“Where are we?” The Earth Wizard asked.
“The focus.” Obrett replied, inclining his head to the centre of the room. They all turned. Across the room lay a dais, atop which was set a roughly hacked boulder.
“That is it?” Ispen scoffed. “Any one of us could do better.”
“Do you wish to try? Trust me, the Witch Finder seriously neutered his focussing ability creating this focus. In doing so he unlocked what we had feared, only much more so.”
“It is not what you have, it is what you do with it.” Cautioned Brendan. “That may look like the work of an amateur, but every chiselled mark has a purpose. Before he created this, I would say that Garias Gibden was perhaps the greatest practitioner of focussing there has ever been. Only a true master could create a self-sustaining focus the likes of this.”
“We can't do anything about this now, but at least we know where it is.” Obrett pointed to his right. “We need to get out of here. I think I knocked him cold with a focus, but he will send his creature after us as soon as he regains consciousness. He has already sent his army against the people.”
“We underestimated the man.” Jacob sounded cold. “What have we done? Sending innocents to their death so that we can escape.”
“It depends how pragmatic you are in looking at it, my friend. They were dead already, they just didn't know it.”
“No man lets another suffer and calls himself good.” Jacob strode on ahead, disgust ebbing in his wake.
They walked in single file down the passageway, stopping to listen whenever they encountered a turn or steps, which was most of the time. The passageway seemed fairly well used, as was evident by the torches that were burning in the occasional niche. The air belied this fact. It was dank and musty, and had an old feeling to it, as if it had not been breathed in a long, long time. They reached out constantly to steady themselves, for the steps were as slippery as an eel. Moisture clung to everything and pretty soon clung to them, but they did not notice. The clamour of the people outside the city, mobbing in a state of unjustified anger held their attention utterly. The noise seemed so much closer, and as they descended the stairs built within the walls, they four wizards felt as if they were only a hands width away from perilous danger. The riot seeped in between the stones, seeking to paralyse them with its dark potency. Obrett regretted the need for such action now, especially when he heard the screams of women and children as a shrieking counterpoint to the muscle bound anger of their men. Jacob was right. He knew his intent bordered upon the side that he dared not tread, but it was unavoidable. The passageway levelled out, and it appeared that they were at ground level, walking amongst the very roots of Raessa, where the walls thickened and buttressed the great defences of the mountain city. The echoes of the riot subsided as they continued down into the underbelly of the fortress.
“Is the focus losing its effect?” Jacob asked.
Obrett clutched the fragment of stone that he had rescued from his cell, and concentrated. It did not take much, for they had never been closer than they were right now. “The command is still there.” His voice was filled with strain as he tried to pull himself away from the clutches of the focus. “It has not been cleansed as of yet.”
“Well that is something.” Ispen answered.
“I think that the Witch Finder is the only man with knowledge and skill enough to undo our work.” Obrett snagged his robe and had to stop to disentangle himself. As he did so, dust fell down from the roof of the tunnel as the riot flared above.
“He might be thinking the same thing about us.” Jacob had stopped, turning back to them. “Had you ever considered that?”
“Don't worry, I am sure we will be beyond it all when we end this passage.” Obrett tried to cheer them. “It leads to a stable near the outer reaches of the city.”
“Won't they have taken all of the horses?” Jacob sounded worried, but strangely hopeful at the same time.
“If they have, they have,” Obrett decided out loud. “We will take whatever hand fate deals out. Of course, horses would be a great advantage. The people are rioting against the city, not out from it, so we may be lucky.”
They continued down the passage, out under the shanty-like stretches of the city, where those that could not gain entrance were ever hopeful of doing so, even if it was not of their own volition. The noise steadily grew as the fighting and mobbing sent shockwaves and echoes down through the very ground. In fact it got so bad that the roof of the tunnel, though braced, even started to shake loose. “I think it's time to reject stealth,” Obrett said as he held his hand over his head. “Run for your lives.”
They needed no urging, and ran as best they could through the tunnels. Eventually the tunnel stopped at a set of stairs, and Obrett bade them wait while he checked out the exit with the power of his focus. It only took brief moments, but a smile rapidly spread across his face. “There are horses, and no men. It looks like they have all run towards the city walls, and we are well past them.”
Jacob took this as gospel, and surged past them almost throwing himself up the steps. At the top, he shoved hard against the door, and it took the aid of Ispen to help him move it. They spilled out into an empty stable. The door had been hidden behind bales of hay, and it took a moment for them to barge their way past.
“So what was that all about?” Brendan asked of Jacob when they had cleared the exit.
“I hate tunnels,” was all the Life Wizard would say.
“I don't understand why.”
“That my friend is probably because you are of the Earth guild.” Obrett noted with a touch of insight. “Tunnels and underground spaces are second nature to you, but not everybody might share your affiliation.”
Jacob nodded at the understanding he had been granted. “I have never liked close spaces, and if there were any other way out, I would have taken it.”
“Well don't concern yourself any more about tunnels Jacob,” Obrett replied, looking about him. “Worry more about saddle sore. Come on.” He led them out into the main stable, a rickety affair, typical of the shabby spread that surrounded the city to the South and East. The horses within the stalls were anything but typical. They were majestic looking beasts, standing taller than any of the wizards, their ears pricked up at the sign of company. “Pay dirt!”
Jacob approached one of the grand beasts, and it snorted once, and lowered its head in greeting. “There is intelligence in these eyes.” He said in awe of the horse. “They are truly stupendous.”
“And right up to the task,” Obrett continued. “They must be guard's steeds, stabled out here for a patrol or some such need I shouldn't doubt. Well they will be getting a patrol all right.” He turned to the rest of them. Jacob was stroking the head of one of the patrol horses, while Brendan looked on at the great steeds, and Ispen gazed out through the stable gates for any signs of disturbance. There was none, for everybody had run up to the city walls.
“Have any of you ridden before?” Jacob asked of the others.
“I have,” Obrett replied, but the other two shook their heads.
“Never had any cause.” Brendan said, looking with trepidation at the great steed in front of him. “There have always been good sturdy carts to carry me.”
“Well worry not, I think you will have a time to get used to them. At least as long as the city is distracted. Grab those saddles over there.”
With a bit of difficulty, they saddled the horses, which endured their ministrations with the great patience of steeds that were used to being fussed over. Taking a look around, Obrett located blankets and enough food to last them several days. This stable was a lot better stocked than most of the surrounding shacks would be. It was most likely that the stable was usually filled with guards. Obrett felt better at provisioning himself with that knowledge inside him. Had it been the poor and destitute, he would have rather starved. With a bit of effort, and a lot of trial and error, they managed to mount the horses. The two more experienced riders led
the two that had never ridden, and they slowly edged their way out into the city for the first time. The muddy tracks that posed as streets were dark and silent. The message had worked well judging from the fires and general mayhem that echoed from the not-too-distant walls. Gradual clashes of metal indicated that at least a token force had gathered about the city gates. It would not be long until whatever army the Witch Finder kept within his fortress would be unleashed. Better for them that they died than became a part of his growing evil. Riding out slowly, they made for the track in front of them, down a winding 'road' to the East.
“Gods, would you look at that,” came the awed voice of Ispen.
They halted and turned. In front of them, the darkness of the night sky was blotted out by the mountainous mass of the walls of Raessa. They rose gradually, in subtle tiers, emitting an utter blackness above the city, tapering off to huge towers that split the sky like the clawing fingers of a burned and ruined hand. What made the scene even more grisly was the fact that there were several fires growing with hungry tongues of flame at the base. The light reflected off of the black walls, and smoke coiled about them, oily and thick.
“It is a picture we should never forget. It defines for me the evil growing within, in complete contrast to these huts and shacks.”
Mostly made of wood, with the occasional dull glint of rusty metal, the hovels were thatched. This was evidence of the type of person that had been drawn in. “Look at this. There are metal smiths, carpenters and thatchers. All country folk that would have been self-reliant, now forced to eke out their existence crammed in because of a compulsion.” The city outside appeared as if knelt in supplication to the grand fortress beyond, which was frightening to behold. Even though they were quite far from the base of the walls, perhaps half a league out, they could still feel the warmth that the sooty fires produced. The noise was deafening as well. There were perhaps ten thousand voices clamouring with the false righteousness that they believed to be their own, hammering at the gates to the city proper, and fighting amongst themselves, and with the guards that were engaging them more and more.
“Be thankful that the tunnel did not exit any closer to the city, my friends,” Obrett said with thankful relief. “We would have found ourselves in the midst, fighting to get out on foot if we had.”
“Why don't we ride now?” Brendan suggested. “Before they find us gone and the guard locked up. The other guard is still at large. Who is to say when he might draw enough courage to admit what happened?”
Obrett nodded in agreement. “We have seen enough of the carnage my friends, and I for one do not wish to see what happens when the army spills out. Nor do I wish to go back into the city as a captive. I have been chained for long enough.”
“We have to do something,” Jacob urged them.
“We will, my friend, but we have to get away in order to find a way to combat it. We are not strong enough here.”
“Ride for Nejait,” Ispen suggested. “Our guilds are there, and they will need to know all of this. Guilds should not take sides.” The last Ispen muttered to himself in a state of disbelief. Obrett knew what the man meant. He was still having a hard time coming to terms with the fact that his entire guild had turned coat for the most selfish of motives. As they rode to the East, he knew that there were at least three of the Law guild that would agree with him.
Chapter Nine
“The Camp is a series of small settlements in a shallow depression surrounded by gentle hills to the North and South, and a lake and a crevice-like gorge to the West. There is only open Land to the East, all the way to the mountains.”
The peaks were ever present on the horizon, though from this point of the countryside they were nothing more than a dark impression in the distance, a purple smudge that spoke of a boundary. It was more than just a physical barrier to Zya, it was psychological as well. Never had she expected to find such wanton cruelty and blatant subjugation. It did not exist on the far side of the mountains, and she had never dreamed that she would witness such a situation. The tribesman, one of many who had arrived through the night, was called Toem Redwood. He paused while Zya sought to control the urge to vent her frustration. “Why would anybody be proud of this?”
“Despite the circumstances, there is evidence that the prisoners have pride in everything they do. It is well organised, and not by the captors. I have watched the camp grow, and there is a woman using her considerable experience to organise the entire area.”
Mavra pored over the makeshift map of the area. “So what are we up against?”
“The valley is about three leagues across and two wide, plenty of room for the mercenary bands to be almost independent of each other. From what I have seen, there are several thousand men out there, keeping prisoners camped in various stages of poverty and exposure. The outer camps have been spread concentrically around the valley. There are five of them, and each is guarding a point of access to the village at the centre. One camp is on the route north, blocking the road to distant Bay's Point. Another is near the lake, guarding the crevice that contains the road to Leallyra, the coastal city on a small peninsula to the West. That leaves one camp to the South and two to the East, where a series of obvious but clever fortifications have been built. The central camp consists of an unnamed village surrounded by several communities. These communities are a mix of the growing so-called army, and prisoners that had been gathered from the countryside. The prisoners are kept apart in walled areas for the most part, but others are in houses in the village.
“It's not standard by any means of the imagination. Anybody with a comment on this?” Mavra invited the rest of them into the conversation.
For reasons unknown to Zya, Ju piped up. “O'Bellah is waiting for something.”
“What makes you say that?”
“Look at where the camps are. Placed around the valley like that, it's just one big invitation. They might as well have the word 'trap' painted on signs throughout the area. O'Bellah is hoping somebody is going to walk right in there, and then I'll bet that he covers every exit from the valley with mercenaries.”
“So we need to be careful then.” Mavra arranged piles of small stone on the map where the settlements had been indicated. “Is there anything else?”
Toem looked up from the map. “The strangest fact is that the village appears to be O'Bellah's home.”
“How can you be sure?”
“The main village is basically deserted aside from a few of the prisoners. O'Bellah himself lives in the village, but not in the grandest building.”
“There is nothing wrong with that. We are used to humble dwellings.”
“O'Bellah is not us, Mavra.” Zya decided to impart a few home truths. “You never saw what he was capable of.”
“And you did?”
“In Hoebridge we visited the council building. O'Bellah had turned it into his own personal hall, complete with spells at the door. He is a braggart, and a bully, and not one known for humility. If he were here as an occupying general, he would be in the biggest building without a shadow of a doubt. If he is not, then it stands to reason that there is someone more important than him here.”
Mavra appeared perplexed. “I can't believe that the man is willing to turn his own home into a base of operations for what is conservatively called a war, and at worst a slaughter.”
“Well not a slaughter quite yet, Mavra.”
“It is not far away, Zya.”
“Perhaps. He has an obligation to keep them alive. To whom this obligation is owed I have no idea, but it's clear that commands are coming from elsewhere.”
“Why?”
“Because the evil does not flow from here. There is evil in the very ground, seeping through the countryside in the same manner as a tree draws water. There is a wrongness that I can feel and it comes from the East. It surrounds us. If this were the source I would know it.” In a moment of anger, Mavra threw a rock at the map. “Damn them,” she muttered. “How are we goi
ng to get in there and rescue our family?”
“You need an army to conquer an army, mistress, but that is not what we are doing.” Tarim had watched for long enough. Zya smiled at how he could not remain in the background for too long. “The camps are spread wide enough apart that we will be able to get in there pretty much unseen. Unless I miss my guess, somebody has been doing some organising behind O'Bellah's back. He is the type of person that would keep all of his eggs in one basket. A hunch tells me that Venla has been playing Mistress. He does not care for these refugees. They soil his very land with their presence.”
“Not a nice thing to say about our family, Tarim.”
“We aren't talking about your family, Mother, we are talking about O'Bellah's view on the situation. You have to remember what kind of a man he is.”
“The camps do look as though they have been given, should I be so bold to say, a woman's touch,” Toem affirmed, “but it could be anyone.”
“If being in this Caravan was not enough for you Mavra, then just get a feel for the layout of that valley. It has Venla's touch all over it. Perhaps you are too young to have recognised, but this Caravan and that camp are related.”
Her father had taken a bit of a gamble in talking down to a young and somewhat insecure Mistress of the Caravan. Mavra could have taken his comments any way, but her reaction surprised Zya. “Maybe one day I shall be remembered as such, Tarim. I have a lot to learn, and I need to rely on those around me. The question is how do we go about getting in there and escaping with Venla and the rest?”
The Path of Dreams (The Tome of Law Book 2) Page 27