Nyte: Chapter 15 - Three Minutes of Peace

“Well, come on,” Quell says, heading for the front of the tent and holding the flap open for me.

Outside the sky has turned purple, pink clouds swallowing up the stars. The sun is still hidden behind a dune, but I doubt it will be for much longer. Guards fall into step behind Quell and I as we move away from the tent, though mercifully they hang back far enough to allow me to speak to Quell privately. I keep my voice low anyway.

“That story you told about necromancy binding me to the body of a dead soldier,” I say. “Was all that true? Is that why I’m here? In this body?”

“Oh, no,” Quell laughs. “That was all hogwash. It’s a good thing neither of those too have enough magical theory to realize it was entirely fabricated. The mechanics wouldn’t stand up to scrutiny for anyone versed in that field of magic.”

I frown. “Then how did it really happen?”

“That,” Quell says, pointing at me, “is an excellent question. And I can’t wait to learn the answer.”

“Discreetly,” I say. I’m certainly not as enthused about my circumstances as Quell, but it would help to have someone on my side trying to unravel how exactly I got here, where Echo and the Role Requirement came from, and how I can get rid of them. “That demigod…”

“Of course!” Quell says. “Of course. I am the picture of discretion.” 

I somehow have my doubts.

Quell leads me through the camp, beelining around soldiers busy cutting up the carrion cactus and packing the pieces away. Several pause to dip their heads and mutter a greeting as Quell passes. Either he doesn’t hear them, or he’s so used to the treatment that he’s numb to it, as he gives no response and continues to weave around the tents. Finally, we arrive in a clearing filled with giant, horse-sized lizards. 

“Whoa,” I say, stopping dead in my tracks as Quell approaches the closest one. There’s dozens of water bags tied to their sides, one of which Quell retrieves. One lizard beast turns its head to look at me from the side, its tongue flicking out to test the air. Its hide is as black as night, though the faint morning light catches on its scales in a shimmering pattern. It’s not big enough to swallow me whole, not especially with my armor, but it might be able to snatch up a stick-of-a-person like Quell. 

“You haven’t seen a star drake before?” he asks, noting my look and the healthy distance I’m giving the beasts. 

“I’ve seen lizards,” I say. “Just never one this big. They won’t think we’re bugs and try to eat us, will they?”

Quell laughs. “We wouldn’t use them to carry our supplies if they did. Here.” He hands me the skin of water. 

“Thanks,” I say, wasting no time in popping the end open to take a huge gulp. Even though it’s room temperature, I’ve never tasted anything so delicious. The water pours down my throat, easing the scratchy dryness that had lodged there. I hadn’t realized how parched I was after everything. 

“Careful,” Quell says. “Drinking it all in one go will make you sick.”

I pause to gasp in a breath. “I could use a second one, actually. This won’t last me very long.” I typically drink more than this during my workouts. 

“That’s a night’s ration of water,” Quell says. “Lucky for you, you’ll get another one at dusk in about ten hours. But I’d still save some of that skin for cleaning up.” His eyes dance over me. “You’re completely filthy.” 

“Oh,” I say, looking at my hands. My palms are clear from where I’ve been holding the shield and rubbing the grit from my skin, but my sleeves—and armor, shirt, and everything else, probably—is covered in blood, long since dusted over with a fine layer of dirt, and now cracked apart like a dry creek bed. I rub a thumb over the back of my forearm, and some of it comes away, but it will definitely take a lot of scrubbing. 

“Come on,” Quell says. “Next stop, new clothes.”

“It would be great to not have everyone thinking I’m the enemy anymore,” I admit. Plus, I can’t get out of these grimy, blood-caked clothes soon enough. Now that my attention’s been brought back to it, memories from the Bloodlust return to me and sit heavy in my gut. This is someone else’s blood. Blood from a person I killed. My skin feels like it’s crawling with ants. I want this off of me as soon as possible. 

Quell takes us to more star drakes which are carrying some extra armaments and clothes. He hesitates before the attire, which is when our guards step in. Answering a couple questions about my build, I’m soon handed a set of clothes. The base is made of loose, flowing cloth, but I’m also given some leather greaves, bracers, a binder, and a chestplate. After that I’m pointed to an unoccupied tent, and Quell tells me he’ll be nearby if I need him. Mercifully, the guards don’t follow me in.

Inside the tent, I drop everything to the ground and stand there for a moment, staring at nothing. I’ve only been here for hours, but it feels like days. Earth seems surreal and distant. The ocean, just a nightmare. And now… 

I’m no longer human. I try to let that sink in. I feel… I don’t know. Fine, I guess? It’s weird to feel fangs in my mouth, sharp nails on my hands, pointed ears on my head. It’ll take some time to get used to some of these changes. But other changes, my lower voice, feeling stronger and more muscular—I don’t mind those sorts of changes one bit. 

I begin to strip the stained, tattered clothes I was reborn in. Because that’s what happened, right? I was really reborn? I drowned in that ocean. 

I died. 

I can still feel the burning cold of water filling my lungs. The horrific spasms of trying to dispel it. I pull in a sudden breath, as if to remind myself that I’m still here, that there’s still air around me. The memories make me grimace, but all I can think about is if Álvaro experienced the same thing. 

What kind of older sibling am I? I failed him. Tears threaten to well up in my eyes. 

I drop the chestplate to the ground with a thud, shaking my head. I might have failed him on Earth, but I have a second chance now. A second life. And I won’t let it go to waste. 

Before changing into the new clothes, I sit on the ground with a coarse piece of cloth and my half-empty waterskin. There’s a stark contrast on my skin where my clothes had stopped. My arms especially are still covered in dried blood, and the only reason my hands and face aren't is due to the cloth Quell had given me when I first came out of the Bloodlust. Still, the rest of me is grimy from sweat and dust, so I start there, trying to stretch the cleanliness of my rag as far as possible, before moving to my head. The rag comes away red. I scrub my hair and skin until it feels like it’s all about to scrape off. 

I don’t know how much time has passed, but when I leave the tent, old clothes in hand, a sliver of the sun is peeking over the horizon. The sky is streaked with brilliant lines of yellow and orange clouds, contrasting brilliantly against the purple-blue of the receding night. Already I can feel the heat of the sun prickling my skin. 

“There you are!” Quell says, standing up from where he’d apparently been reclaimed against another tent. Dozing off, maybe? He stops. “Wow. You look like a whole different person.”

“I am a whole different person,” I say. 

“I suppose that’s true,” Quell says. “But now you look significantly less terrifying. I can almost believe you really are a Knight.” 

Maybe I look the part, but it feels strange to claim a title I’ve had no training for. I shrug my arms, gesturing to the old clothes and armor. “Where should I put these?”

One of the guards steps in to take them even before I’ve finished my sentence. “Oh. Thanks.”

“You didn’t put the armor on,” Quell notes as I hand over the old clothes. 

I shrug. “Didn’t see much point, since we’re about to go to sleep.”

“That’s fair,” he says. “But starting tomorrow you should at least keep the small pieces on—never know when you might get ambushed and wish you had your armor with you.”

“Does that really happen?” I ask. 

He hesitates. “That’s what they say. Better safe than sorry, right?”

I’m not sure he’s the type to be handing out that adage. But I strap on the bracers as Quell leads us to a final tent. 

“Here you are,” Quell says, ducking into a smaller but lavish tent. There’s more pillows and a few light blankets spread across the bottom for padding—probably too hot to sleep under one. The tent is small enough that we both have to duck our heads to keep from pressing against the canvas. 

“Where will you be sleeping?” I ask, sitting down to strap the greaves on as well. Despite Quell’s suggestion, I leave the binder and chestplate off. Can’t imagine I’d be able to get to bed in stiff leather wrapping around my torso—but maybe that’s something I’ll just have to get used to. 

“Um, here,” he says, smiling apologetically. “Sorry. I figured, given your situation and all, it would be best to keep close. Otherwise, there’s the communal soldiers’ tent on the other side of camp…”

I stare at him. “I’m not sleeping in your tent.” 

“Why not?” he tips his head. “It’s the most convenient—”

“First off, I don’t even know you,” I say. “Second, I doubt the guards, or Darian, or your brother would be thrilled by the idea of a practical stranger who showed up in the enemy’s clothes sharing the same room with you. And third… Okay there is no third. I just don’t want to.” 

I stand back up as Quell blinks up at me, wide eyed and insanely naive. 

“Good night,” I say, grabbing my things. “Or, morning. Or whatever it is. I’ll find you tomorrow.”

I duck back out, where sure enough the guards are still waiting. I gesture for them to lead the way. “Wherever I can get some sleep.”

Instead of taking me to the communal soldiers’ tent, however, they lead me to a more secluded part of camp and give me my own, small, private tent. Nearby, I can hear a familiar voice professing her innocence—Ambassador Ashla, I think. Looks like I’m sleeping on the “maybe an enemy” side of camp. 

I’m too tired to care. I crawl into my one-person tent and lay down. With the flap closed, it’s surprisingly dark. But I can’t imagine I’m going to get much sleep with the events of the previous night spiraling through my head. The demigod. The Bloodlust. The cursed shield, and all the fighting, and Álvaro—

I guess I was more exhausted than I thought, because I’m out within minutes. 

#

When I wake, I roll over, every muscle screams like I’ve been hit by a truck. This is why you’re supposed to warm up and cool down around workouts. Not that getting thrown into the middle of a battle with a giant cactus monster will give you much opportunity for that. 

I put on the rest of my attire and duck outside, disoriented for a moment as I notice the sky is purple and orange once more. Had it only been a few minutes?

But the colors are at the opposite end of the horizon. It’s now dusk. 

The camp is almost entirely packed up. All but a few tents have been torn down and loaded back onto the star drakes. There’s several groups of people gathered around fire pits, and the smell of smoke and cooking meat wafts over to me. My stomach twists up into a knot and loudly announces its dissatisfaction. Wordlessly, the guards stationed to keep an eye on me reappear, then lead me to one of the fire pits.

“Oh, you’re up!”

I reflexively grimace at Quell’s voice. There goes my three minutes of peace. 

“Here, I saved you some breakfast,” he says, carrying a stone bowl and spoon over to me. I feel a twinge of guilt at my reaction, and gratefully accept the food. 

“What is it?” I ask, digging in even before he can respond. The bowl and utensil are coarse and look like they’re made out of a bunch of sand stuck together. Luckily I don’t get any grit in my bite of stew. There’s very little seasoning—it seems like it’s mostly murky water and chunks of rare meat. But my taste buds clench in relief at the tangy, rich taste.

“It’s the dhampyr rations,” Quell says. “Protein and water, mostly. I find it dreadful, but Darian tells me it’s filling.” 

I guess that’s why the water rations are so low: you get it with the meal. “Could be worse,” I say, finishing off the bowl even as I stand there. “Although maybe that’s the starvation talking. Hey, why do you use stone bowls? Isn’t that heavy to lug around?”

“We don’t lug it around,” Quell says, gesturing for me to follow him toward the main part of camp. “It’s sand under a temporary spell—many of the soldiers have a stone affinity, so we make them each time we make camp. It’ll fall apart in another thirty minutes or so. So don’t be late to meals,” he teases. 

“Noted.” 

Captain Darian greets us with a nod, and Prince Constance acknowledges us with a glance. They’re both busy overseeing the tear-down and preparations to move out. It doesn’t escape me that Quell isn’t doing anything to assist. The guy really isn’t leadership material.

In another ten minutes, we’re moving out. 

I watch the procedure curiously as several scouts are sent ahead and the rest of the soldiers form a procession, at most five people wide. As an estimate, I’d say there’s a couple hundred soldiers in this unit. Is that enough to take a city? I don’t know. But it doesn’t feel like a lot. 

“I thought you were going to go look for the princess,” I say to Darian as Quell and I walk alongside her. Constance has moved up the line to speak with the scouts and foreguard. 

“As soon as we find a lead, I will be,” Darian says. “In the meantime, we’re heading in the right direction. It’s very likely the Umbral Blades will have to pass through the Oasis and restock supplies before moving into Moonfall territory—assuming the Oasis isn’t their destination itself.” She frown. “Ambassador Ashla has admitted there may be a covert Umbral presence there already, though that was the most she would admit on the subject. But with our scouts pressing forward, we might force the Duneshade kidnappers to take a more circuitous route, slowing their lead in the process.”

“I see,” Quell says. “I suppose that’s good.” His forehead is pinched in worry, though.

The night darkens as we continue to walk, but no one makes any lights. My eyes adjust to the dim as they had the night before, but I wonder how the humans aren't stumbling over themselves. 

“Do you always move at night?” I ask. “Is it to avoid the sun’s heat?”

“Daytime is inhospitable in the Gilded Desert, and much of Dunmora South, for that matter,” Quell says. “Most people and cities here operate on a nocturnal schedule. No one’s very productive in the heat of the day.”

“Really?” Wow, that’s pretty neat. And it makes sense for dhampyrs, given how they’d be at no disadvantage given their—our—night vision. “You don’t have trouble seeing?” I ask him. 

Quell smiles a little as he taps his glasses. “These aren’t just for show.”

“Yeah.” I look at him flatly. “I figured they were for, you know, seeing.” 

“Well, that too,” he admits. The broken lens is now repaired. I wonder if that’s due to magic or spares. “Mine are artificed to help me see in the dark. Other humans typically use artificed charms, equipment, or temporary spells to similarly help them maneuver at night.” Ah, so that’s what all the goggles are for. I’d just assumed they were to keep sand out. “But even without, it’s not so bad,” Quell continues. “Especially with both moons up, like tonight.”

I glance to the sky, the sight of two moons hanging in the air still so strange to me. 

“Darian,” I venture after a while. She gives me an unimpressed look. “Er, Captain. I wanted to ask you a favor, if you wouldn’t mind.” 

“You want to learn how to be a better fighter?” she guesses. “I saw you during the attack. You’ve got a powerful weapon and the muscles to use it, but your lack of technique is apparent. Which is also a big reason why I believe you’re not a Moonfall spy. Even a trained plant couldn’t fake that lack of skill.”

“Er, thanks?” I say. “And I do want to take you up on that offer. But actually, I was going to ask about, um, some dhampyr things.” Like, what the hell am I dealing with here.

“Oh,” she says, looking at me in surprise. “Of course. I can answer any questions you might have.”

“Thanks,” I say, a knot of tension unwinding itself in my shoulders. “I guess the first thing I wanted to ask about was the Bloodlust.” 

She gives a sympathetic grunt. “That’s certainly one place to start. But it is important to address.”

Before she can continue, however, an arachnoid guard hurries over to us. “Captain Darian.”

“Report.” 

“We think we found Princess Felicity’s trail.” 

Darian’s face turns to steel, determined and focused, and I can tell now I won’t be getting an explanation of the Bloodlust anytime soon. 

“Show me,” she says.