"Spark, what's going on?" The mountain hound stirred and sighed, his gaze toward the mouth of the cave.
Athson squinted. Snow blanketed the heaths outside the cave. There was his mule and the tack for it. He needed to find his mother. Mother? That was right, they had her captive in Rok. His father...
He choked back a sob at the memory. He'd finally found him, and now he was dead, killed by Corgren while trying to save Athson. And there was Limbreth, gone over the side of the Funnel.
Athson watched Spark a moment. "Did you get her?"
Spark wagged his tail.
Athson looked away. The mountain hound had done more than he had. Shame rose with sour bile in his stomach. How could he have failed her? The wrong choice. Corgren had goaded him into that worthless shot into the wind. The Bow of Hart lay nearby, and he spat at it. Could he have even made the shot to save Limbreth with it? No telling after that poor choice.
But now he needed to find his mother. He'd leave the bow, but he could still bargain with the useless artifact. He cast around, half-blind in his fever, for all his things. He dragged them over near the mule before he collapsed. Athson rolled over and found Spark lying next to him. Maybe he'd fainted. He closed his eyes as weariness dragged at his arms.
Athson scrambled away from the kobold in the dark amid the howls of trolls hunting the night. Too late he remembered the edge of the Funnel and fell. He slid along a steep slope.
Limbreth fell too, her cry as sharp as that eagle when he’d met Zelma. He might catch Limbreth. No, she was gone. She fell at a different place.
Athson couldn't stop himself. He slipped into darkness and landed on a ledge. He bounced with a grunt and almost rolled into the darkened depths where the Deep Run gushed. He found a rough crack on the ledge and held it so he could scramble farther onto it. His breath came in rasping gasps.
Light waved above him. Trolls sought him, and he pushed away from the edge and slithered backward into a small hole of darkness. A little cave. He lay there until light glowed from far away and grew brighter until he saw a dog. Spark! The dog was friendly and nudged him farther into the little cave, where he lay down beside Athson and warmed him.
Later, the dog tugged Athson to his feet, and he walked beside the glowing animal, deeper into the cave.
Athson groaned. Spark had leapt after Limbreth but couldn't save her. But the mountain hound had saved Athson that night when he fell on a ledge. He got to his feet. Had Limbreth fallen on a ledge? No, he hadn't seen one below the Altar of the Trolls. He ground his teeth and gripped his pounding head. Sweat drenched his clothing from the fever. When had he caught a fever? It came on him after leaving the Funnel.
He grabbed his pack and leaned against the mule awhile. Just load your things and go find your mother. If he could stand. Athson fumbled with the tack for the mule.
Spark nudged at his legs and whimpered.
"Stop. None of that. I need to go."
He squinted over the mule's back at the storm. It was getting dark outside already. He ran his hand through his sweat-soaked hair, coughed, and shuddered before he fell on the hard rock of the cave's natural floor.
Spark stood on his chest.
"Cut it out, Spark. Let me up. I have to find her." Athson tried to push the mountain hound away but finally lay still by the mule, which stared at him and flicked its tail. He groaned and covered his face at his sudden tears. Why had he let her fall like that? He was no good. He let his father and Limbreth die. He sobbed until he fell asleep.
Someone gripped Athson and pulled him into a sitting position. His eyes fluttered. He found strength in his limp neck and lifted his head. The indistinct face of the trapper hovered in his blurred vision.
"Not you again."
"Here, put your arm around my neck, and I'll get you over by the fire." He got Athson to his feet and half dragged him toward the dying fire. "What were you trying to do?"
"I'm going to find my mother." Athson pushed at the trapper, a feeble resistance that got him nowhere. He sat hard as his legs gave out.
"Hey, watch that broth. You almost knocked it over." The trapper moved Athson's feet away from the fire. "You'll burn your boots if you're not careful."
Athson lay back with a heavy gasp followed by a cough. "How'd you get in this cave with Spark and me? I don't remember you when we left the ledge. He saved me that night."
The trapper shook his head. "Don't know what you mean. I brought you here in a snowstorm on that mule of yours. You'd have died by now out there with this fever you caught."
Athson frowned and shook his head. "I don't think so. Spark led me out of that cave. I was there."
The trapper patted his hands. "Just lie still. You must be remembering something else. Let me get some broth in you, and maybe I can get that fever down."
"No, I have to go find my mother. You can't stop me from that. I let all the rest of them die. I can't let her die too." He reached for his sword, but it wasn't at his side. He sat up and twisted his head in several directions, his breath heaving. "Where is it? Did you steal it?" He gripped the trapper by his coat. "I need that sword."
The other man pried Athson's hands away. "Relax. It's there beside you. And don't pull that on me. I'm trying to help you."
"You can't keep me here!" Athson rolled over and got to his feet, stumbled away, and retched. He finished and groaned.
The trapper helped him back to the fire and put a blanket over him. "Guess broth's not such a good thing just now." He held Athson by the head. "Listen to me. You're sick with a fever. You can't travel just now. You aren't even thinking straight." He tucked the blanket tighter about Athson. "Now you just lie still. I need to make my dinner. It don't make itself."
Athson faded in and out of sleep for a while as the trapper worked on his meal. He noted Spark lying by the fire again, panting and watching the cave entrance.
After a while, the trapper hummed a tune and spoke a prayer. Then he ate his meal. "Hits the spot." He smiled at Athson. "When you're better, you'll see just how good my cooking is."
"Yeah, sure." Athson laid his arm over his eyes. After a while, he lifted his arm away, feeling clear-headed. "Hey, what's your name?"
The trapper paused as he ate. "Oh, we haven't been properly introduced, I suppose. We've met enough times before, but now we should get to know one another." He stuck out his hand and shook Athson’s weak grip. "Name's Apeth Stellin."
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Magdronu's wings of magic enfolded Corgren as the wound seared with pain. In moments, he would arrive at help in Paugren's camp. Corgren's brother would help him.
But the spell flashed with daylight, and the encircling darkness threatened to break. Magdronu's power was weakened. His master had mentioned some trouble spreading his power among his servants.
Corgren stretched his mind for what power remained to him. His concentration fragmented with pain. Like the wound was cursed. Corgren released a choking gasp of effort and whispered the spell, strengthening his hold. Darkness solidified, and the grasp of magic roared like many voices of wind. At the last of Corgren's strength, the spell fell away, and he fell facedown. Was he there? Had his failing power taken him there or dropped him somewhere else due to the lack? "Help me." His ears roared.
Voices whispered around him. Corgren trembled. Not the dead wastes of the underworld ruled by Magdronu! He blinked and felt a rug beneath him. No, it was somewhere in the living world. Pain seared the deep wound in his back. Just like a Rokan dagger.
Hands grasped Corgren and rolled him onto his side. The Bane loomed in the tent, and the guards shrank from it even as they assisted him.
Corgren ground his teeth at the pain. "M-must have P-Paugren." The wound felt like flame in his body. It had to have been a Wolfshead dagger. Of course, Athson had one.
An officer, by his crossed sword insignia, barked an order. "Go find Paugren! Now!" Someone left shouting. "Here, help me staunch the bleeding. He'll be dead unless Paugren gets here."
The edges of Corgren's vision faded to shadow. The Bane drifted closer, and Corgren heard its moan of hunger. Ah, in his fading moments, nearing death, he heard its true voice. Cursed creature hungered for any life affected by those traitors.
"What's happened?" The familiar voice sounded shocked. Paugren's face invaded his dwindling eyesight. "What happened to you? Get back, away with you. Here, you hold him still. Stabbed in the back. You're lucky to be alive, brother." He spoke a spell that Corgren barely recognized as healing.
Corgren's vision grew stronger, but his wound seared even more, and he shrieked. The pain remained even stronger, if that were possible. "Finish it, brother!"
"I can't, brother, my powers are limited. The high shrine is damaged somehow. I've healed you enough not to bleed to death, but the rest I have no power for from our master. We've been unable to reach the shrine. The dwarves created a slide that blocks the path." Paugren grabbed his brother's hand. "What happened?"
Pain tore another cry from Corgren before he spoke. "Stabbed by the traitorous father. The Grendonese woman fell from the Funnel. Athson remains alive with the bow. I've been stabbed with a Wolfshead dagger."
"Come, you men lift him and bring him to my house." Paugren stood as they lifted Corgren. "I'll tend you as I can, brother. This is ill news. Our master won't be pleased, since I've lost the other hostages to Eloch's wily efforts."
Corgren groaned and fought back tears against the dagger's effects. "We've no further leverage. Magdronu must gain possession of the bow."
As they crossed from the tent used for spells, Paugren gripped Corgren's hand. "It's much worse."
Corgren ground his teeth. "It can't get much worse."
"Oh, but it can and has, Corgren. The sign of the prophecy spoken by the Withlings has arisen. Our doom lies before us with our master weakened."
As they entered the home, Corgren writhed amid the helping hands. Pain tore at him. Their master's weakened magic was cut off from them in their hour of need. Corgren rolled his eyes and stared at Paugren as they set him on a bed. "All our plans and those of Magdronu can't have come to naught after all this time."
Paugren grabbed his brother's hand as the soldiers left the room. "I fear the dragon asks too much of you, of us. But we will fight on."
Corgren squeezed his brother's hand. "It's not too much to ask. We will fight on." Another wave of pain forced a shriek from Corgren's throat and thrashed his partially healed wound. At least he lived, and that was something. "Curse those traitors, we will fight." His face twitched as he fought the pain.
CHAPTER TWO
Danilla's presence galled Magdronu. To think she'd been rescued after all these years from his clutches in Rok. Another mistake. He should never have let Hastra be taken near his prized hostages. Without Danilla, he lost control of Athson and the bow unless Corgren had taken it.
Magdronu-as-Gweld climbed toward the heights of the Funnel ahead of the others. He called for Corgren again. Nothing. He'd have to contact Paugren after he checked for Corgren at the Funnel. Magdronu-as-Gweld halted for the others to catch up. He'd pause for them often but then rush ahead. He didn't need to feign anxiety about what had happened. If only Corgren had the bow, Magdronu could discard the ruse.
The dwarves and Danilla slowed the climb considerably, but they finally crept into the notch overlooking the Funnel. Magdronu glimpsed nothing upon the rock shelf of the Funnel. No one there. Where were they? He sniffed for magic. Too far away, with the wind. He tapped his companions each in turn and said, "Let's wait and see if anything moves."
They waited, but no one revealed themselves. Makwi bent low and crept along the slope of the path. The others followed, and so did Magdronu-as-Gweld, feigning his part as a ranger. But no one was there.
He spotted bloodstains on the rocks as they gained a better view and pointed them out to the others. "There's been a fight here, and a body was dragged." He pointed to another stain. "Someone was injured, and then the trail just ends." He stared a moment. That trail was consistent with Corgren spelling himself away due to an injury. His servant had gone to his brother, Paugren, for help. Magdronu-as-Gweld trotted toward the altar stone and found a newer dried splash of blood. That was Limbreth. Where was the Bane? Where was Athson? Who was dragged away?
A shout on the wind drew Magdronu-as-Gweld's attention to Makwi, who waved him over to a pile of stones. That was new. So someone had buried someone else. Magdronu-as-Gweld hurried to the dwarves and Danilla.
The woman's eyes welled with tears. "It's one of them. I know it."
Makwi removed a stone from the cairn and set it aside. "This looks like where the head is. We'd best see who it is to make sure." He glanced to Tordug, Danilla, and Magdronu-as-Gweld, his gaze finally fixed on the woman. "We need to know, you understand."
Danilla nodded, her face drawn into a mask of restrained sobs as tears trailed along her cheeks. "Do it." She turned away, hugging herself. "But where did the wizard and the survivor go?"
Magdronu-as-Gweld pointed back to the largest stains on the rock shelf. "That abrupt ending makes me wonder if Corgren was wounded and used magic to escape. He did that back in the mountains more than once when he threatened hostages."
Tordug removed a stone from the pile. "One body and one person disappeared, at least. If I recall, Corgren had Ath on a chain and took him when he left with a spell. Is that right, Gweld?"
Magdronu-as-Gweld nodded. "Yes. He did." He removed a stone from the pile. Had Corgren killed Athson in a fight and received a wound for his trouble? It looked likely. Magdronu-as-Gweld restrained a grin. Then Corgren likely had the Bow of Hart. He needed to contact Paugren soon.
"Then this is probably..." Tordug's words trailed away, having reached the same conclusion.
Danilla wheeled back to them, her jaw set. She pulled at two large stones as Magdronu-as-Gweld and the dwarves continued their work. In short order, Makwi lifted the last stone away that revealed the face they were all certain was Athson. Cheeks protruded from the gaunt face which bore a tattered beard, the head topped with greasy hair. One ruined eye revealed who it was: Ath.
Magdronu-as-Gweld slouched. "Then it's not Athson. But where is he? And the bow?"
"Let's check Ath's hands for the chain. Athson got him away somehow." Tordug lifted another stone.
A long wail erupted from Danilla, and she collapsed into a weeping huddle over the grave, her words lost in her sorrow.
Magdronu-as-Gweld backed away and motioned the dwarves to him. When they approached, he said, "I think we should leave her to her grieving for the moment. Let's check for more signs of what happened."
Tordug nodded but knelt beside Danilla and touched her shoulders as she lay weeping across her dead husband. "Lady, your loss is heavy, and we are near if you need us."
Danilla nodded, her response lost in her tears.
Magdronu-as-Gweld led the dwarves away. He needed to find out about the bow. He searched the area near the bloodstains with the dwarves.
"Here, a link was cut." Makwi lifted a half-link from the rocky terrain. He eyed the metal. "Looks like someone used a small file. Probably took a while, so that was Ath who did the work."
"And here it is." Tordug lifted a small piece of broken-toothed saw. "It's been heavily worn. He's been using that a while."
"So he got free suddenly and likely helped Athson." Magdronu-as-Gweld rubbed his chin as he squatted by the dwarves. "Maybe he attacked Corgren, who killed him."
Tordug extended a hand toward the bloodstains. "That would explain what happened. If you're correct, Gweld, then Corgren got away wounded, which left Athson to take care of his father." The Chokkran lord pointed to the grave. "Too bad we were so far away we couldn't help. Took far too long to get here as it was." He stroked his beard. "But where has Athson gone?"
Makwi stroked his beard. "And why leave?"
Magdronu-as-Gweld stood and crossed his arms. "Well, we assumed Athson wondered if we were all dead and left to rescue Limbreth and A
th. Based on that reasoning, he now believes he's alone, so he's gone after something else. But what?" Certainly not the prophesied arrow, since he knew little of it. Magdronu-as-Gweld knew nothing of how it would appear either. He turned partially away.
Makwi stood and spoke. "I can think of several things he would be after. If Corgren survived and took Athson prisoner, then he wouldn't have waited for the burial, so we can assume Athson is free. If he's got the bow, he could be after Corgren or his mother." Makwi motioned to Danilla, who still lay across her husband's grave. "He wouldn't know her fate. He would certainly want to find her, maybe Corgren too. If he still has the bow, then he might bargain with it."
Magdronu-as-Gweld paced away and back to the dwarves and paused. The dwarf made sense. Corgren wouldn't have cared about Ath and likely would have thrown the body over the edge otherwise. Athson was free. He peered between the dwarves. "I think we're clear who has the Bow of Hart."
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Hastra stuck her finger in the Book of Prophecies to mark her place and narrowed her eyes at Limbreth's attentive expression. Good, Limbreth was finally alert. Hastra needed a listener at the moment, and Withlings were in short supply.
"You've found something?" Limbreth pointed at Hastra's book.
"Only a few references, but understand, everything that has happened revolved around finding the Bow of Hart." Hastra stroked the old binding of the book, writings of her order saved from the fall of Withling's Watch. So much in it, but so little added in the long centuries since that time.
"Such as?"
"For one, there's my return." Hastra lifted one finger. "I was sent to Rok of Eloch's will and returned to face magic at need. It has happened to me before, but it is unusual, at least in my own experience. That happened around the bow. It was needed, but there was magic in that storm. Where did it come from?" She shrugged. "Magdronu was near, but how close?" She showed another finger to add to her count. "Which leads to the next part. The others were saved by that magical storm, not by Eloch. You weren't there, but it should not have happened."
The White Arrow Page 2