Realm Law: Book Two of The Five Realms Trilogy

They continued on without a plan to the Glasswater River, which flowed south to north between the barren, blue-tinged Down on the west and the deep green of a hardwood forest at the base of the mountains in the east. Roland wondered how the trees could have leafed out so soon after the spring thaw. But then, as always, he had to remind himself that the normal rules of nature did not always apply to the Fourth Realm.

Just as they reached the river, Digtry pulled out of his funk and squinted at the ragged line of Droom in the distance. He nodded slowly, as if he had just experienced an epiphany. “I believe we could all use a bath,” he said. “Come. If you can find it in your hearts to trust me again,” he added, with a pointed glance at Sloat. With that, he began removing his clothes and wadding them up.

“We’re going in the water?” asked Roland, already chilled by the wind. Do you have any idea how cold rivers are at this time of year? It’s all snow melt.

But as soon as he dipped a tentative toe in the river, he realized why its banks were so ripe with foliage. It was like stepping into bath water. The Glasswater also proved to be well-named, for he could see his own toes as they gleamed white beneath the water--right down to the blisters and inflamed cuticles and tufts of hair on the toes.

The current pulled strongly. Although shallow, no deeper than his waist, it whisked him off his feet and pulled him downstream. Fortunately, that was the direction Digtry wanted to go. They let the current carry them for a mile or so. Digtry, the only one still carrying a pack, held it above him, clear of the water. With a great effort, he led them out by way of a gravel beach on the east bank. After slogging up the bank, they continued on, hiking parallel to the river for most of the day until Digtry finally called a halt.

“That should buy us an evening,” he said, scanning the forest. “Make camp here. We shall take turns standing watch. Three at a time can rest and regain strength. One guard to the south of camp and one to the north. The sleepers can share these,” he said, pulling two blankets from his pack.

“The Droom are behind us--to the south,” noted Belfray. “Why post a guard to the north?”

“Droom are clever,” was all Digtry would say.

Berch and Roland offered to take the first watch. Roland volunteered for the northern watch, mostly out of hope that he was less likely to encounter anything on that end.

As he started to his post he approached the branches of a cottonwood creaking in the wind. “I hope to God I don’t end up hanging from that,” he muttered.

“They will not hang us,” called Belfray, who had overheard him. “Hanging is only for public executions in Kal Shadir.”

Roland stopped. “So what will they do? Cut off our heads?”

“No, they reserve that for their children,” said Digtry.

“Funny.”

“If you find that amusing, you have a sick sense of humor.”

Roland stared at him. “I can never tell when you’re putting me on. Are you serious? They cut off the heads of their children?”

Digtry nodded. “Only those who misbehave.”

“They cut off their heads?”

“The Droom value law and order.”

“They cut off their heads?”

“Are you going to ask me that all day? For the last time, yes, they do,” said Digtry, wearily. “When you reach the age of six in Droom, you are expected to behave. They do not tolerate discipline problems.”

Roland still could not fathom this. “For any offense? I mean, you don’t clean your room and they whack you?”

“If a child is told to clean her room, she’d better do it,” said Digtry.

“They cut off their heads?!'

“You know, you remind me of a pet parrot I saw in Orduna.”

Roland gaped at him. “I’m glad I didn’t know this when we visited Kal Shadir.”

“Ignorance has its uses.”

“You never told me anything about... geez, how did we ever get out of there alive?”

Digtry sighed heavily. “I have no idea.”

There were a few moments of grim silence before Berch picked up the thread that Roland had intentionally dropped. “If hanging is for public executions, and beheading is for children, what would they do to us out here?”

Digtry shook his head slowly. “Don’t ask.”

Roland began to wonder if the world he had left behind had been filled with such vicious and bloodthirsty people. He hoped not, but he could not remember. At least the vivid images that raced around his head, of himself being roasted on a spit and of first graderr taken to the chopping block for sass, had one positive effect. There was no chance that Roland would fall asleep on his watch.

He sat at the base of the cottonwood, leaning back against a massive exposed root. Groping for pleasant thoughts to crowd out the Droom chamber of horrors that had commandeered his imagination, he remembered that first bath in Tishaara. Never mind the crude, wooden tub or the lukewarm water or the hard, harsh soap; he had felt more pampered than a king as he soaked off weeks of sweat and dirt. He could use some of that TLC now.

The sweet scent of wildflowers wafted over him. The aroma made him wonder when he had last smelled perfume of any kind. For an instant he caught a flashing glimpse of his mother, on her anniversary perhaps, going to a concert with his father. A sweet fragrance, a flash of purple. Lilac.

But the memory quickly dissolved, like a photograph seen through ever more turbulent waters. It left in its place a much sharper image of Delaney framed by the waterfall outside Cloudmire. He saw the slight upward curl of her lip over her white teeth. He inhaled her flowery scent as she bounced on the bed in anticipation of Vyarlis Eve. Over and over, he heard the soft whisper of her voice above the crackle of the shepherds’ fire on that glorious night. But these pleasant thoughts dissolved into the memory of her hissing at him on the bleachers of the Chamber and of their awkward and empty parting on the shore.

To bolster his spirits, he replayed his role in eluding the Raxxar horde at the Gaterock. That performance had proven that he was not just a nobody. He, Roland Stewart, had shown them a thing or two that day!

While comforting himself with these memories, he absently dug out a flat stone from the sod and attempted to skip it across the water. But it splashed heavily, breaking up the flawless reflection of the stars.

In an instant, Sloat appeared at his shoulder, taut as a bowstring. “What was that?” he whispered.

“Who is on watch?” demanded Belfray, in a barely audible voice.

Instantly, Roland realized he had done a stupid thing. Even he knew better than to broadcast their position to the pursuing Droom by splashing a stone. If there was one thing he feared even worse than a threat of torture, it was the humiliation of being caught doing a stupid thing. He groped for a reasonable excuse to explain his action but could find none. His courage instantly melted and he lashed out defensively.

“Wasn’t anybody sleeping?” he demanded. “I agreed to take the watch so you guys could be resting and gaining strength.”

“You did,” said Digtry. “So what do you know?”

“I really didn’t see anything,” he lied. “It’s so dark. I think maybe it was a fish that jumped or something.”

“By your pardon, that was no fish,” said Sloat. He pulled Roland away from the bank and behind the cover of an elder bush. Offended that his report had been dismissed offhand, Roland demanded to know how a sleeping person could suppose to know for a fact that a plop in the water was not a fish.

Sloat ignored him. He was in survival mode, his senses alert to any movement or sound. “Came from downstream,” he muttered. “From the north.”

“Well, yeah! That much I could tell!” Roland agreed eagerly.

“They are crossing downstream?” said Belfray. “Why, they have cut us off!

“Then we must flee upstream,” said Sloat. “Hurry!”

Before Roland knew what was happening, the five of them were blindly stumbling, single-file, through a sparse woods under a moonless sky, heading upriver. Roland could barely make out an occasional flash of a buckle on Digtry’s backpack in the starlight as he chased dumbly after him. He felt like a bratty kindergartner among lords and even that status was shrinking by the moment.

They followed Digtry, who had a level of night vision the others lacked, as he picked his way over hills, ruts, rocks, and logs, and through thickets and willow stands. The obstacles and uneven terrain slowed them to something between a fast walk and a run, but even that was putting Berch through a terrible and unnecessary strain. He had already pushed himself to the limit of his strength earlier in the day. Every stumble and scratch from a branch produced a muttered, winded oath from the old farmer and stung Roland with shame at what he had done in his attempt to hide from blame. Chances were at least even that they were fleeing headlong into the Droom camp, to be captured and flayed and then burned alive, and who knew what else?

There was a simple way to avoid this. With nothing more than a statement from his own lips, a confession of his absent-minded lapse in skipping the stone, Roland could save the whole lot of them. All he had to do was admit that his brain had gone out for a smoke and left no one minding the store. Now that he had time to think through the consequences, it was so obvious that was what he should have done, and in fact would have done that had he been able to rewind the scene and do it over.

But the moment for courage had passed. Knocked off his feet by the unexpected moral crisis and swept away by the momentum of his lies, Roland could not dig in his heels now. Frantically, he cast about for some way out of his dilemma short of exposing his stupidity. Why do the Tishaarans have to be so gullible?

Digtry, however, was anything but gullible. He allowed Roland to catch up, grabbed his arm and pulled him close.

“Are we going the right way?” he whispered.

The truth fought valiantly to escape the mugging that Roland’s fragile pride was inflicting on it. It reached the edge of his lips, so near to freedom. “I, uh, well,” he began.

But at the last second, he swallowed them. He made no answer.

Digtry interpreted the silence correctly. “There is a way out that will save your pride,” he said, softly, without a trace of either anger or fear. “I can say that I see Droom ahead and suggest the splash was a diversion. You need not say anything about throwing the rock.”

Roland bristled. Part of him nearly burst with the desire to break down and confess, to stop this mad flight and recover both his courage and his self-respect. He was thankful that someone had broken through his deceit and exposed the lie that he was powerless to admit. But then he remembered Digtry’s performance at Kal Shadir. Digtry liked to make statements as if he knew the facts when in reality he was just guessing. How could he know anything about the rock? He had been sleeping.

“Just because you botched things in Kal Shadir, you don’t have to go accusing me,” Roland said.

He found himself reduced to begging God to suspend reality. Make the Droom disappear, or let Digtry pull a miracle out of a hat. Or turn back time, or let us somehow slip past the Droom and go off and find the wolves without anyone ever knowing what I did. Or better yet, yank me back to my own world!

But God showed no inclination to rearrange the universe at this moment to to compensate for Roland’s shortcomings. On they scurried, stumbling while they shielded themselves from unseen branches.

Straight into the waiting arms of the enemy.

The pitiless demon eyes.

Fire.

Suddenly Digtry stopped and held out his hands to stop those who followed. Instinctively, Roland backpedaled toward the underbrush, away from the group, afraid of what his former companion was going to reveal.

“Droom behind that row of trees,” he whispered. “Turn back. Now!”

Rather than turn on his heel, Belfray demanded further explanation. “What? Droom on that side--”

Digtry clapped a hand over his mouth. “Shhh. Ask Roland.“

Belfray wriggled free from Digtry’s grip. “Roland? What would he know?”

The insulting inference caused Roland to retreat further into the lie in which he had become entangled. He said nothing.

“Come on,” urged Digtry.

“I don’t know what he’s talking about,” snapped Roland. He tried to sound irritated but came off defensive.

“Roland, which way shall we go?” demanded Digtry.

Roland stood for what seemed like hours trying to make up his mind, feeling rather than seeing the accusing glares of his mates. The words simply would not come out. Finally, it was too late.

“Here they come.” Digtry spoke the warning so softly that it did not register with Roland until he heard the piercing shriek. A knee slammed into Berch and an elbow caught Belfray flush on the forehead, knocking him off balance. A sword rang out as it slid from its sheath. Roland could see nothing but dim shapes of falling bodies. He heard the scuffling, the shouts. Then a snap and a scream.

They had fallen upon a scouting party of three Droom. Intent on scouring the darkened landscape for tracking clues, never suspecting their quarry was coming toward them in the dark, the knights had not been on their guard when they stumbled into the expedition. Ambushed for the second time that day, the stunned point men feared their quarry harbored some powerful magic of their own. They scrambled wildly back the way they had come, one of them sounding a whistle.

“Cat-and-mouse game over,” said Sloat. “Hounds and foxes now. Lucky we ran into a few fanners and not the main force.”

“Fat lot of good it does us in the end,” sputtered Belfray, tucking away the tishaarat that he had just used to good effect. “Now that the Droom have us . . . Will someone please tell me--”

“Not now! Follow me!” said Digtry.

They steeplechased back toward the north, retracing their stepsback toward their camp, Digtry in the lead. They followed close by the bank of the river, leaping on blind faith over the fallen trees, rotting logs, piles of rock, and uneven ground littered with deadwood. The darkness gave the illusion of speed despite their lurching and stumbling.

A nearly full moon peeked over the horizon, silently floating toward the tops of the spidery, leafless trees on the east bank. In its faint light, Roland saw anger in Sloat’s eyes.

At last the Tishaaran stepped aside for others to pass. “What is the good of running?” he growled. “Droom to the north. Droom to the south. I expect there are Droom to the east and west as well. We are trapped.”

“That’s right,” huffed Berch, from the rear. “You boys go on and run if you like. I won’t be run into the ground like a scared rabbit. I’m making my stand right here, with a club in my hand if I can find one. Unless one of you clowns has a real weapon to lend me.”

“I am with you,” declared Sloat. “If it is my time to leave this earth, I shall not do so with my tail turned to my enemies. You are a man of courage, Berch, and though I shall take no lives, I shall be honored to stand back to back with you in our final hour.”

“If you aren’t going to take any lives, why bother?” muttered Berch.

The display of valor flooded Roland with shame. If he had located, somewhere in his veins, one-thousandth the courage that Sloat and Berch now showed, they would not be in this predicament.

Digtry turned to Roland and cleared his throat. Roland dreaded what was coming. “We all make mistakes,” said Digtry, so softly that only Roland could hear. “But we learn from them. My mistake in Kal Shadir was far worse than yours. Berch’s mistake with the wolf was worse, in that it was irredeemable. Your mistake was tiny, but it is swelling by the moment, consuming you. There is only one way to stop it from destroying you, and us with it.”

Roland’s will, however, had melted away with his courage. He stood staring at the ground, paralyzed with disgrace.

Digtry could wait no longer. “We are not surrounded,” he told the others. “There are no Droom downstream.”

“What!” cried Belfray, in total disregard of the approaching enemy. “Digtry, beg pardon, but have you gone totally mad?!”

Sloat said nothing.

“My folly in Kal Shadir has destroyed my credibility,” said Digtry, turning to Roland. “It’s on you, now.”

Roland stewed in anger and embarrassment. His jugular vein pounded so hard he feared, or rather hoped, he would pass out. Through his dizziness, he saw the Tishaarans’ earnest faces reflected in the rising moon. Berch’s rasping breath cut across Roland’s nerves like a saw. These were brave men, far too brave to be sacrificed needlessly by his stupidity and adolescent pride. What is the matter with me?!

Finally, he took the icy plunge. Shaking his head, he croaked, “I threw a rock. That was the splash.”

Belfray spluttered in outrage, but Digtry cut him off. “In the water. Now.”

“I’m staying here,” insisted Berch.

“He’s right,” said Sloat. “They will find our trail leading to the river. They will send patrols along the banks and capture us more easily than ever. No thank you, I will stand here with Berch.”

Digtry sighed in frustration. ”Clearly there are some very large and manly stones on display here. May I remind you, however, our mission is not to make a tragic and heroic stand; it’s to contact the wolves.”

Shame brought hot tears to Roland’s face. “I’m sorry about this whole thing. I’ll stay here with Berch; the rest of you go on.”

“No one is staying,” said Digtry. “Get in the water. We shall not be in their water long. Nor shall we leave together.”

“Another of your divide-and conquer schemes?” said Berch.

“I’m getting predictable in my old age. Two of us provide a decoy and make it look as though we are all headed away from the river. The rest slip away down the Glasswater and seek the wolves.”

“Even if it should work, that still puts two of us at risk,” said Berch.

“So it does.”

“Get in the water, then,” said Belfray. “Digtry and I will lay the false trail. We shall draw the Droom miles away from you before you know it.”

The ensuing debate over which of them would be the decoy wasted valuable seconds. “We have no time to argue,” broke in Sloat. “The Droom are not Raxxars. They track through magic. Please, Digtry, do not debate the matter. None but an experienced woodsman using every bit of his craft could hope to confound them, and then only for a short time. I must be a decoy. Belfray must go on or else we will have no Tishaaran to greet the wolves, as was our mandate. And I do not mean any offense by suggesting that young Roland seems better suited to the rigor of a hard pace than Digtry.”

“None taken,” said Digtry. “Take care, Sloat. Roland.”

Belfray tried to protest but found no support for his position. Spooked by the silent Droom footsteps drawing ever nearer, he quickly conceded defeat. All five waded into the water and floated downstream in the warm, swift current. Soon after they passed a severe bend in the river, Sloat tugged on Roland’s sleeve and the two of them swam for the bank.