with Dullah and Devran murmuring to one another as they walked. They’d been continuing a discussion of some sort since yesterday—Aralim had overheard tidbits, but he got the distinct impression it was a conversation for the two of them only. He hadn’t eavesdropped on anything to suggest that was the case, but they hadn’t made any attempt to include him yet. It was still better than the silence that had followed their stashing of several red-badged bodies in the foliage.
So Aralim walked in silence and tested his leg on the uneven cobblestones of the Crimson Highway.
One of the guards suddenly cleared his throat. It was Carrak, walking abreast with Aralim and smiling amicably. “I don’t mean to pry, sir,” he said and took a nervous breath. “But I was wondering if you remember a day about a year ago, when the Palace was attacked one evening…”
“I can hardly be one to judge someone for asking too many questions,” Aralim smiled and looked at Dullah and Devran as though to reference their conversations. He glanced back at the square-shouldered man beside him. Carrak was likely thirty-five or forty, with a widow’s peak in his shadowy brown hair. “Pry all you like. I’ll answer best I can. I remember that night, yes.”
“A friend of mine died. A guard,” Carrak said. His smile had faded. “He had a bit of grey in his hair, tattoo of a shooting star on his forehead…?”
Aralim grimaced. He hadn’t really looked closely at any of the fallen—though there had been several. He remembered the sound of breaking bone, shattered by the bare hands of the mysterious warrior. “I might have seen him, but I wasn’t as familiar with the palace then as I am now. I’m sorry all the same though. Death is a difficult thing.”
“Indeed.” Carrak kept walking. He had the same physique as the other soldiers, like his muscles were hewn from the same rocks they walked upon. After a few steps, Carrak cleared his throat again. “I heard the man who attacked was strong enough to break metal with his bare hands and couldn’t be harmed by any but the Emperor. Would my friend have had any chance?”
A held breath began the Walker’s next reply. “I’m sorry… no. The guards were not prepared for an enemy like that in those days.” He didn’t mention the obvious contention between rumour and reality. The Emperor had never touched Nerediil, but his Aura had done the deed. Aralim remembered the Aura that walked with them killing Mulio… even in the stand against Nerediil, none had acted so swiftly.
“Then at least it was quick, I suppose. It’s been a year. Don’t worry—we held a memorial for my old friend and he’s been given a good rest.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” Aralim said. He enjoyed walking the Path, for the way it shed a little light into many lives. Remembering all those events, and the secrets to which he was privy illuminated a different fact as Aralim considered it. He was one of three or four people to know portions of the reality in Numa’nakres.
They walked in silence for a few moments. Yovin said something that had Lerela in stitches, but refused to share it with Devran and Dullah. Lerela turned red when Dullah made a joke about Yovin’s secrecy, but that just gave the other two something to laugh about. Aralim smiled and looked back at Grendar, who walked stoically in the rear along with the Aura. The sergeant had been nearly as silent as the orange-robed warrior since the incident with the Highwaymen, and remained on constant alert to protect his charge.
“For what it’s worth,” Carrak said suddenly, “I think I understand why his Ascendance chose you. The way you treat people is with respect and curiosity for their place on the Path, but with authority. You wouldn’t yield to someone so clearly blind to your Path, like those Highwaymen. As a soldier, I really respect that.”
“I’m glad you can see it that way. I’m learning a lot from you all on this journey.”
“Thank you,” said the warrior, smiling. “I’m learning a lot too. But then again, I’ve never been this far from home.”
Aralim matched his grin. “I remember that feeling. Did you volunteer for this? Or were you conscripted?”
The whistle of a particular loud grass thrush made the first few words of Carrak’s reply hard to hear. “…volunteered to be a soldier, and I volunteered to be one of the elites. But I don’t select my own tasks.” The soldier stuttered and quickly added, “Not that I dislike this task at all, sir.”
The Walker chuckled at his expense. “I was just curious as to if you wanted to adventure this far from home, or if it was forced on you. Those are two very different experiences,” Aralim pointed out. He limped heavily, forgetting to use his staff in the moment.
Carrak shrugged. “To be honest, I’ve always wanted to travel, but my choice of destination is Eastpoint. Ocean on three out of four sides—I can’t imagine it.”
“Quite different from where we’re going,” Aralim said. The land was growing drier and dustier daily—they were heading into the desert before reaching Tal’lashar.
Carrack laughed. “Oh yes, I suppose so.” The thrush started whistling again and a few tiny birds zipped out of the underbrush and up into the sky. Aralim and his friends—those he knew well and those he was only beginning to—kept on their northeastern passage.