The Elder's Curse by Andrew Walbrown (ereader for textbooks TXT) 📕

The man looked at the paperwork for a brief second and then shrugged, washing away any doubt he had previously harbored. His initial reaction was quickly replaced with concern, especially after his eyes lingered on Nilawen and her marigold coronet. “I can’t keep you from going, but are you certain you want to travel into the Ashlands? Have you really thought this through? Do you think you’re tough enough to survive out there?”

“Yes, we are certain,” Nilawen replied coolly. “And what makes you think we are not strong enough to survive? You do not know us.”

Ulam felt sorry for the soldier, who was only expressing concern for their well-being. He knew Nilawen hated having her fortitude and constitution questioned, especially if she thought the doubter was making assumptions based on her race or gender. Elves were not typically renowned for their hardiness in harsh climates, but he was certain Nilawen would not collapse the second she stepped into the desert. He understood her frustrations wholeheartedly because everywhere he traveled he fought to dispel the stereotype that all Orcs were hell-bent on raping, pillaging, and eating babies. But in certain situations, Nilawen had to champion her sex as well, which was a second front Ulam was thankful he never had to defend.

The sentry stared at her for a second, opened his mouth, thought better of what he was going to say, and closed it again. He did this one more time before turning away and walking back to his post without replying. Smart man. Just keep walking and do not even think about…

“It’s just that you’re an Elf,” he said suddenly as he whipped his body around to face them again, “and it is universally known your race can’t handle harsher environments, which is why your people live in wooded paradises with waterfalls and crystal lakes. Plus you are so beautiful, and you could find a husband so easily and live a long, happy life somewhere with lots of children playing in the yard. Come on, doesn’t that sound better than dying of thirst or being eaten alive by bugs in the Ashlands?”

Ulam did not have to look, he could feel Nilawen burning with a fury hotter than any desert. In his periphery he saw Amantius cautiously stepping aside, guaranteeing he would not be in her way when the volcano of anger in her heart finally erupted.

“Do yourself a favor,” Ulam said to the confused soldier, who could not understand why Nilawen was boiling with rage, “and run.”

Chapter 8

Amantius

Crunch. Crunch. Crunch.

For days they trekked across the Ashlands of the Alakuum, alone in a barren landscape dominated by swirls of gray and beige. The sky above was empty of clouds, only a giant ball of fire hanging there, torching the ground during the day. With even the smallest breeze, flakes of ash rose from the ground, stinging the eyes or wedging itself into the mouths of the travelers. Amantius did not dare eject the bitter grains from his mouth out of fear of losing precious moisture, accepting the perpetual crunching as a necessary evil. By the Gods, I hate the taste of sand.

There were no roads in the Alakuum, nor any sort of structure, except for a series of obelisks seemingly spaced at even intervals. The obelisks were centuries old and worn around the edges by the whipping desert winds. Engraved shapes decorated their surfaces, though no one could determine of what, the erosion being too severe. On a few Nilawen believed she could make out the shape of a cat’s head, on others that of a mouse. Regardless, the obelisks were a godsend, as they had directly led to an oasis a few nights prior. After that night the group began using them as checkpoints, praying to the Gods that these ancient markers were erected in lieu of roads and would guide them during their perilous journey.

“The wind is picking up again,” Nilawen muttered through the cloth draped over her mouth. “Might be worse than the last one.”

Amantius groaned. The ashes on the horizon were growing, like an incoming wave speeding toward the coastline. He had seen the buildup far before anyone else, but he did not want to mention it to the others, hoping the ashes would settle before they formed a tempest. From a distance, the approaching wall of beige seemed to move at a snail’s pace, but he knew it was just an illusion and the storm would be upon them in a blink of an eye. The speed of their first ash storm had taken them by surprise and was the reason Amantius had so much ash hiding in the concaves of his teeth. He was determined not to let that happen again.

“Hurry, we can make the next obelisk before it hits,” Ulam yelled as the wind grew louder, the first flakes coiling around his ankles.

Together they pushed on, reaching the obelisk with enough time to fasten three ropes to the stone pillar’s base, the other ends tied to themselves. Nilawen pulled a thick blanket from her backpack and draped it over herself, Ulam doing the same. Amantius waited, wanting to check everyone’s ropes one last time before taking shelter under his blanket. If by chance one of them became separated from the group, the possibility of locating the straggler before the ashes settled would be next to nil. They would not be able to wait for the storm to pass, either, because even the smallest of ash storms could last for hours, and the impending squall appeared to be the largest yet. No harm in being extra cautious.

Though they were under three separate blankets, they were all huddled together, with Nilawen wedged in between Amantius and Ulam. Underneath his blanket Amantius drank some water from a canteen as he waited, not knowing when the storm would be over, but aware if he opened the container as flakes of ash swirled they would inevitably find their