It was a good plan, one he hoped would bring the battle to an end in one day. He sat cross-legged on a blanket near the campfire for light and warmth, leaning forward over a map, focusing on the location where he would establish his fake command post. He pictured himself standing in that spot facing south. To his left was the army he marched with. To his right was the Black Mountain border. Once in place, his elven force would be readily available, waiting in the Black Mountain Forest just across the border, but his orcs and goblins would have to travel much farther from the Alloran Forest. To do this and still try to maintain secrecy, they would travel at night and eliminate any patrols they came across. Both of his hidden forces would attack the rear of the enemy army and close the trap. Unless the Black Mountain elves took pity on the Southland army, there was nowhere for them to go. If the Southland army managed to retreat, they would have to fight a running battle to their rear with a formidable force of orcs, goblins and elves pushing to keep ahead of them.
Leaning back on his hands, another thought crossed his mind. A small hunting party comprising two elves was out there somewhere, hunting assassins. He smiled, thinking of the two hunters who had orders to contact him when they found the assassins. Somehow, he knew it wouldn’t happen. No, they would find the assassins and kill them. There would be no interrogation by the queen, but they might perform their own interrogation before sending the assassins’ souls off into the beyond.
The camp was noisy, but it was the first night of the march. By the third day, most would be quieter, though there was always some who would be loud, either complaining or boasting of something. It was the way of soldiers, especially veterans who found themselves surrounded by any audience of green, unbloodied conscripts. Lying on his back and resting his head on his hands, Jarol stretched his legs, feet warming near the fire as he stared up into the night sky. He wondered as he listened to the camp how many would still sit at a campfire listening to stories and complaints once the war ended.
*****
Alexis and Theralin followed a trail of two horses during the day. One horse left deep hoof prints in the road, carrying a heavy burden, while the other’s were much shallower. The hoof prints weren’t unusual. It could be a single rider pulling a pack horse—a lone merchant. But, unless the merchant had worn out a welcome, the hoof prints wouldn’t have proven the two horses moved at a gallop, leaving the fortress in an ass-on-fire hurry.
It was no surprise when the horses left the road to make use of the rolling hills and scrub forest that grew in and around them. The two elves followed that trail into the night. A small gulley in a thick stand of trees would go a long way to hide a fire and the horses at night. Alexis thought they would have at least tried to leave a false trail. She would have—even with the lead the assassins enjoyed, they should know better than to be too confident. Alexis reined her horse to a stop and held up her hand for Theralin to do the same. She dismounted and Theralin followed, both tying their horses to tree branches.
“I smell smoke, but it’s faint,” Alexis said, keeping her voice down. “Just a touch on the breeze is all. We’ll leave the horses here and go on foot.”
“I would think it too early to let a fire burn down so low.”
“They’ve been riding longer than we. Whatever they are doing will be clear to us soon. Are you ready?”
“I am, Princess. For the sake of my guards in the fortress dungeon, we have to be victorious.”
“And save Railia and Morgan.”
“Yes, of course. But the queen requires heads, so we must give them to her.”
Alexis led the way and motioned with her hand for Theralin to step as she stepped. She knew Theralin could move with skill through the forest, but she wouldn’t assume she could move without sound. It was a slow procession, with many stops to listen and look up into the trees. If those they pursued were properly trained—she knew they were trained, but not to what extent—then one of them would be on watch, likely walking a perimeter around the camp or up a tree high enough to see in all directions. Alexis moved from tree to tree, keeping cover between her and where she thought the camp was located.
A breeze blew through the forest and the smell of a smoke became a little stronger. They were closer and still hadn’t heard a sound. She put her back to the tree and looked over the forest behind them in all directions. She sensed nothing and exhaled, not realizing she had held her breath. In front of her was a rise and Alexis felt almost certain the camp was on the other side.
“Over the rise is where we will find them,” she whispered, putting her mouth near Theralin’s ear. Theralin nodded affirmation.
The elves crawled on their stomachs to the top of the rise and Alexis stopped to listen. Theralin crawled up beside her. The fire didn’t crackle or pop and no sounds other than the forest at night reached her ears. Nothing for it now but to rise up and look. Disappointment, followed by resignation, was their reward. A ring of dying embers sat in a small clearing at the bottom of the hill. Their quarry had gone, and it had been hours since they left. They were pushing hard and resting little. Theralin cursed under her breath as they walked down to the deserted camp.
Alexis bent low, walking around the campfire, searching for and finding three impressions on the ground. She touched each one and—it was no surprise—they were cold. “I’ll go get the horses,” Theralin said, her tone mirroring Alexis’s disappointment.
“Do you want to rest or ride?” Alexis asked. “Sometime we will have to rest the horses and ourselves.”
“Ride,” was all she said as she walked away.
Alexis found their trail out of camp and waited for Theralin. It would be a long night.
*****
Railia rode along in silence, gagged, her hands tied in front of her and a blanket around her . Muscular arms wrapped around her, holding the horse’s reins as they moved along a trail through the forest. They kept their identities hidden underneath black scarves and deep hoods pulled over their heads, but couldn’t hide that the short one was male and the taller one was female. The male was slight of build and his voice reminded her of an elf while the female looked like she could break her partner in two, an orc or a half-breed, maybe.
Taken off the horse when they stopped, she was unceremoniously rolled out of the blanket on the ground. Her body ached from lying across a horse for hours. The female had some harsh words for her partner as she helped Railia to her feet, then pulled her along into the woods. Railia watched as she untied the knot that held her hands then spoke.
“Relieve yourself,” she commanded. Railia looked at her. Gagged and unable to speak, she frowned. “What? Don’t be shy. Get on with it. I’m not leaving you alone if that’s what you’re thinking.” Nature spared her no time to argue. Her captor stepped back a few paces and waited. Walking back, Railia saw a small fire. Her other captor watched her return from the woods. A breeze blew and gave her a chill. It also reminded her she was wearing the shift she slept in and she remained barefoot. She raised her hands and pushed the wild strands of her hair back behind her ears. That was when their problems started.
“Hold still, girl. What’s wrong with your ears? Harmia, didn’t you check?”
“Danfer, you’re an idiot. Your mind was on too many other things, like dipping your wick. If I didn’t have to keep you from having your way with her, I might have noticed.”
“You’re not the princess...”
“Course she isn’t the princess. Who are you, girl?”
Railia laughed.
“Shut your mouth or I’ll slit your throat and then we’ll see how funny you think it is,” Danfer barked.
“This is why I like to work alone,” Harmia said.
“Well see’n as you’re not the princess...”
“Don’t even think it, Danfer.” Railia watched, surprised when the two squared off.
“You want her for yourself.”
“No, I want her name and then I want to salvage something from this job. She was in the
guest quarters in the fortress instead of an inn, so she has to be someone of import.”
“She doesn’t have to be. She might be a noble’s mistress sleeping alone in her master’s room while he was out whoring.”
Railia snorted. “If I was a noble’s mistress then he would have been with me. But I am no mistress. My father is someone of importance and Queen Verlainia had placed me under her protection within her household. You now have two very important enemies.” Railia laughed again.
“Having enemies is nothing. We make many. We’re skilled assassins. We won’t be taken by surprise,” Danfer said.
“Says the assassin who stole the wrong person.”
“Do not antagonize him. Tell me what I need to know and I will protect you and see you delivered unharmed till your ransom is paid,” Harmia said.
“I am Railia, daughter of Raile, Chieftain of the Southern Clan.” There was a silence, then the one called Danfer grunted and walked to his horse.
“I would imagine you’ll also have a third enemy,” Railia said. “The one who hired you in the first place will be unimpressed with your failure.”
“Eat and sleep. We leave soon,” Harmia answered and handed Railia some dried meat. Railia chewed the hard, dry meat and was glad there was only a few bites. Her jaw would have tired had there been much more. Harmia handed her a flask. Railia could smell the strong liquor, but took a pull on the flask anyway. She coughed and her eyes watered.
“Excellent vintage,” Railia said and exhaled, half-expecting to see smoke blowing out her mouth.
“Dragon Piss. Orcish liquor; it’s not for the weak.”
“Aptly named. Do you have any water?” she asked her captor. Harmia laughed and walked to her horse to retrieve her water skin. Railia took a couple long pulls on the water skin and handed it back. Danfer lay on his bedroll, dressed, his face still covered.
Railia wrapped her blanket around her shoulders and lay down on her side facing the fire. She pulled her knees up, doing her best to cover herself. The last thing she heard was Harmia lying down behind her. It seemed like she had only just fallen asleep when Harmia woke her. She pulled Railia’s half-asleep form to her horse. The horse was bareback and Railia just stood there waiting, confused.
“I’m leaving the saddle behind. Step into my hands and I’ll lift as you swing your leg over.” A moment later, Harmia leaped up behind her and took the reins and they headed into the woods.
Railia used the time since they broke camp and wandered through the forest to think about her captors. She decided all was not lost. There was discord between the two assassins and it seemed the better-tempered of the two was protective of her. She bore no fantasy that the big female assassin was a friend, but her plan for Railia bore no menace. She would be a captive until her father ransomed her, then, upon receiving her freedom. . . he would treat her as if she had the pox.
Had fate left her to Danfer the assassin—she didn’t want to think about that. She hoped more than anything there was a party sent by the queen out searching for her. She never thought that being taken back to the Verlainia’s fortress would spark such happiness in her. Stay near the orc and pray her rescuers hurried. That was all she could do.
Twenty-Six
Morgan lay on a bed of straw listening to the horses below. Mice scurried around the stable, searching for food. Did they ever stop to sleep? It was before sunrise and he expected the blacksmith at any time to be starting his morning chores. For now, he was enjoying the moment, a chance to think without interruption. He caught himself rubbing his neck where the collar had been just a few hours earlier.
A wagon rolled past out on the street. Morgan imagined a merchant was out making deliveries. Bakeries were baking and the inns preparing breakfast for their guests. He had never been in Talons Station overnight to experience the beginning of the day in town. The door to the blacksmith’s cottage squeaked, then, after a brief pause, the door to the smithy unlatched. Morgan’s stomach rumbled, and he tried to remember when he ate last. The fact he couldn’t remember meant it had been a long time.
The woman should be back this morning with his clothing. He would send her out for food, enough for the blacksmith and his family, the woman and himself. The dragon was quiet after his talk with the blacksmith last night. Morgan thought the dragon might add something to his morning musings, but, then again, his thoughts likely bored the thing and were not worth commenting on. Maybe he should talk to the blacksmith before the sun was all the way up. He dropped the chains over the edge of the loft and jumped down. He had paid little attention to the stables last night, but this morning he examined the horses and tack and the odds and ends hanging on the walls.
There were no surprises. It looked just like any stable or barn he had ever set foot in. For a moment, he was awash in sadness and melancholy. The sights and smells in the barn took him home to the time before a beautiful elf ranger and goblins and dragons were part of his life. Before the ruination of his family and his captivity. It was a good time, but the memories hurt and made him angry instead of providing comfort. He heard the blacksmith rustling around in the building next door, getting his shop ready for the day’s labor. An odd sound caught his attention, but only for a moment.
Soldiers are coming, the dragon said.
I hear them!
You are angry.
Yes, I am. But it can’t be helped unless you can restore the dead to the living.
I cannot.
Great. When do I become this all-powerful warrior you talked about?
In time. The soldiers grow nearer.
It’s not like we didn’t expect them to be searching. Our friend the queen is probably boiling mad.
She is not our friend. You should hide. You are not yet ready to battle so many.
No, I think I will run.
Run? Do not be foolish, boy.
Maybe I’ll take your advice, dragon... in time.
Morgan pulled a sling made for carrying firewood off the wall. It was leather, with rope handles. He dropped the chains inside and slung it over his shoulder. Slipping out of the back of the barn, he hurried down the alley toward the guards searching for him on the next street. He walked between the buildings and looked around the corner. Two squads of guards patrolled, one on each side of the street. They checked doors and windows only one street away. He was closer to them than he wanted to be.
How am I going to do this?
You just now ask yourself? Running away from, instead of toward, the guards would have been advisable.
I’m just guaranteeing that they see me.
That you are, boy. A hatchling would have had the sense to go the other way.
You’re the one who got himself trapped in a chain.
Morgan waited but received no reply. Knowing the dragon was right made Morgan angry at himself. He should have gone the other way and put more distance between him and the guards. The guards would chase him whether or not they knew it was him. He would have to run once they laid eyes on him and ordered him to stand still. Might as well get on with it. Putting his hands in his pockets and looking down at the ground, he stepped out and walked back toward the blacksmith shop.
“Halt!” yelled an authoritative voice. Morgan kept walking a few more steps then turned.
“Me?” he asked, looking at twenty guards spread out on the street. They were in armor and fully armed. “I have a delivery to make and I can’t be late or the master will skin me alive.” Turning back, he walked away.
“Halt or I will skin you alive.”
“Sorry, you’ll have wait your turn,” he said and started off at a trot. He heard the rattle of metal clapping in rhythm as they ran. But it wasn’t all of them, which meant they didn’t know who he was. The blacksmith exited the smithy in time to see Morgan running past. When the blacksmith realized who he was, Morgan winked and grinned at him and ran a little harder. He had no clue where he was going, so he followed the street until it came to a bridge. The other side of th
e bridge looked a lot different than the side he was on. An easy breeze blew across his path and carried a variety of unsavory smells.
“When we catch you, we’re gonna cut off your feet,” a guard yelled from behind him. Morgan turned a corner and ran faster, not because of the threat but to put more distance between them. He had never seen such poor conditions as those around him. Some of the dwellings leaned heavily to one side and he imagined a good wind could blow them on over. Others had no doors or windows. There were no signs of life. The sun had risen in the time he left the stables, so where was everyone?
His increased pace gave him more distance, but he found no other side streets to turn down. There were just narrow paths between hovels. He didn’t need dragon senses to know the guards were almost to the corner where he had turned, so he ran for the next path he saw that led away from his pursuers. Morgan had to slow his pace, though, for there was no rhyme or reason to this pathway. The dwellings had been built in any random spot and many were useless as hiding places, having no solid doors or windows. Blankets hung in the doorways and rags in the windows.
Morgan paused behind one such dwelling to get his bearings. He took in his surroundings, slowed his breathing and listened. The guards were not as noisy. The metal-on-metal sound of armor rattling—sword sheaths on plated thighs—was akin more to a walk—a slight tapping now—than the clanking of a running chase. Once he drew them deeper into this maze he found himself in, he would look for a way out so he could double back to the blacksmith shop and stable. The guards searching for him across the bridge should be beyond the blacksmith shop by now.
A sound caught his attention. It was muffled, but Morgan thought it was crying. He took two steps and looked in the window. A female orc held her baby to her breast. The child squirmed, refusing to suckle. There was fear in the mother orc’s eyes and Morgan realized she was trying to quiet her baby. She never looked him in the eyes but looked him over, concerned. He studied himself in the morning sun and understood her concern. Blood coated his shirt and pants. He was a sight. If the guards didn’t know who he was when they saw him earlier, they would put it all together in daylight.
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