“Where is everybody. I thought this village was kept as near to normality as possible.”
Toem leaned over and peered out the window. “That I can't answer. The normal populace I have never seen here. It is as though they disappeared completely.”
Zya's stomach began to knot. “Something bad happened here. Not the cause of all that is wrong, but an event close to the heart. This village should not be empty.”
“It won't be for long. Come downstairs as they will be home soon. It is up to you whether you reveal yourself, but events may unfold a little easier if they do not.”
They were waiting in the parlour when the door opened.
“Tarim?” Venla said peering into the gloom at Toem. Zya smiled, safe under her disguise.
Zya took a closer look at Toem as Gwyn was also doing; he wore the typical mercenary garb, and a helmet that concealed most of his face. What it did not conceal was the long dark hair that spilled out from under it, the dark eyes and the serious mien. The armour also did little to hide the fact that this was a true warrior. It was obvious in his bearing, just like her father. “No, not Tarim.” He said. Disappointment rang clear in his voice.
Toem removed his helmet, hung it on a chair, and tied his hair back. Only then did he turn and look straight at them. “I am not he of whom you speak.” He said in a voice so similar to her father that it brought tears of remembrance to Venla's eyes. “But I do know of the name you mention.”
“How? How could you know the name?” Venla demanded. “And what are you doing here? Who are you? Who is that?”
Toem put his hands up in a gesture of placation, seeking to stem her sudden rush of questions. “I am called Toem Redwood, and am of the Merdonese Forest people. I am a companion of Mavra D'Voss, the Mistress of the Caravan. She said that if you know her, you would be able to tell me the name of her sister, and what happened.”
Venla looked down to the ground. “All the fateful days that have passed since the chance meeting with two seemingly inept bandits dressed in black, all leading up to the point when the girl had been taken from us. Her name is Erilee. The bandits should have been imprisoned in a village, but were set free by the man who now controls this entire region.”
Toem nodded. “That is well then. Judging by your description you are Venla Chemani, wife to Layric.” He looked over at Gwyn, who was in the motions of setting down all of the fishing gear. “You would be Gwyn. I have tidings for you. Your wife Anita is well on the road to recovery following the blow given to her by O'Bellah, the tyrant of Ciaharr. She sends her hopes.”
“Her hopes? That was an unusual term for her to use.” Gwyn replied.
Toem looked around him. “You have a scenic prison, but it is important that you remember that is exactly what it is. A prison. We are coming for you, tomorrow night, in this very village. I have crossed the boundary to give you these tidings. You need to be ready.”
“Who exactly are you trying to rescue?” Venla asked. I am unsure that such a feat can be accomplished.
“As many as we can,” Toem replied. “Look for us when the moon crosses its zenith. We will ride out of the North.” Toem replaced his helmet and went to the door, looking back at them one more time. “There is always hope. Be ready.”
“What about your mysterious friend?” Venla called as Toem mounted his horse.
“A leper found near here. He can't speak. He escaped from an outer camp. Was safer to bring him back than let him wander alone in the wilderness. Do with him what you will. Spurring his horse into motion, he bounded away to the South, directly away from them. None too soon, it seemed, for as soon as Toem had gone the thunder of hooves rumbled in from the North. Along the same path that Toem had led them now rode four guards. They were dressed as he had been, but these were real mercenaries. They had weapons clashing all over the place, and made absolutely no secret of their passing. They led two spare horses.
“Up you two layabouts, and get behind these horses.” Commanded one particularly surly guard, apparently the leader of the group. There was nothing to discriminate him aside from the fact that he spoke and the others did not.
“What about him?” Venla asked of Zya.
The guard took one brief look in her direction. “What is wrong with him?”
“Leprosy.”
The guard stepped back with haste. “Bring him along, but don't get too close, right?”
Gwyn and Venla did their best to obey, keeping their eyes on the job at hand and refusing to let any thought of the imminent rescue attempt betray them was a difficult task in such peril. They handled Zya with the care they had treated her as a girl. It meant a lot that they would do this for someone they had only just met.
On the way into the village, they trailed the mercenaries. The word 'leprosy' was anathema to the guards, who kept them only just in sight for the short journey. Zya listened as Venla spoke to Gwyn. “Thank the Gods that the guards see us as slaves, for I have no mind for fending off blows and insults again.” Gwyn did not reply. “Gwyn?” “Mavra has actually been made Mistress of the Caravan. The fact that she has been must coincide with the fact that they were still out there. I worry for my wife.”
“I know my husband well, and therefore I know that he would have stuck to the task assigned to him and the others, no matter the cost. This would have meant that the guards must have remained with them too, affording them some element of safety.”
Gwyn permitted himself a quiet chuckle. “If only the traveller's council could see us now.”
“They would either reward or disband us. My people are spread all over the western side of the Nine Duchies. The largest caravan ever assembled!” Venla took the time to correct herself. “It's not my caravan, it is now Mavra's, and only the girl could give up the position. Nobody would take it from her, especially not me.”
Looking across at Gwyn, Zya could see that he too had an air of excitement about him, and it was only when he looked at Venla could she appreciate it. Venla missed her husband, and for this companionship she would be forever grateful, but Zya could now see that Gwyn was as desperate to see his other half as Venla was. Hope was a double-edged sword. It gave one the possibility of joy, but at the same time the disparate chance of failure. If they were going to escape this valley, it would not be easy. Looking ahead, Zya saw the centre of the village. A tower stood above the highest building. It was perfectly square, and made of the kind of rock that only came from the North coast. It had been there when she arrived, but was relatively recently built. It looked so out of place in a rural village, almost as if it had been transported piecemeal from a city wall.
“Have you heard any more about the tower?” Gwyn asked.
“The only rumours of its purpose come from speculation. Nobody I have spoken to has been allowed in, and only O'Bellah seems to have access. Might as well try to gut a stone and use the pieces to halt a horse.”
The village gradually came into view as they passed small patches of woodland. A good place for a camp this valley was, for trees were plentiful. Zya felt her companions were safe. There was good potential for hiding and eluding pursuers, but were they already being used to counter that? Zya kept an eye on Venla as they walked. To the guards, stupid to a man, it would appear that she was a suitably cowed prisoner, but in fact she was checking every patch of woodland for exit tracks.
They caught up with the guards, who had now slowed. “Where are we going?” Venla asked.
“Shut it old maid, unless you would like me to silence you for good.” The leader of the group menaced her with his sword. They passed the stable, and turned into the courtyard of the inn. The hooves of the horses, shod with iron, made a series of staccato clacks on the cobbles as they were brought to a halt. The guards dismounted and pushed Venla and Gwyn towards the building across from the inn, with the tower standing like a giant over the village to their left. They left Zya well alone, but she followed nonetheless.
“What's in here?” Asked Gwyn of Venla.
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“This building is known as the domain of Dondera, the mother of O'Bellah. I know better than to question the guards as to why we are being left here. Keep your eyes open. You too, clothtop. Be careful.”
As soon as the guards had put them in a room with several other people they left them alone, retreating as quickly as was possible. Venla breathed out heavily, and sat down, not sure what to make of this strange turn of events. “What in the name of all seven Gods do they want us in here for? We are just supposed to be captives that hunt for food.”
“You know as much as I.” Gwyn said in consolation.
Venla got up and walked over to a cabinet, and began quietly rifling through the drawers. The other people in the room watched her and she felt as if she had met them somewhere before, so familiar were their faces.
“It won't do you any good looking in there.” A particularly elderly gentleman said with voice that Zya recognised, but could just not place. “We have sought any sharp instruments, blades or otherwise. There are none.”
Venla continued looking. “Were you going to fight your way out?” She found a ball of string, and tucked it away in a pocket.
“No,” the voice replied, “we were going to kill ourselves.”
Venla stopped what she was doing, and looked at the huddled group of figures across the room. “Why would you want to do that? Where there is life, there is hope.”
“Not for us. We are damned forever.” The speaker stood and approached her. There was something so distinctly familiar about him that it maddened Zya that she could not see the answer that stood before her. He had a shock of white hair, and had not shaved in a month. The most noticeable thing about him though was the haunted look in his eyes, as if the man had tasted such utter despair that he lacked the words to utter a description and left his eyes to speak aloud for him. Instantly Zya knew that there was something very wrong with him.
“What happened to you?” Venla made to touch the old man but he drew back. He trembled as if he would break down and cry but had not the will. “We have been touched by the netherworld creature, the black giant that looms over everything in this world. It has touched us, and it knows us. A word from its master commands us and we must obey utterly. There is no resistance. There is no hope. There is only infinite suffering and pain. If I could dash my hand through the glass in the window I would, but his command forbids me. I must stagnate in this body instead of being given blissful release, my only option being to join with the creature should I find a way to disobey.”
The man was utterly devoid of any positive emotion. “You are typical of a lot of the people I have seen around the camps. They are all missing something, just like the men who had been sent to capture them. Basic human emotions were lacking in all. But you are not alone. The creature Jani and Gwyn had witnessed in that bizarre ceremony, the very same creature that had aided in their capture. It is the key to all of this. What did it do when it touched you?”
The old man would not reply, and sat there staring into space. Zya knew that her only option was one she would never take. She would pick out her own veins before that creature touched her.
“I know who you are,” Gwyn said as he looked at them. There were three men in the room altogether. “You are the councillors from the village of Hoebridge, the last place we visited before all of this hubbub started.”
“You are right in some respects.” The old man broke from his reverie to respond. “My name is Alander, and my two companions are Melgar and Pecifer.” He indicated the man with wiry hair and the large man in turn. They looked up, but said nothing, sharing the same haunted view of life as he did. “We were indeed councillors in the village you spoke of, a village that is no more.” Alander turned from Venla, and went back to his companions.
Rifling for a few more prizes, Venla joined them shortly as did Gwyn. “What did you mean when you said that we were not entirely correct?”
Alander looked up, his face a display of utter misery confined in a body that could not let go. “This hubbub as you put it so eloquently had started a long time before you were unfortunate enough to arrive in our village. O'Bellah had been in and out for the past four seasons. He brought mercenaries with him each time he came, and the last time, the time after you left, he brought the creature. They did unspeakable things to the women and children, and murdered the men or worse.”
“What could be worse than death?” Venla asked.
Melgar put his hand on Alandar's arm. “This is worse.” He said. “Enslavement with no will to end it. We are utterly slaves of the creature, and will do its bidding or the bidding of anybody that commands it. We cannot help ourselves. The men were marched into camps like those around this village, and await the command to rise up and decimate the countryside.”
This shocked Venla. “Why would anybody want to do this to peace-loving people?”
“He has been searching for a girl, tall and dark,” replied Melgar. “He suspects that you know where she is, and he wants us to find out from you. The girl that was with you, called Zya S'Vedai. She fits the description.”
This was no surprise to Zya, for she knew she had been sought before this. Nonetheless, she forced herself to remain impassive, overlooked.
”Zya?” Venla laughed. “How would I know that? She left us not long after we left Hoebridge, and the fat oaf knows that well.”
“Nevertheless, he does not believe you and desires the truth as he sees it.” It was obvious that Melgar had been compelled to ask these questions, and to get a positive clue as to her whereabouts. He tried asking her several times in different ways, but the answer was always the same.
It did not take long for O'Bellah to burst in, red with rage, and this time he was followed by the huge woman that was his mother. “You WILL tell me where she is!” He roared.
“No, I will not,” Venla replied calmly. “How many times do I have to say the same thing to you? Zya, if that is who you are truly after left us moons ago. She could be anywhere in the Duchies by now. All this time you have been chasing us, she has not been anywhere near us.” Venla was slowly becoming irate, and mindless of the danger to which she presented herself. “She left us in order to protect us, ironically from you.”
O'Bellah paced around the room, bringing very obvious flinches from the old men every time he passed them but no such deference from the travellers. Gwyn had nothing to worry about for it was only Venla that O'Bellah had ever focussed upon. “You know where she went, what her aims were. You WILL tell me!”
O'Bellah was now nose to nose. Venla had seen her share of angry intimidators during her life, and stood her ground. “You cannot bully me into telling you, especially when I do not know the answer. I have not seen the girl in ages, but the longer you persist in unbelieving, the further from your flabby clutches she manages to get so that is all right with me. In a season's time you may still be asking me the same thing, but by then you will never find her. Never.”
O'Bellah raised his hand to strike her, but a muffled sound came from behind him. He turned to find that it was his mother speaking. “Leave her.” Came the words, as though they had been spoken through a bolster. It was the strangest sound Zya had ever heard. Dondera had grown so large that even her voice seemed to strain, the vocal chords fighting to make a sound.
Those simple words were enough to stop O'Bellah in his tracks. He obeyed his mother without question, so it seemed. “Frilzae!” He yelled instead, and with one more venomous look in Venla's direction, he stormed out, paying no attention to the bandage-wrapped figure in the corner. Dondera looked at Venla as well for a moment, and the look was one of pure, undisguised hostility. If the woman could have moved any faster she would have struck out at her, but as it was Dondera shuffled off as fast as she could move, which was not greatly. Stepping in as the lumbering woman struggled up some stairs was a younger man, one with a permanent sneer on his face. His hair was hacked short, in imitation of the mercenaries that were seen about the village and throug
hout the surrounding countryside, but it was a poor imitation. He had obviously led a privileged life, and it showed. He was no more a mercenary than Venla was a Duke, but he was all the more dangerous for it. Zya remembered Frilzae. He glanced over at Venla, and his sneer turned to a glare. “You. You will both pay for what happened to my friends, mark my words. You and all of your ragged little band.”
Alander chuckled at this, and it heartened Zya to see that the man had some spirit left in him. “Friends? Frilzae, whenever did you have time to make friends with people? If I recall, you were too busy being pampered by lackeys and sucking on any morsels handed down to you by your glorious master to actually make friends. Or do you mean those fools who followed you around trying to get close to power, as you did? They were just along for the ride. They were no friends of yours.”
Frilzae unleashed a backhand that sent Alander reeling. The old man crashed over a bench and lay still. “Get him up.” He said to Melgar, and then looked over at Venla. “You are to go back and remain in your house until called for. Any funny business will result in dire consequences. The master of Raessa will have you dealt with soon enough.”
This was no threat. By the gaze with which he followed them out of the room, this was a promise, and one that he intended to keep personally. They could do no more than told, and made their way back to the house. Passing through the courtyard, Venla looked up to see a spear of light come between two of the buildings. Even in such situations, nature could provide wondrous displays of art. This was such an example. The sunlight lit up the western side of the tower, making it seem that much more a part of things. The cobbles and walls were a deep purple in the shade as opposed to the yellow of the striking beam of light, and Zya grieved for the simple life that had been denied these simple folk. She guaranteed that none of them wanted a war where most of the countryside was wiped out of people. In silence they passed the well behind the inn and crossed the field that now lay fallow to reach the houses.
The Path of Dreams (The Tome of Law Book 2) Page 29