by Amy E Hix
“Sounds good,” replied Mabashi in his gruff Dwarven voice, and he lay down and closed his eyes.
I threw a little lacamint powder into my tin cup and poured in some water from my flask. It would help to keep me alert through the next few hours.
Through the barrier, I could see distant shadows of movement across the horizon of fallen charred trees, but too distant to cause any concern. And from time to time, I heard the faint cry of a woodland creature, obviously under attack from some nocturnal predator.
I started to think about the Ancients, and what sort of people they were to be so revered. When people spoke of them, their assurance of defeating the Digvi’jan Warlords was made apparent through a rise in posture, contented smiles and eyes that lit up bright with hope.
My grandfather, Phrank, remembered the Ancients clearly. He and my father told many stories of their brief encounter, and we never grew tired of hearing them.
I wondered what had drawn the Ancients to choose me, and what was so special about my companion?
We were the only two from all who were summoned to Kenkara during the mid-summer month to be sent here. All the others had been sent to Rhalas.
Neither of us superseded any of the others in skill during the initiation phase; we were quite ordinary in that crowd of warriors. In fact, I remember a sense of frustration from the training leaders on a few occasions when I was asked to perform certain tasks.
I felt like a disappointment in Kenkara actually, which makes me afraid of letting the Ancients down on a much grander scale once we get to Minzkala.
I took another sip of the lacamint mixture and stood up, taking a few steps around the campsite. Mabashi’s deep slumber was evident by his snore. It was slow, deep and rhythmic. I stretched myself out and sat back down at my post, and that’s when it happened.
The growling from the awakened hounds drew me to my guard. I looked through the cracks in the trees to scan the area around the campsite. Though I could hear the beast approaching, I had very little time to react.
Just as I reached for my sword, I saw that the beast had slithered through the barrier of trees and had sprung into full stature, driving its steel-plated tentacle straight through my right shoulder blade as I looked up.
It immediately lifted me off the ground. My sword was out of reach. I was gasping for breath. I reached for the dagger hidden in my boot and jabbed the beast through its skullcap.
At this point, the gorehounds attacked in defense, gnashing their three-inch canines into the thick body of the beast.
It was a Slicker, a ten-foot long demon minion of the Digvi’ja that traveled like a snake only faster. Five tentacles lined the back of its neck, each thick and muscular, the tips armored with steel and as sharp as a rapier. It stood on four short legs that had been tucked against its sides as it was slithering its way into the campsite.
Mabashi was slow to realize what was going on as he was awakened by the commotion, but when he looked up at me hanging in mid-air, he quickly drew his sword and rammed it straight into the chest of the beast.
The tentacle that held me fell to the ground and I went with it, hard. I felt the breath knocked out of me but managed to pull myself together to reach for my sword. Then up again I went.
I drove my sword into the beast’s neck, which made it throw me into the side of the barrier. Its movement was slowing from the wound.
The tentacles thrashed violently around, trying to catch Mabashi, and knocking me off in the process. But Mabashi proved to be a rather quick little Dwarf, despite his hefty appearance. He jabbed the beast again in the chest.
This time, the Slicker fell to its belly, desperately trying to keep its head in the air. The hounds were still clawing and gnashing their teeth into its sides repeatedly.
Mabashi retreated to the side of the wall where I was, attempting to place himself between me and the beast. As it slowly tried to move toward us, its head came crashing down, followed by its tentacles as the life of the serpent slowly faded.
Core and Jinx paced around the kill, still growling and shaking their heads, trying to free some of the blood and flesh from their faces and necks. Mabashi began to take off my chest piece so that he could administer first aid to my wounds. The hole through my shoulder was well above any vital organs, directly below the collarbone.
“No problems breathing, right?” he asked.
“Right,” I muttered.
He picked up his flask of water and continued, “That’s good to hear. We don’t need anything to keep us in these woods longer than we have to be here.” I nodded in agreement.
Mabashi flushed away the dirt and debris from my wounds with water first, then poured a little bourbon over them from the front and the back to help prevent infection.
He took two small handfuls of cotton, soaked in a liquid mixture of ginger and turmeric powder, and pressed them onto the wounds. Then he covered the front and back with a square piece of woolen cloth, its edges laced in dammar to help keep it in place.
I quickly redressed, unsure about what else or who else we should expect to show up. As I made my way to the palette of blankets to lie down, Mabashi helped me and then covered me gently as if I were his own son.
After about twenty minutes of shifting to get comfortable, I took a few deep breaths and was out.
After Core and Jinx resituated themselves, Mabashi found it hard to stay awake. Dwarves weren’t accustomed to going without full bellies and a good night’s sleep, and he had neither.
Plus, the encounter with the Slicker had exhausted him, and now that all the excitement had died, his body desperately wanted to recover the lost energy.
He decided to get out his pen and parchment and write home. Once they arrived in Minzkala, if they arrived in Minzkala, he could have the letter delivered to his wife and son.
While he was at it, he pulled out some more of the bread and a small block of cheese. Now that’s more like it, he thought to himself.
Ten
Discovery of the Warriors
On the small island of Byhalia, west of the Maralune where the Mourtaire Forest lies, the Digvi’jan Warlords had assembled together at the ruins of an old temple once inhabited by the Saqaedrian people. The Saqaedrians were a sea-faring race with skin the color of sea foam and fin-like ears. They were thought to have all died when two volcanos erupted at the same time and left almost everything covered in molten rock. Very little remained of the islands there, but this old temple on a high hill was substantial enough to serve the Warlord’s purpose.
The Digvi’jan Council was meeting to discuss the increase in travelers throughout the Mourtaire Forest. The room was filled with conversation…speculations, as well as ideas about what the next steps should be.
At the head of the table sat a Warlock with jet black hair. He wore a hooded cloak so that very little of his face and hair appeared. The other Digvi’jan Warlords called him Hanbrig. To everyone else in the room, he was Master.
He was sitting at the end of the table, pilfering through some notes. He spoke to no one but listened as he gathered his thoughts together. A few moments passed and when he noticed that all members were present and seated at the table, he stood up. The room grew silent and all eyes fell upon him.
“Four so far, three dead and one tainted, but we have reason to believe as many as eight more have completed their journey. They are traveling in pairs and coming in from every southern city, and they are equipped as warriors. Two Slickers and one Cerapithalis are also dead,” he looked down so that his next words might be said with careful consideration, “It seems as though the Ancients are gathering their forces. We must be prepared for any situation. Chesed’reg has put our post in charge of handling the pre-war efforts. I propose we bring in more Cerapithali from Vahael and keep the forest well-guarded for the time being.”
“I agree,” replied the voice of another
Warlock, Greshan, “The Slickers have grown few in number and are unable to cover the area adequately. Plus, they can only hunt at night. It would be better to have more of our forces in the sky and more throughout daylight hours.” Many more nodded around the table.
“Then it will be done,” announced Hanbrig, “Send an emissary at once to Vahael with the request. The Cerapithali are certain to agree and if they hesitate, simply remind the pack leader of what happened to his predecessor when our orders were ignored.”
Luchache, the Council’s taskmaster, made note of the orders and would assure they were carried out.
Just as Hanbrig seemed ready to dismiss the Council, an advisor entered and walked briskly over to him. The advisor leaned in close and respectfully delivered the urgent message.
Hanbrig nodded and said, “Send him in.”
He rushed back out, and when the doors opened again, a Cerapithalis Soothsayer entered. He was unsure about where to stand to deliver his message, but as he reached a spot where eye contact could be made, Hanbrig said, “Well?”
“Forgive me Master, but another Slicker has been slain,” the voice of the Cerapithalis was deep and monstrous. “The life-force dropped shortly after midnight, this time from the southeast. From what we can tell, they are coming from the city of Kenkara, but they are far enough away from the heart of the forest. We have time to find them.”
“Then what are you waiting for?” Hanbrig asked.
“We’re already on it, Master. I’ve sent word to the Cerapithali currently in the area. The skies are still dark, and the warriors are likely to be close to the place we received the signal. I will bring word again when it is finished.”
“Very well.”
“A moment of the Council’s time, Hanbrig?” Jenla, a female Digvi’jan Council member, stood to her feet.
“You know you needn’t ask to speak. Say what you think,” replied Hanbrig.
“I propose we have the Cerapithali use the travelers to locate the entrance to the city of Minzkala. Following these two may be our best chance to discover the Orb’s boundary, and if the High Warlord ever completes the spell to disengage its magic, we will be that much closer to using it.”
“A wise proposal,” Hanbrig said with a smile, “All right, Soothsayer, send word to the Cerapithali that they are not to harm the travelers, but to use them to find the entrance to Minzkala. Report the location of the Orb’s boundary to me. If all goes well, we will finally have the information we need.”
“Consider it done,” The Soothsayer said as he turned and left.
“If there is nothing more to discuss, then we are finished here,” Hanbrig paused for a moment and then said, “Very well.”
The conversations among the members resumed as they rose to leave the Council Chamber.
“Zaaid,” Zarathustria’s voice seemed to quiver a bit as she entered the garden, “The Warlords have located two more of the chosen in the forest. I believe one of them is Cyrow’s brother.”
“Yes, they had an entanglement with a Slicker through the night. They weren’t as far along as they should have been, which makes our job a little harder, but not impossible. If they are as good as we expect them to be, they will find their way here before nightfall, provided they can escape being spotted,” he replied.
She continued, “I’m afraid word has already been sent to the Cerapithali in the area. They were, at first, ordered to kill on sight, but I convinced the Council to send new orders that might spare their lives…to follow them and not to harm them. I thought it might give us more of a chance to get them here safely.”
“You mean you were able to…”
“Yes,” she replied, “I was able to control the female. I was frightened, but I knew I had to try for Cyrow’s brother.”
“A wise decision,” Zaaid said, smiling in admiration of her work, “I suppose the Warlords expect to find our city’s entrance in doing so?”
“Yes, that’s the plan,” replied Zarathustria.
“Then I will inform the King and let him handle that. For now, I need you to travel to Vahael to the High Warlord’s Lair and find out what you can about Cyrow and the beast that tainted him. I need to know where they both are. Any other strategic information you can get your hands on would be great.”
Zarathustria acknowledged her order. “Oh, one more thing,” she remembered, “They’ve sent for more Cerapithali from Vahael to come and fill the skies around the Mourtaire Forest. It won’t be long before they make travel through the forest almost impossible.”
Zaaid smiled again, “Almost. The important thing is that we get the warriors here first.” His voice sounded final enough, so with a slight bow of her head, Zarathustria vanished from sight to make her way to Vahael.
Eleven
The Cerapithalis
Though Mabashi could not see in the dark air that surrounded him, he heard the cry of a Therian lark and knew the Sun would soon be on its way. He rose from his position and started to gather the supply packs. Then he slid his sword back into the holster.
Core and Jinx raised their heads, awakened by his shuffling around, smiles on their faces from the much-needed rest. They stirred around with him and lapped up nearly all the remaining water from the dish laid out for them through the night.
Mabashi’s thoughts turned to what he might expect from being summoned to the Ancients.
Before he left, he received word that Cenathor would be making the journey to Minzkala as well, and that he had even stopped in Khala before heading out. Cenathor was an old friend of the family, a Nebali Conjuror. He was a Human, much taller than Mabashi, and had dark brown skin.
Cenathor had fought beside Mabashi’s Uncle Tsengi in the Battle of Zemylar, a battle that allowed Rhalas to claim the Agalago Harbor from the Zemylan Hags once and for all.
The two kept in touch for nearly twenty years after the battle, and on more than one occasion, Cenathor had taken time away from his visit to help the Dwarves defend Khala.
Mabashi was low in the ranks the last time he saw him. He remembered how amazed he was at the way Cenathor used his spells to attack in battle. He was able to summon elementals and control their attacks at the same time he was sending an army of arrows into the crowd of enemies with accuracy.
If backed into a corner, Cenathor would conjure up a zip-line that would pull him to a higher location within the battlefield, throwing his most recent attackers off guard.
Mabashi wasn’t sure if Cenathor knew he too was on his way, or if the Conjuror would think him worthy enough to even be there. He decided to consider the fact that he had been chosen to be enough for his Dwarven ego, and about what an honor it would be to serve the Ancients.
Kaliesto
“It’s time, Kal,” Mabashi said as he knelt beside me and gently shook my shoulder. “It will be light soon, and I don’t want to be too close to that dead serpent out there when they find it.”
I raised myself up and helped Mabashi pack the blankets. My shoulder felt really stiff and painful. Then I loaded up my weapons and supply pack and led us out. Mabashi blindly followed me across the gray sky, the hounds after him. We climbed over the fallen tree barrier and headed northwest.
The sky was filled with dark menacing clouds, promising a storm sometime that morning. The air was thick, and the warm temperature made it muggy.
The clouds would work to our favor because they would provide better coverage from the view of any Cerapithali in the air, but we couldn’t afford a rain delay. As long as there wasn’t too much precipitation falling, it looked like the perfect day to be traveling through Mourtaire Forest.
We managed to eat as we walked, with no great ease, but neither of us could stand the thought of taking the time to sit and eat.
Core and Jinx were treated to a few strips of pork jerky which made an excellent finish to the few field rodents they gobbled up a
long the way. They both panted harder as time went on, their thick saliva oozing its way down their golden brindle fur and onto the ground.
We were making substantial progress through the charred debris as the Sun lifted itself from the horizon. Heat made its way in with the Sun and the humidity sky rocketed, leaving it harder to breathe.
We were now a good two hours from the campsite and the dead Slicker, slightly west of where we should have been because we decided it would be safer to stray from a straight course to the heart of the forest. If anyone or anything was looking for us, that path was bound to be heavily watched.
I had become numb to the pain of my wounds. I pulled my hair back into a twist so that the sweat pouring from my brow would have nothing to cling to. I know I wasn’t good company for the Dwarf, but I had a lot going through my mind.
Mabashi already knew I didn’t care too much for idle chatter anyway. He seemed quieter out here, too, almost as if hearing his own voice ramble on without any response from me had made him self-conscious about the Dwarven habit. Still, from time to time, he would ask me more about my brothers and life in Jalathiel or what I thought about one thing or another.
We had been traveling almost a half a day when the sky grew even darker. The thick mass of clouds slowly drifted to the sky above us. The rain that fell was more like a mist and felt great as it gently cooled us.
I turned my face toward the sky so that more of the mist could accumulate, then took my kerchief and used it to wipe away the dirt and sweat. Mabashi did, too.
“Get down! Hide, now!” He shouted with panic in his voice.
I didn’t hesitate, nor did I look up to see what the problem was until after I was underneath the edge of a fallen tree.
Core and Jinx also scrambled to a hiding spot, because Mabashi had trained them for that command. He couldn’t seem to get a good look at the beast from his hiding spot, but I could.