THE THRONE OF AFRICLAUX

The next morning, Mason prepared for his departure. Amie was already waiting outside for him with the rest of the supplies the villagers had prepared for him the previous day. As it seemed, only half of his supplies must have been given to the hissers the previous day.

Mason stared at the loads and sighed. As advantageous as it may seem, the supplies would weigh heavily on the mounts and delay his journey—if he at least knew where he was heading.

However, as best as he could tell, there was nothing to gain in this small village. He needed to venture into bigger places—towns and cities—to get information.

"We will be better off with no complaint," Amie whispered to him, as though reading his mind. "Even though we would look like merchants with our loads, we can't afford to be short on supplies either. Just accept their appreciation and be gone with it."

"We'd make a perfect target for looters!" Mason whispered fiercely.

"Did I not say I would protect us?" Amie said, her eyes intensely boring into Mason.

"Were you serious?"

"Of course!" Amie replied. "Trust me, okay?"

Mason shrugged. He looked around but couldn't find Mia. He wondered where she had gone at this particular time of all time. Perhaps she was too heartbroken to watch her sister leave, knowing she may never see her again. However, shouldn't she at least say her heartfelt goodbye?

The villagers gathered around Mason and Amie, their faces filled with displeasure as the Watchers expertly hitched the supply-laden cart to the two majestic black horses. The horses, adorned with worn leather harnesses and gleaming brass fittings, stood patiently, their ears pricked and eyes alert.

"I can't find your sister," Mason said to Amie, glancing around. "Shouldn't she be here right now to see you off?"

"We already did our goodbyes yesterday," Amie replied. "She is probably somewhere quiet bawling out her eyes."

"Unlike you, who looks okay for someone who's leaving her sister," Mason said, looking over at her.

"Am I supposed to be crying right now?" Amie frowned. "I am as sad as my sister, but what can I do? I must follow you, yes?"

"Well, it doesn't appear so, considering you will be leaving this cramped village to pursue your adventurer dream," Mason said.

"That is different! You—" Amie narrowed her eyebrows. "You derive pleasure in taunting me, do you not?" She stared intensely at him for a long while until Mason realized she was no longer joking. Not in the first place.

"Apologies, my Lady," he whispered, lowering his gaze.

Amie rolled her eyes. "I shall let this slide because you are handsome."

"Really?" Mason raised his brows, staring right into her eyes. Amie blushed. "Everything is done, it's time to go," she said, motioning for their ride.

With everything set, Mason and Amie set out. As the horses trotted off, Mason noticed Amie glancing back every now and then. He suspected she was scanning the waving villagers for her sister.

Finally, the village and its people disappeared into the distance. Amie turned to face forward and sighed in what must have been sadness.

"She will be alright, won't she?" Mason asked, not taking his eyes off the road.

"I hope so," Amie replied. "She never gets along with others; I am the only one she relies on." She burst into tears, taking a short breath. Mason didn't know what to do or how to console her, so he simply kept quiet.

The road was small and overrun, looking as though it had been abandoned for months. This gave the horses a hard time but they managed to pull through. After an hour of a bumpy ride, they had finally emerged onto a wide pristine road.

Amie had stopped crying and was now quiet. Mason attempted to lighten the mood as he floundered for words. "How far is the king's palace from here?" he asked.

Amie didn't appear to have heard him at first, and just as Mason was about to repeat the question she turned to him and said, "If you are talking about the Castle, I do not know for certain, maybe four days at least. Why do you ask?"

"I wondered why the hissers came from such a distance to demand tithes from your people," Mason replied.

"What? They didn't come from that far," Amie clarified. "They are the king's army, yes, but they are deployed to different Cities once a month."

"To?"

"To collect tithes of course. They roam the towns and villages in each city's territory and make sure they acquire what they want—as you have witnessed yesterday." Amie gulped, then continued. "After gathering everything in the city they are assigned to, they load them in their wagons and transport them to the Castle. The same happens to other cities, towns, and villages."

"That is… absurd!" Mason said. "Considering your lack of protection."

"There are places the king's army does not go, though, I heard," Amie said. "It is called The Wedge; one of the most dangerous territories in the kingdom."

"The Wedge?"

"Yes. True to its name, it serves as a boundary between the rest of Africlaux and the Deadlands."

"Deadlands?"

"So it is called. A land once thought to be cursed by Lyvier, favoured by Mezara. No humans go there. Only Mezara's chaotic beasts and the like."

Mason thought he heard a sinister laughter in his head. Distant. He felt more than cold in his belly. A present both faint and otherwise ominously familiar.

"You know…" Amie continued, drawing upon Mason's attention yet again. "The Goddess of Chaos is a stark nemesis of Lyvier. Tale whispered they are both lovers when the beginning of time had not reached its peak."

"So… they break up, or what?" Mason scoffed. A laugh again. No, a snicker. Short but still distant. Mason wasn't sure if the voice was really coming from his head or from somewhere in the thick shrubland lining the road.

Or perhaps, were they followed? Bandits in broad daylight on a wide road? Mason doubted any prospect of that. Although they've been traveling for more than half an hour on this road they have found yet no trace of life. Not good.

"Not many people know the story, I heard," Amie said. "Most are merely rumors to sate curiosity. I wager what side of the story the townsfolk know. Gods, I can't wait."

Mason peered at her and sighed. He'd been almost totally detached from their conversation. Maintaining his composure was a struggle that nearly caused him to let go of the reins. Amie didn't seem to notice, which was a good thing. There was nothing more embarrassing than displaying such fear in front of a lady whom more than half of him knew he must protect.

Amie spun and reached for her weapons in the four-wheeled cart. She produced a sheathed sword and hastily fastened the scabbard's belt around Mason's waist. He had changed from his native world's outfit into wide green pants and an unbelted tunic given to him by Amie's father.

At this time they were nearing a sharp bend about 70 meters ahead. The stillness was almost palpable, broken only by the gentle whisper of the breeze as it rustled through the leaves. Despite the sun's high position in the sky, a chill lingered in the air, sending a shiver down the spine. 

The atmosphere was heavy with the earthy scent of damp soil and the sweet, heady aroma of leaves. The morning dew, which had once clung to the brushes like tiny diamonds, had long since evaporated, leaving the foliage dry and crackling softly in the breeze.

Mason looked over at Amie, who had just returned to her sitting position, with a questioning look. However, sensing the question Amie preempted him with a nod at the sword.

"You would need that. But I hope you do not have to use it," she said, then turned to face forward, now focused. "You must stay close to me no matter what. I shall keep my promise to protect you. Just trust me."

"I understand, but…" Mason furrowed. "Why are you whispering? Is something…?"

"Stay calm!" She shushed him. "'Tis a lesson my father often imparted unto me and my sister: to feign unawareness whilst wisdom's eyes remain watchful."

After eight winters of rigorous tutelage beneath her father's guiding hand, she had come to know the virtue of eternal vigilance. In Africlaux, fortune favoured not the lax, for chance occurrences oft proved mere precursors to calamity; thus, one must ever stand prepared for the unexpected, lest surprise bring woe.

Amie had faced a multitude of adversaries not to know when she was being subjugated to scrutiny. She had acquired a keen sense of perception and the feeling of being naked was unmistakable. She grasped her bow and placed an arrow upon the string, pointing her gaze and her quiver's deadly messenger towards the suspected area.

THRUMP!

The arrow must have marked its target, because a loud, pained scream echoed from the bushes, followed by shouts and curses. Seven men emerged from hiding, weapons in hand.

Bandits! Mason realized. His instincts had told him earlier something like this would happen, but he doubted it. Before he could act Amie had let loose another arrow, stabbing into the shoulder of a fat man holding a double-headed axe.

Fear sent Mason's pulse racing. He channelled everything into his hands and pulled hard on the reins. The steeds neighed as their hoofbeats came to a halt.

With the remaining six bandits nearing and the wounded one tending to his injury, Amie nocked another arrow. The shot was true, piercing a slim man in the groin. A bullseye—or bullsgroin. The man dropped his sword and let out a bloodcurdling scream.

Curses filled the air as the rest of the bandits picked up the pace. However, Amie seemed unencumbered. She managed to take two more down before losing the advantage of range. With the remaining three muscular men less than two meters away, Amie switched to Melee, earning a gasp from Mason. She unsheathed her sword and descended upon the enemies.