Category: Aralim

Aralim had learned a few things during the last few weeks.  He had learned a lot about the culture of Maga and the religion of the similarly named Goddess.  He had learned how loyal his soldiers were to one another—Grendar rarely left Lerela’s bedside.  He had also learned that his birthday had come and gone during their frantic trek toward the city.  Aralim was now forty-eight years of age, though he had scarcely noticed as they carried Lerela’s stretcher toward the Eye those last few days. Continue reading Aralim 103

The banners that hung from the Crimson Highway fort in front of the Eye of Maga were the only movement in front of the gate.  Just one Highwayman came out to speak with the weary and wounded travellers as they arrived.  He anxiously apologized for their trouble on the Highway, before confiscating their red coin and wishing them a good stay in the city. Continue reading Aralim 102

Exhaustion.  Pain.  Discontent.  Discouragement.  Aralim’s bedraggled travellers struggled to place each foot in front of the next.  The guards’ training and conditioning gave them an edge, but that advantage was negated during their shifts of carrying Lerela’s stretcher.  Devran complained about his shoulders of all things—it seemed his pack full of books was heavier than ever after half a month of double-paced marching.  Aralim, with all his years on the road, might have fared the best, save for his relentless place at Lerela’s stretcher and the dull ache in his healing hand. Continue reading Aralim 101

Forests gave way to road again four days later.  Aralim and his weary group of followers emerged from the jungle covered with sweat, bloody scratches, and half-healed wounds.  For half the day they marched along a soldier’s gait without interruption.  Aralim’s burned hand ached and itched, though Nill and Grendar both assured him it was healing.  Even the Aura had taken a look on behalf of Tag’na.  Carrak’s head seemed to heal even quicker, somehow.  The soldier moved briskly, and training at nightfall with Grendar had proved to himself and to the others that he had moved past the dizziness.  Though their injuries had healed, trouble found them again on the Crimson Highway. Continue reading Aralim 100

The Crimson Highway ran along the edge of the forest for hundreds of miles.  With only gradual inclines and distant ridges, the flat gradient of the land seemed to stretch past them slowly.  Aralim had walked thousands of miles over his twenty years on the Path, but the stretch from Crossroads to the Eye of Maga felt like doing it all over again. Continue reading Aralim 99

Aralim awoke that morning after a fitful night full of strange dreams.  Some were memories, but other, hazier experiences were the stuff of deep sleep.  What he remembered, as he sat at the campfire and picked apart a rabbit leg that Grendar had passed him, was a conversation with the Emperor.  Or two, rather.  He remembered the day that Tag’na had asked Aralim to destroy him—Aralim would never forget it, of course.  He had also recalled a question he had posed to the Emperor before his departure as Ambassador.  He had asked the Eternal Emperor who was more powerful between the two of them, if Aralim could make the Emperor more powerful. Continue reading Aralim 98

After their initial landfall on the edge of the Shrinking Sea, Aralim and his companions hiked across the grassy hills and scattered sands on the fringe of the Expanse.  Each evening, Aralim wiped dry grains from his calloused feet and shook out half the desert from his sandals.  The hills seemed to protect them from the worst of the wind, but their footsteps shifted more often than finding tread.  On the seventh day of their gruelling travel, they at last reached the town of Crossroads. Continue reading Aralim 97

Worlen’s sturdy fishing vessel wasn’t large, but at least it was sturdy.  With Grendar, his three subordinate guards, Devran, Nilless, Aralim, and the Aura, the fisherman never quite got his watercraft to a speedy skim over the gentle waters of the Shrinking Sea, even when the wind coming off the Amirella Mountains howled through the junk sails.  They rode low in the water. Continue reading Aralim 96

The day had come at last.  Aralim had said all his farewells except for one, and it was time for him to leave the city of Tal’lashar.  He climbed the Tenth Tower once more, to watch the sun rise on the Amirella Mountains.  The dense row of peaks splintered the sunrise, casting rays like a crown upon the sky.  Streaks of pink and orange faded as the day burned through their vibrancy. Continue reading Aralim 95

The armies of Yarik withdrew as sullenly as they had waited on the fringes of Tal’lashar.  They dwindled away, stumbling and shambling up the slopes and into the foothills of the Amirella Mountains.  The wagons, laden with the wealth the First Queb had surrendered, was brought away with them, trundling along the old highway toward the strange city out there. Continue reading Aralim 94