Dirk withdrew the wolf-shaped bone trinket and called to the spirit wolf once again. “Come, Chief.” Within seconds a smoky mist emanated from the trinket and took the form of the huge timber-wolf ghost. Chief looked Dirk over for a moment, then sat lazily on his haunches and began to groom himself.
“Listen up, fella!” said Dirk. “There is a wagon ahead, three men upon it, I suspect, and two lookouts both before and beyond. I have been spotted by one of the lookouts; he now rides to warn his friends.”
Chief continued to groom himself and ignore the assassin. He yawned and looked as bored as a wolf could look.
Dirk went on. “I need you to hunt down the horseman and keep an eye on him.”
Chief’s ears perked up at this, the mention of hunting. He opened his maw in a panting smile and wagged his bushy tail slowly back and forth. The spirit wolf’s ears perked and began to scan the surrounding forest independent of one another. Dirk now had his full attention.
“If the lookout or any of his friends attempt to harm me, kill them. If not, leave them be and stay out of sight. If I require your aid, I will make this call.” Dirk whistled a quick chime. “That is to be your call from this day forth. Understand?”
Chief barked his acknowledgement and Dirk chuckled at his intelligence. “You will make for a good companion.”
Again Chief barked.
“Go on then, boy! Good hunting.”
With that, Chief darted into the underbrush and soon disappeared. Dirk urged Frostmore on once again toward the wagon and a likely ambush.
He had determined that there were no more than five men in the group, three upon the wagon and two on horseback. Still, he could not know how many might be atop the cargo. He decided that if he came upon the wagon and saw fewer than three people on or near it, he could expect an ambush. The two horsemen, he knew, were on lookout duty, so if the wagon contained only two men, a third was most likely hiding, no doubt with an arrow nocked and ready.
Dirk came upon the wagon as it slowed before crossing a short bridge. The rider and driver jumped down from it and began to unhook the horses to drink from the slow river. Dirk could see as he approached from a few hundred yards that the big-wheeled wagon was not made for human transport. Its wooden sides came up no more than a few feet, and a leather tarp covered whatever cargo was beneath.
Dirk approached the wagon slowly. With the help of his enchanted earrings, he could hear as the lookout slowly stalked him, now on foot. And beyond that sound were the quiet steps of Chief, stalking the lookout.
He raised a hand in greeting as he came closer to the two who acted as if they were not aware of his presence. Dirk played along.
“Hello there! Hello!” he yelled.
The two men flinched as if they had been startled by him. “Hello!” the burly driver called back. His tall and lanky rider rested his hands atop the canvas nonchalantly, no doubt inches from a hidden crossbow or blade.
“You mind if my horse shares the river with your fine steeds?” Dirk asked as he dismounted. The driver rubbed his beard and nodded permission while eyeing Dirk’s horse. Dirk knew that he was puzzling over Dirk’s lack of baggage. The rider inched his hand closer to the tarp flap and eyed Dirk. Chief quickly moved from the tree line behind Dirk and back again, giving him the would-be ambusher’s location.
Dirk stroked Frostmore as the horse drank, and addressed the men with a pleasant smile. “I am in need of food and coin if you have it, and I will swiftly be on my way. Tell the men in the woods to lower their bows and come out peacefully and I will spare your lives.”
The rider’s hand froze and he looked at Dirk, dumbfounded. The driver, however, eyed Dirk with renewed interest. He looked him over once more, seemingly noticing his attire for the first time.
“What are you about, stranger? Ain’t no men in the trees. Alls there is is all ye see of our company. We want no trouble.”
“What am I about?” said Dirk as he continued to stroke Frostmore. “I am about to spill blood, unless your rider quits reaching for his weapon under that tarp, and your men come from the woods.”
“There ain’t no men in the woods, I said once, and I ain’t gonna—”
Dirk cut him off with a loud whistle. A snarl and a scream tore through the woods to their right, first one man’s scream and then another. In an instant the rider had thrown back the canvas and had a crossbow at his shoulder.
There was a twang and a bolt came rushing at Dirk. He turned and pulled both sides of his cloak out wide, causing the bolt to skid harmlessly across and to the river. The rider cursed and reloaded with trembling hands as another scream ripped through the quiet day. A bloodcurdling howl followed, and Dirk threw two darts in rapid succession, one at the rider’s neck, the other the driver’s. The two men fell with a thud.
Chief came bounding out of the woods and leapt atop the unconscious men. “You’re a bit late for those two,” Dirk told him. Chief cocked his head and regarded Dirk curiously. “Never mind. There is one more of them, in the woods or on the road ahead. See that he doesn’t surprise me.”
Chief crossed the bridge, sniffing as he went, already on the trail. Dirk checked the pockets of the snoring men. He took what coin they had and pocketed it. It would be sufficient for his needs.
Under the bench seats of the wagon Dirk found bread, but it was stale and hard. He went to the back and uncovered the tarp. Below he found half a dozen wooden shovels still caked with dirt. He turned back the tarp further and found lanterns and iron crowbars. The men’s personal effects were mingled with ten large chests. Dirk took hold of a crowbar and smashed the lock upon one of the chests. It took many blows but it finally broke; it was a cheap lock, made by human hands, most likely. Within the chest he found many watches, bracelets, rings, and jewels.
Grave robbers, thought Dirk. The men must have been on a long quest to have amassed such a pile of jewels. He could not imagine how many burned towns they must have sacked, or how many graves they’d robbed. A fortune was laid out before him, and Dirk wondered why so few men were there to guard the wealth. Likely the party had consisted of many more, but they had slowly been thinning out the group, making each slice of the pie larger.
It was now clear that the thieves had not been traveling to the Ky’Dren Pass. They would have been seen for what they were with a wagon full of family heirlooms, gems, and jewels. Dirk surmised that they were either still on the hunt or headed back to their base of operations, wherever that may be.
Dirk found their food stores among the cargo, and loaded Frostmore with two packs of them. Footsteps approached from the woods behind him, and he could tell that the person limped. The slow, singing sound of a sword being unsheathed came through his enchanted earrings. He turned toward the sound and saw the man hiding beyond the underbrush. Neither moved as Dirk held his gaze and the man’s eyes passed over his two fallen companions.
“You will not get away with this, thief!” yelled the man.
Dirk threw back his head with a laugh. “Ironic, that is, being called a thief by a thief.” He moved to the wagon and folded back the canvas. “How many died for this bounty?”
Angrily the man countered, “I ain’t tellin’ you nothin’, you—”
“You have been injured by my wolf. You drag your leg and trail blood. The beast likely snapped your bow; you have a few blades but no strength. I could kill you within the minute. So please, I tire of these games. Come out from the woods and have a word, or you will die.” Dirk looked to the opposite side of the road and yelled to the other hiding man, “You too there, in the brush behind the tall oak. Come out or die—you have one minute!”
Dirk turned from the cowards and took an apple from the wagon. With a satisfying crunch he began to eat while he hummed a tune and waited. Soon the two men came hobbling out of the woods, swords sheathed. One of the men had found a stick to help himself along. Both had a bloodied leg and torn pants. One wore only one shoe. They hobbled over to the wagon and grudgingly waited for
Dirk’s instruction. The assassin looked them over but did not speak, merely ate his apple to the core. The sun finally broke through the clouds and shined warm light upon the road ahead.
“Ah! But it looks as though it will be a pleasant day after all,” he told the men nonchalantly and fed the apple core to Frostmore. From the wagon he found what meager medical supplies they had and threw them to the men. “See you tend to your wounds.”
The men tore the cloth into strips as they eyed Dirk suspiciously. “What are you playin’ at, stranger? You need someone to drive the team and wagon, is that it? Well, I’ll tell you what! Viggo Varrox ain’t gonna be too pleased you meddled in his business—”
Dirk sprang from the side of the wagon with inhuman speed and had a dagger to the man’s throat before the sentence ended. Surprised yelps escaped the men.
“Your next word will be your last,” Dirk whispered into his ear. He looked at the other injured man, who was backing away slowly.
“You there, fetch a barrel from the wagon.”
The man complied without a word and set the barrel down at Dirk’s feet. “Put your right hand on the barrel both of you, one on top of the other,” Dirk ordered, and released the loudmouth.
The men looked at each other and at the barrel. Grudgingly they obeyed. In a blur of movement Dirk stabbed his dagger, Krone, through both of their hands. The men cried out in pain but soon became placid as the dagger’s effect took their minds. They looked at Dirk with empty stares.
“You and your friends will turn this wagon around and head straight to the barricaded town one day’s march east and south. You will give the contents of this wagon over to them and tell them that it is a gift from Whill of Agora. You will then offer yourselves to their service and live out the rest of your days glad that you did not die here today. Do you understand?”
Both men nodded agreement. “I understand,” they said in unison.
Dirk retracted the blade and the men clutched their wounded hands. “Tend to your wounds and prepare to leave.”
Just then Chief came back across the bridge, dragging a screaming man by the ankle. The spirit wolf stopped at Dirk’s feet and he gave him a pat on the head. “Good boy.” He grabbed the shaken man and put his hand atop the barrel. “Chief, if he moves, I want you to rip his throat out.”
The man shuddered as the wolf crept to within an inch of his face and growled. Dirk whistled a tune and gathered the unconscious driver and rider. He put their hands over the whimpering man’s and stabbed through them all with the dagger. The two men screamed awake suddenly but soon became calm as Krone compelled them to obey Dirk. He recited the same instructions to the three men that he had to the others.
Dirk left them tending to their wounds soon after. They would follow his instructions, for they were weak minded and easily controlled. Dirk had rarely met even an elf who could resist the dagger, much less any human.
He ate as he rode and made good time the remainder of the day. By nightfall the mountains towered before him and he knew the Ky’Dren Pass to be only hours away. He rode on through the night and thought of nothing but Krentz.
The sky had gradually cleared and now there was not a cloud to be seen in the darkened heavens. He had not dismissed Chief all day, curious about his stamina within the physical plane. All day the wolf had darted ahead down the road to disappear around a bend or hill, but always he came back. Sometimes he would take to the woods for such long durations that Dirk thought he had returned to his own plane of existence, but always he returned. He was curious to learn more of the spirit wolf. Chief. The name played in the back of his mind, sparking the faintest light of recognition. But it seemed that the information was long ago learned or only overheard. He could not pinpoint where or when he had heard it.
Dirk shifted uncomfortably in his saddle, weary from travel but not able to spare a moment of rest if he was to stop Krentz. He still could not believe that she had sworn fealty to her father, a fact that disturbed him more than a little. He feared that he would be too late to stop her from reaching Whill’s kin, from killing them all. If he allowed that to happen, he did not know if she would ever forgive herself for such a heinous act. He had to save her, and then…
Dirk wondered what his next move would be. If he did reach her in time, he would likely have to fight her. She would be compelled to carry out Eadon’s orders; there would be no resisting. To resist meant death. But Dirk could not let it reach that point. He could not make her decide, for she would choose death. Instead he would have to trap her, and then…
The only help Dirk could imagine for breaking Eadon’s spell of fealty was Whill, but Whill thought him a traitor, and rightly so. Dirk did not regret what he had done; for the sake of Krentz he would do it again. But he hoped that saving his kin from certain death would be enough to regain Whill’s trust. The dwarf Roakore, however, was a different story. The dwarf king would try to kill him on the spot.
One thing at a time, he told himself as the road before him turned once again.
Chapter 16
The Dragonlance of Ashai
Aurora didn't sleep that night. She sat cross-legged between the fires for most of it, entranced by the sounds around her. The jungle had a savage lull to it, a primal element that helped one forget the trappings of the mind. Here one needed be alert at all times, ever in tune with their surroundings. The random death cries of those creatures that failed to do so echoed often throughout the night as a reminder to all.
At some point light found its way once again into the dark depths of the jungle. Aurora had spent part of the night braiding vine and building a sled to carry the meat. She took each heavy piece down in turn and wrapped it in large leaves and secured them with vine. The spears were pulled and added to the smoldering fire, and the logs were scattered. Aurora didn't concern herself with a possible wildfire, the vegetation here was damp. She headed towards Cerushia feeling rejuvenated. During the ritual dance the barbarian goddess had spoken to her. Aurora was now resolute; she would leave shortly and journey to her homeland. Once there she would challenge the chief, and once victorious, she would lead her people against the dark elves and share in the spoils of an Agoran victory. The ancient barbarian lands would be restored, and again her people would know pride.
It was slow going through the jungle dragging nearly a thousand pounds of boar meat. By the time she reached the city it was past midday, and she was soaked with perspiration. She had washed off the mud during the night, but her ritual dance required that she cover herself in the blood of her kill. She came dragging the smoked boar into the city and gained many stares from the elves. Over an arched bridge of stone and straight through the market square she dragged her wares. She drew stares from the elves every step of the way. Finally she reached her dwelling and released her burden with a relieved sigh. She knew that she must have looked every bit the part of the savage barbarian.
The vines door opened and Kreshna greeted her with a wide smile, until she saw the dried blood. She regarded the leaf-wrapped smoked meat curiously. "You spent the night in the jungle?"
"Yes, I was in the mood for the hunt," said Aurora as she unsheathed her sword and began chopping the tusks from the boar head. Kreshna jumped as the blade hit and sent a tusk flying off.
"These will make an excellent necklace don't you think?" said Aurora.
"The horned hog was nearly wiped out for its tusks and plating," Kreshna replied looking concerned. "We brought them here to live in the jungle so that they might thrive."
"Yes, the plating would make a fine shield. I feel honored to have been allowed to hunt the treasured beast," said Aurora as she continued to work at separating the many tusks.
"We-."
"The elf Azzeal took part in the meal, if he allowed it I assumed it was alright." Aurora told her standing to her full height, the act left her towering over Kreshna.
"Have you seen him?" she asked and went to collecting the severed tusks.
"I...no I haven't
." Kreshna replied as she looked apprehensively at the tusks being piled in her hands like firewood.
"No matter", said Aurora adding the last of the tusks. "See that these and the smoked meat, and all of the many gifts make it to the harbor."
Kreshna gave her a quizzical look. "You mean to leave?"
"Indeed. It is long overdue," said Aurora. "There is a storm coming. I have little time and much to do. I have tarried long enough. The people of Volnoss need a leader, and I intend to be it."
"You will need a crew; someone who knows these waters, someone to help you introduce the elves to your people."
"My people know of you, if we share anything with the dwarves it is our...their opinion of you all. They do not adjust to change well."
"I can do it. You have warmed to me, to us, in such little time."
Aurora looked her over in thought."May as well be you then." She said and turned to enter her dwelling. A large crowd had gathered near to them. They did not stop but traffic had slowed considerably as the elves gawked at the spectacle.
"Thank you Lady of the North,” Kreshna said with a bow.
"See to it we are ready to leave this night."
Aurora bathed and took the better part of an hour braiding her hair. She let the blood remain on her furs; her people would find it appealing. It was for the same reason she had allowed her wounds to be healed, but had insisted that the scar tissue remain. She would need all the help she could get if she was to depose chief Icethorn.
Aurora worried for her people. She had not been home in many seasons, and when she had left the land was plagued by draggard and whispers of war. The seven barbarian tribes of Volnoss cared not for the plight of the dwarves and man, and the elves were hated strangers. They planned to dig in and take what was left of the mainland. But Aurora knew that it would not work. If Volnoss did not side with Whill they were doomed, she had to show them somehow. Or would Eadon be the Victor of this battle, would she be leading her people to their doom? She had not heard from Eadon at all, nor could she feel his power humming within her as she once had. Was she free? In the end it didn't truly matter. All that mattered was that she kill Chief Icethorn, and to do that she would need help. She was confident that she could take the man, but she had no delusions about being able to defeat he and his dragon, the very one that had dropped her father to his death those many winters ago. To defeat them both she would need help, and she intended to get it.
Whill of Agora: Epic Fantasy Bundle (Books 1-4): (Whill of Agora, A Quest of Kings, A Song of Swords, A Crown of War) (Legends of Agora) Page 84