A pitched battle filled his gaze as he raced toward Harricka’s band. Harricka and three other crusaders struggled against their attackers while also trying to keep astride their mounts. Two more crusaders lay sprawled on the rough landscape.
Even as he took this all in, another of Harricka’s men fell from the saddle with an axe in his skull. Not at all to Daryus’s surprise, the wielder of that axe proved to be a brawny pitborn with two long horns and a hook of a nose. He laughed as he gave the bloody axe one wipe on the side of the dead crusader’s horse before pushing to reach Harricka.
A part of Daryus screamed at him for risking himself like this. The pitborn were actually doing him a favor removing the captain and her men. Yet Daryus could not let the crusaders be slaughtered. It wasn’t in him, even after several years as a hired sword.
The choice, though, turned out not to be his. Despite killing one pitborn, another of Harricka’s patrol perished when two foes skewered him.
Pushing the mare as hard as he could, Daryus finally reached the struggle. He brought down the nearest pitborn—a lanky rider with a mouthful of sharp teeth and a thick brow—with one swing, then immediately turned to face a second foe.
Yet even as Daryus gained that victory, another crusader fell victim. Growling, Daryus dispatched the killer, then the pitborn next to him as well.
He caught a glimpse of Harricka fending off two more adversaries, both among the ugliest and nastiest pitborn that Daryus had ever come across. They were also among the most imposing, which was why Harricka remained hard pressed. Daryus had seen her fight two opponents more than once, each time dealing with her foes with ease.
However, before he could reach her, one of her foes suddenly threw himself at her. Harricka and the pitborn fell from sight between the horses.
Despite his best efforts, Daryus could not reach her. Instead, he had to fend off the two pitborn who turned to face him. Daryus deflected the axe wielded by one, then traded sword blows with the second.
The axe came at him again. Daryus managed to evade it, only to see the second pitborn lunging.
Something hopped over Daryus and onto the oncoming sword. The abrupt weight forced the sword down, giving Daryus an opening.
He caught his foe in the throat. The pitborn glared, then toppled backward. Curiously, Daryus realized that the glare had not been for him, but for the cause of the sword being pressed earthward.
Toy.
The familiar had not waited. Once the sword was no longer a threat, the weasel had leapt to the other pitborn. Now, Toy crawled over the creature’s back, harassing the pitborn and biting at any open flesh.
It was all Daryus needed. The pitborn tried to compensate for both attacks, but moved too slowly. Daryus gutted him.
He looked around for his next foe, only to discover he was the only one still mounted. Harricka’s troops had been outnumbered from the start—
Harricka! He quickly steered his mount around to where she and her adversary had fallen. A tangle of legs was his first sighting of the two. He jumped off his mount, then pushed past the other riderless horses to the bodies.
The pitborn lay atop Harricka, the point of a dagger sticking out of the back of his neck. Daryus shoved the corpse aside, then bent to investigate the captain.
Harricka’s eyes opened. Gritting her teeth, she grabbed Daryus by the throat.
There was no strength to the attack. Daryus easily removed her fingers. Coughing, the captain closed her eyes again and fell still.
Leaning close, Daryus could hear her breathing. It was steady, for which he gave thanks. He checked her for wounds and found only superficial ones, save for a severe bump on the back of her head that she must have gotten when she fell.
Daryus looked around. They were too far from Kenabres for him to dare send her unconscious astride her horse in the direction of the city. Likewise, he could not simply drag her from the other bodies and leave her here. There were too many carrion eaters about that were also willing to partake of helpless fresh flesh when the opportunity presented itself.
That left but one choice. A part of him wished that he had not been so determined to help, but another part knew that, given the choice over again, he would have done the same thing. Hefting the captain carefully over his shoulder, Daryus brought her to her mount. With effort, he managed to set her upright in the saddle. Cutting the reins from another horse, Daryus tied her in place.
As he did this, he noticed Toy scurrying from one pitborn corpse to another. Daryus frowned. “What are you doing?”
Toy looked up. For only the second time, the familiar had his other eye open. The demon eye balefully studied the human in a way Toy’s normal orb could never match.
“Had to take the chance to see! These are the witch’s! They have his stench!” As he spoke, Toy quickly shut the demon eye again.
“What were they doing out here?” Daryus suspected he knew the answer.
“Hunting us. They knew we were near.”
There had been some hint by Toy in the past that assassins had been in touch with the witch through some magical method that enabled them to speak across great distances. The pair that Daryus had left behind in Kenabres had probably reached out to their comrades, who had come seeking Daryus and the weasel but found Harricka’s party instead.
“Let’s get out of here. We need to get Raffan and get far from here.” He left unspoken that there might be other pitborn in the area.
Toy peered at Harricka. “Leave this one.”
“No.”
The familiar flickered his demon eye open and shut, then trotted toward Daryus’s horse.
Bringing the captain’s horse alongside his, Daryus mounted. He studied Harricka again, wondering exactly what he would do once she awoke. He could not have her pursuing, but he knew she would not give up so easily, even after the rest of her party had been wiped out.
Then Daryus considered just where he was heading, and knew that Captain Harricka Morn was the least of his problems.
15
PLANS GONE AWRY
Toy was getting nearer.
That fact should not have disturbed Grigor so much, for the familiar had no great powers of his own. He was a talking animal, little more.
But still the weasel’s continued progress bothered the witch greatly.
It had as much to do with what had happened to his flying scout as it did the familiar itself. This was not the first time Grigor had come across hints of some lupine—for lack of a better description—interference with his plans. Each time, Grigor could not help but consider the fact that much of his quest revolved around one of the key symbols of the focus of his hunt … the wolf, a member of the same family. The paw prints didn’t not quite look like those of one of the desert animals, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t a connection. Grigor didn’t believe in coincidence.
Ahead lay the weathered remains of a structure he knew had once been an outpost from a civilization that had existed after those who had built the lost temple-city. Grigor was not here to search for lost artifacts or clues. He was here to see about dealing with the weasel once and for all … and the fool of a man who had fallen prey to the familiar’s lies.
The ruins provided him with a shadowed, private place to do his casting. Kneeling, Grigor placed the staff over his eyes just as he had when seeing through the bat’s enhanced orbs. This time, though, he focused on another servant far, far away. A servant in Kenabres.
Master …
Grigor’s view changed. Before him bent one of the pitborn who had briefly held Daryus hostage, the one the former crusader had wounded in the shoulder. The witch stared at him through the eyes of his companion.
Something’s happened …
The pitborn looked nervous. The familiar and the man escaped. We warned the others to watch for them beyond the city. Now, we hear nothing from them …
Grigor had paid one group of pitborn to remain on hand near Kenabres at all times. They had been his backup plan
in case Toy reached this far. What he heard now did not please him at all.
How long ago?
Two days.
You have attempted more than once?
Many times, Master, the pitborn responded, now more nervous than ever.
Grigor let the ugly creature sweat while he thought. The answers from the pitborn did not encourage the witch. Grigor considered a moment more, then, without warning, cut the link. Now he reached out to the leader of the other pitborn party.
No response. Even though Grigor had paid the pitborn well and made certain they all knew just how much they would be rewarded for their efforts when he triumphed, he had also made certain to instill in them a proper sense of fear. If they didn’t earn their way, they stood a good chance of not surviving Grigor’s wrath.
Unfortunately for the witch, these pitborn were beyond his reach. The blankness his mind met indicated only one thing: not one of the band still lived.
One man and that damned Toy could not do this! They could not! And yet, something or someone had slaughtered the small but capable group. Suddenly, Grigor’s paths to success had shrunk again.
He had to have the Pathfinder. With her, locating the temple-city would become so much easier.
Once more, Grigor held the staff over his eyes. He had earlier that day sent out another of the bats in the direction he knew the woman would lie. By now, the beast had to be near its destination.
The mercenaries had long been in his employ, a secondary precaution should Toy intrude in his plans. Sure enough, that had happened. Once aware of Toy’s presence near the Pathfinder, Grigor had ordered the mercenaries to separate her from the dandy and continue on with her alone. Grigor had wanted her to believe she was doing all this of her free will, but the kidnapping had been necessary now that time was of the essence. Either way, she would do as he desired. She had the skill, the natural aptitude, that he needed.
The transition to the bat’s view was instantaneous. The winged spy soared over the Worldwound, seeking out Galifar’s group. The captain knew where he had to be. The man’s greed would make certain that he and his men would have the Pathfinder with them at the appointed place and time.
The bat flew low, but not so low that Grigor Dolch risked yet another creature. The memories of the other’s violent destruction remained fresh.
The flier’s presence stirred up a number of small, dark creatures that quickly darted for the nearest burrows. Grigor knew them for carrion eaters. The Worldwound was full of carrion eaters, of course. A place where death was common attracted every kind of vermin and, even in this place, created more.
Ahead, the landmarks Grigor had relayed to the mercenaries finally came into view. There was no sign of the campsite, but Galifar would be clever enough not to make their presence known to the denizens of the Worldwound.
A horse suddenly came into view. The animal looked nervous, as would any sensible beast here. It wandered in the general direction of the border, but Grigor doubted it would reach it. The local predators probably already smelled its fear.
Then, it occurred to him to wonder why this horse would run loose so near where the mercenaries should have been. Gritting his teeth, the witch had his pet pick up the pace—
And came across the first body only seconds later.
The carrion eaters had already begun their work on the dead man. In fact, he looked to have been dragged some distance. Diving lower, the bat revealed to Grigor that most of the face had already been eaten away, as had any other flesh not protected by armor. What had killed the man was not readily obvious, and not of great import to Grigor. What did matter was that the witch was almost certain this was one of Captain Galifar’s followers.
Seconds later, the bat flew over what remained of the campsite. There, Grigor beheld a second body, then two more.
A closer inspection of the last revealed what was left of Captain Galifar, face eaten away, identifiable only by his armor.
This cannot be! It cannot! It seemed to Grigor that at almost every turn some force appeared to intervene. Something attempted to keep him from his destiny—he was certain of that now. Not Toy or their former patron—they would take a more direct route, want Grigor to know who was responsible.
But if not them, who? Some guardian left behind by Uhl-Adanar’s builders, determined to stop anyone who might release its prisoner?
Chewing over that disturbing thought, Grigor continued his search for the only thing that truly mattered here: the Pathfinder.
A quick but thorough flight over the camp revealed no other body. While it was possible that the Pathfinder’s lighter body might have been dragged off to feed young vermin in some underground nursery, Grigor preferred to think she was still alive. She had to be. She was key. She—
“Ah!” The exclamation escaping Grigor did not in any way reflect the true depth of his relief. The partial footprints near the edge of the campsite led directly to where several sets of hoofprints had mercilessly pummeled the ground.
At his whim, the bat circled the spot. Sure enough, while most of the hoofprints headed either toward the border or along it, two sets followed a route deeper into the Worldwound.
She lives. Grigor smiled. Fortune was with him. The woman had an admirable survival streak.
He ordered the bat to follow the tracks, then broke contact. When the creature drew near the woman, Grigor would know.
Exhaling, the witch straightened—
Poor, poor Grigor! Does he miss Toy? Toy misses Grigor …
Grigor froze. It had been a long, long time since he and the familiar had touched thoughts, the last such moment just after Grigor had broken his oath to his patron and dared find yet another way by which to augment his power. The eye cut from the tortured demon had fit Toy’s socket perfectly, almost as if the success of the witch’s experiment had been preordained.
But there Grigor’s luck had ended … and with it, almost his life. Of course, he knew he might have been a little responsible for all that, too, his patron having forbidden any delving into stealing actual demon magic, even from one of the patron’s lowliest servants. Setting the eye in his familiar should have given Grigor a new avenue of power, theoretically drawing from the creature’s innate magic. It was something the witch had always wanted to test, but had not, due to his awareness of the potential consequences.
Yet, in the end, Grigor just could not resist the temptation … and so things were where they were now. The most frustrating part had been that the experiment had proven a failure. Grigor had gained no access to demon magic.
Toy … devious little Toy … His moment of surprise over, the witch took command of the situation. He was the one with the power. Toy had only his cunning, which was a reflection of Grigor’s, nothing more. You really should not play games with me …
As he responded, Grigor reached into one of the pouches on his belt. It took him no more than a breath to find what he wanted. He pulled the soft, oval object out.
With Toy’s mummified eye in his hand, Grigor continued, I would have given you a swift death …
How magnanimous is Grigor! Toy mocked in turn. Would that every familiar had a master so magnanimous … but not so treacherous …
The witch smiled grimly. You should never have betrayed me.
We were sworn to the great one, Master Grigor! You weren’t satisfied even with all he gave, especially life when life was over.
Grigor fought down the temptation to reach up and assure himself that his flesh remained pliant. There were limitations. There were always limitations …
Not a thousand patrons could ever satisfy Grigor Dolch. That was the problem.
Are you seeking something, Toy? the witch countered. Are you seeking that which you need to be whole again? I have it with me. He imagined the mummified eye, aware that by doing so, the weasel would see it, also.
The fury he expected to hear from his former familiar did not materialize. Instead, Toy’s vile chuckle echoed in the witch’s head.
Thank you. I wanted to make certain that you had it. I know you will now no matter what.
The familiar’s voice vanished from Grigor’s thoughts.
The witch acted, but it was already too late. The simple spell for which he had in part saved the eye would have made it so very easy for him to end Toy’s existence once and for all. Unfortunately, Toy had obviously calculated well just how much time his former master would have needed and had given him slightly less.
Grigor stood quietly waiting for a moment, but the weasel had no plan to risk himself again. He had discovered what he needed to know, that Grigor would never have destroyed the eye.
For a moment, the witch seethed. Then, slowly, sense returned. Grigor needed the eye, but then, so, too, did Toy. Indeed, Toy needed it more.
Toy needed it more.
Very well, my little monster, Grigor thought with growing satisfaction. Now I know how to make certain that you will be where I want you when I want you …
He replaced the eye in the pouch. For the time being, the wisest thing he could do was continue on. Kenabres was no longer his destination. The Pathfinder had entered the Worldwound. That actually placed her nearer to Grigor. What mattered now was reaching her before anyone or anything else did.
You will lead me to my glory, the witch promised. And then you and Toy will be my first sacrifices to it …
16
HUNTED AND HERDED
She should have turned back. Every sensible thought said turn back. One did not journey into the Worldwound alone unless one had a desire for an agonizing death. With Daryus at her side, matters would have been different. He had braved this place’s horrors many times and lived to tell about it. He would have seen them to their destination, of that Shiera was certain.
Yet still Shiera rode deeper into the foul land. That she did so had much to do with what had happened back at the camp. A terrifying force had slaughtered Captain Galifar and his men, but left her untouched. Indeed, she had even been freed from her bonds.
Of course, having been fortunate enough to survive one demon encounter should have sent her running from the Worldwound. The odds of surviving a second—and this being the Worldwound, a second encounter was inevitable—were astronomical.
Pathfinder Tales--Reaper's Eye Page 14