The Dead Wind

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The Dead Wind Page 18

by Dennis Monaghan


  Scary’s focus on the vibration of the Altar Stone was broken by the bright vibrations of Olive, Jana, and Big Red. The pangs of his hunger flared his desire to feed on the three women. He wanted them. “Attack!” Scary screamed and his witless men stood, drew their swords and rushed the scouts’ position.

  Big Red drew her Lute sword and studied the charge. “I’ll let the first two through and engage the trailers.” She darted past the initial attackers and into the open field.

  Jana stepped into a thrust and planted her staff in the chest of the first man, who fell. The second man took an overhand swing, but Jana spun her staff, catching his chin with an uppercut blow.

  Olive glanced at Jana but nervously scanned the area for the rider. She had heard his voice. Where was he? She spied the blood rider striding from the trees. He raised his staff and aimed at Big Red.

  “Look out, Big Red,” Olive cried. The blood rider’s staff shot clear wavy energy toward Big Red.

  Big Red turned, instinctively blocked with her Lute sword. The wavy pulse hit the blade and deflected into the ground. Two attackers were upon her. She parried and thrust, feinted and struck. Both men fell.

  The blood rider turned to Olive and locked her in his stare. He took a step toward her. Jana changed direction and moved toward the blood rider. Olive seeing the probabilities on the One Wave, shouted, “Jana, no!”

  Scary shot a wave from his staff. Jana, hearing Olive, raised her sheath knife and moved to block the wave as Big Red had done. But the energy shattered the blade and caught her left arm and shoulder. She hit the ground, shuddered and passed out.

  Olive crawled close to Jana keeping an eye on the rider, who was staring at Big Red fighting witless men. The two men Jana had disabled with her staff had struggled to their feet and were staggering toward Olive, their swords held high.

  Drawing her big Lute knife, Olive glanced at the rider and then the oncoming swordsmen. She checked Jana: alive but unconscious; no time to move her to safety, no time for a healing melody. The first slave-man was upon her. From her crouch she lunged into his middle with her shoulder and drove her blade deep in his thigh. He fell back, her blade coming free with his weight. The second man slashed a downward stroke. Olive rolled under and sliced his arm on the way by. The arm hung useless but the witless man turned unfeeling toward Olive and one handed slashed again. Olive avoided the stroke easily and led the attacker away from Jana. The first man, bleeding heavily from the leg wound, limped after Olive. Olive glanced at Big Red with the hope of some help.

  Big Red caught Olive’s eye and called, “You have to kill them or they just keep coming.” Big Red dispatched the last of the six slave-men she faced, and she started for Olive.

  Olive had killed rats, but only with her bow and arrow. Even though these were most likely doomed men, having been enslaved by the blood rider, she didn’t know if she could kill them. As she circled the man she could see the rider was moving toward Jana. Olive’s need to help Jana overrode her doubt, and she plunged her knife hard into the chest of the slave-man. She yanked the blade free and turned to Jana as he fell, dead.

  Big Red cut the last man to the ground and ran to get between Jana and the rider; Olive a step behind Big Red desperately shouted, “Stop!”

  Scary halted three paces from Jana and raised his hollow metal staff. He shot a wavy blast at the young women. He shot another.

  Olive instinctively raised her Lute knife and deflected the energy. Big Red took the second beam on her Lute sword. The rider turned his back on their rush and sprinted through the trees toward the Tanan Shrine.

  Big Red started after him but the wound in her leg prevented ardent pursuit. “Bill! Slim!” Big Red called alarm, “Beware! Attacker approaching!” She heard Bill and Slim respond, and then returned to where Olive knelt next to Jana.

  “She is coming around,” Olive said and cradled Jana in her arms. Olive began to hum a basic healing melody. Jana sat up and asked, “Is everyone all right? Where is the rider?”

  “Olive and I are fine. The rider ran toward the shrine. Bill and Slim know he is coming. If you can walk, we will go lend whatever aid we can.”

  Jana tested her limbs and shook her body. “My arm and shoulder are numb and tingly but not debilitated, let’s go.”

  Scary burst through the trees, up the grass slope to the shrine stairs. A very big man rushed at him still paces away. From the other side a tall man hurdled down the stone stair, his sword held with skill. Scary darted past them and up the stairs through the entry panels and into the low light of the Altar Stone chamber.

  Master Akien had heard Big Red’s call of warning and was expecting the attacker. He placed himself between the intruder and the Altar Stone. He held his short sword in his right hand, short staff in his left.

  Scary fired a burst of wavy energy from his staff. Master Akien raised his sword to block but the energy shattered the blade and pushed him back against the Altar Stone. The blood rider fired again, and Master Akien dove to the stone floor avoiding the clear wave. Scary rushed the prone Master Akien slashing with his staff. Master Akien rolled to his back, raised his short staff, and blocked the attack.

  Bill and Slim charged through the entry panels. Scary looked up, and Master Akien struck him on the shin with the short staff. Scary yelped and hopped away. Master Akien sprung from the stone floor and struck the blood rider on the top of the head. Scary fell forward and bashed his forehead on the top of the Altar Stone and lay there, motionless.

  Bill and Slim halted next to Master Akien. The three young women came through the panels in a rush but stopped when they saw the disabled assailant. The blood rider lay sprawled across the top of the Altar Stone. Bill said, “Nice work, Master Akien. I think he is out. Now the question is what to do with him.”

  The City

  Bartok was thrilled with his costume. Today he would be Anaso, the Trickster, in black and white. Across his bed was perfect Trickster garb: a satin shirt that bore four alternating squares of black and white, pants with one black leg and one white. A long cape of silver grey represented the fog Anaso created by mixing the black with the white, thus hiding the truth. A cloth mask was finely painted in the traditional quartered pattern, one white eye, one black eye then the alternating cheeks, black and white.

  Bartok held the mask to his face and turned to Nance. “My compliments to Penta. She has crafted a superb costume.”

  When he put it on, Bartok pulled the mask over his face and looked in the mirror with pure delight.

  “Wonderful! I am Anaso the Trickster. What do you think, Nance?” He spun to face Nance.

  “Splendid, sir! The troopers are wearing Anaso masks in your honor. Many of them painted the masks themselves, reflecting the different faces of Anaso we learned about.”

  “Yes, the creator and destroyer images, all in black and white. The Troop does me proud, Nance. This parade may be more fun than I’d thought.”

  “Well, I hope so, sir. Anyway, it’s time to go. Your escort is mounted and waiting.”

  “I’m off, and, Nance. You go have some fun yourself.”

  “Yes, sir,” Nance said.

  Bartok joined his Trooper escort outside the City buildings. They were clad in black and white shirts and pants, over which they wore their City Trooper jackets. Each had a rendition of Anaso on their masks—some like skulls and others in small checked patterns that curved away at odd perspectives. Short silver capes were tied around their necks.

  The twenty troopers saluted when Bartok appeared. Lieutenant Stev said, “All ready, Captain.”

  Bartok looked at the men and laughed. “Mind your tricks, all you Anasos, until after the parade.” The masked troopers laughed and shouted, “Hail Bartok, Hail the Trickster!”

  He mounted, and he and his escort rode down into Government Square, where the parade was forming. Wagons were covered with flowers, and people were colorfully dressed, depicting gods and characters from old stories.

  Starting the pa
rade were the wagon and band honoring Yil, the Earth Goddess, complete with goat dancers. Next Bartok and his troop would precede the Anaso the Trickster parade wagon and a brass band. They were directed into place. The lead band struck up a tune and started across Government Square to the portal that would lead them through the streets past the shops and townhouses and onto Market Square, which had been turned into a gigantic outdoor ballroom.

  Bartok ordered the troop forward to ride through the portal; they found the street lined with people, most of them in costumes of dazzling variety and color. The people cheered Anaso and then quieted as they tried to see who was wearing the beautiful Anaso mask and costume. Bartok lifted the mask from his face and waved to the crowd.

  Some shouted, “Bartok!” in recognition and the crowd cheered again. Bartok felt pride and fed with pleasure on the crowd’s energy.

  The parade continued through the crowded streets. When Bartok came to a bend in the road, he would don his mask and then doff it at just the right moment, revealing himself so the people would cheer.

  In Market Square, the vendors had closed up their stalls and hung hundreds of lanterns from ropes stretched from structure to structure. Flowers and colorful banners were everywhere. A bandstand had been erected near the bay end of the square, where the parade ended.

  The people’s obvious support of him filled Bartok with delight. He felt like the Trickster himself, pulling the grandest trick: to be elevated from a lowly lieutenant to speaker. He indulged in this feeling of satisfaction, as he dismounted and gave his horse to a trooper.

  All around him the City was joyful. Bartok started to open himself to the energy, but its force and vitality overwhelmed him. He stepped back, dazed, and tried to close out the noise. The old captain’s voice screamed for revenge with all the power of the surging crowd. Bartok began to tremble. He grabbed the saddle to steady himself and forced the noise into the background of his awareness.

  Taking a breath, Bartok turned to his dismounted troop. “Well done! Now go have some fun. Dismissed!” The troop cheered and dispersed happily.

  “You join them, Stev,” Bartok said.

  “Yes, sir, but if you need us, we will all be here at the ball.”

  “Thank you, Stev.”

  Bartok put on his mask. He spent some time wandering around Market Square sampling various foods and brews. He passed as just another reveler, enjoying the freedom in that role. He listened to a conversation between two young ladies, obviously from the old families. They complained about some trade wagon train in from Bottom, but Bartok could not gather what had happened. He recalled Ronzal having mentioned a wagon train on the way, so he thought to seek out Ronzal at the Cabbage.

  With most people out in the Square, the Cabbage was quieter than usual. Bartok went to the merchant’s wall and found Ronzal's man at his usual place by the entrance. The big young man held open the door, and Bartok entered.

  “Welcome, Bartok,” Ronzal said. He was clad in a flowing grey robe as Tok the Hermit, his hood tossed back for now. “Or I should say Anaso, the Trickster. That is a splendid costume. I can see Penta has done you well.”

  “Yes, she has, and thank you for the recommendation.” Bartok held the mask before his face to give the full effect.

  “What brings you to the Hermit Tok? Surely you would rather spend time with Yil the Earth Goddess.”

  “Don’t tell me,” said Bartok with a laugh. “You could only mean Cara Sagra. She is indeed a fitting Yil. I fear she can out-trick the Trickster.”

  “Yes, I mean Cara.” Ronzal said. “I saw her earlier today. She had nothing but nice things to say about you.”

  “I shudder to think,” said Bartok with a wry smile. “But I did want to ask you about the wagon train from Bottom. I heard talk of trouble in the square.”

  “Today a train of twenty trade wagons came through First Gate. They have a copy of a contract that was held by the Coos family of tanners from Bottom. One of the men with the train claimed to be the son and rightful holder of the warehouse. They went to the Coos Hide Warehouse and tried to take possession. My workers stopped them and a fight broke out, though no one was seriously hurt.”

  “Is their claim true?” asked Bartok.

  “Yes, the boy was Rab Coos, and the contract is to be honored. He was very frightened, though he was trying to act forceful and in command. I suspect the boy is not here by his own desire. He was accompanied by some hard-looking men. A man with yellow eyes, Bast, may be the real leader.”

  “Any idea what the shipment is?”

  “Some of the wagons contain tanned hides and the usual trade goods and supplies that often come from Bottom. Other wagons were not unloaded in view. I have no word yet on those. My workers are keeping an eye on the place.”

  “How many people rode with the train?” asked Bartok.

  “Hard to know for sure, but a rough count put the number around a hundred, which is about right for a train that size.”

  “Well,” Bartok said, “there’s not much we can do but watch. I doubt anything of note will take place so soon after their arrival. I'll inform the guard.”

  Bartok stood and bowed. He wondered if Ronzal had told him everything, but he said, “Thank you, Ronzal. Enjoy the ball.” Bartok left, thinking he should check out Bast for himself.

  Seventeen

  The City

  “Begin distributing the Crim mushroom tea to the Bottom cafes,” Bast ordered. “If the owner has objections, point out their cut of the take; that will make them happy. If an owner refuses, use a strong arm. Got that?”

  “What’s special about this tea, sir?” asked a driver.

  “One cup gives the drinker a feeling of robust wellbeing,” Bast answered. “Two cups, the feeling of invincibility, but you pay a sickly toll. If you are able to drink more, you are a fool. Instruct the owners that the first cup of tea is free to any City trooper. Proceed.”

  Bast watched the men load the two small wagons with kegs of tea and then looked at the blood rider Noster had insisted he bring along. The blood rider stood useless by the door. Noster had hoped to communicate with Bast through the blood rider, fat chance. The thing could barely talk. On the journey from Bottom, the blood rider kept falling from his horse. Finally Bast made him ride on the back of a wagon.

  At one point when the wagon train had stopped for a flock of sheep to clear the road, the blood rider attacked a lamb and sucked the life right out of the animal. Bast had to pay the shepherd for it. Noster had high hopes for his blood riders, but Bast did not. Perhaps his plan to subvert the other Altar Stones would give Noster the power to improve the blood riders. Bast shook his head. He knew nothing about subverting Altar Stones, but he could subvert people, and Captain Bartok, leader of the City Troop and soon to be speaker, was his next mark.

  Woodside Mill Grotto

  Bell and the twins had found a gentler slope to the Grotto, and Bell had suggested that they bring the young horses to the Altar Stone. The three led the ponies across the meadow, through the boulders and into the Grotto. The ponies went to the Altar Stone and touched the top with their noses, remaining bowed over the Altar Stone for a moment.

  “By Yil,” Page exclaimed. “I’ve never seen anything like that!”

  The ponies moved away from the Altar Stone and gathered under the redwood trees at the edge of the moss-covered ground.

  “Great idea, Bell,” Book said, “The ponies are getting the Altar Stone vibrations.”

  “Not really my idea,” Bell said with a smile, “I saw that Momma Cat had brought her kittens. Maybe the Altar Stone will open something in the ponies like it did in us. Let’s sit for a bit before we go back for lunch,”

  Bell placed her short staff on the ground next to her. The twins carried full staves. Grandfather Lute wanted everyone to be armed and had given all family members large camp knives to wear on their belts. Sitting cross-legged on the moss-covered ground around the Altar Stone, Bell flowed into the waves of the environment, m
arveling at the complexity of the One Wave. She let her perceptions drift. Disharmony flicked across the outer edge of her range. She focused and followed the tendril to the source; a party turning onto Mill Road from Ridge Road. Bell could read harmful intentions and something strange, frightening.

  She stood quickly. “We must get back to the mill fast. I think Rude is on the way to attack, and there is something strange with him, something bad.” Bell and the twins ran from the Grotto.

  The blood rider Weirdie had no idea that someone might lie to him, no concept of lying at all. Noster’s imprint to place the glob on the Altar Stone drove him, and when Rude spoke of an Altar Stone, that was enough for Weirdie.

  “The older man is the one to watch for,” Rude told the blood rider. The poison oak had done its work on Rude, and as he spoke, he was scratching his arms and backside and squirming in his clothes. Their attack party turned onto the Mill Road, “He will try to keep you from the Altar Stone.” Rude scratched some more. “Best slave him right away.”

  “Better slave all the men,” Dent interjected from his horse.

  “Save the women for us,” Fiscal snorted.

  “No, that Bell,” Rude said to Weirdie, “she gets special treatment. Maybe you can suck out her life, like you did to the dog that attacked you. I’d like to see that!”

  Weirdie stared at the scratching Rude. “How far?”

  Rude squirmed in the saddle and glanced back at the line of witless men following the horses. “Not far. The road flattens a bit ahead, and the gate to Woodside Mill is there. The gate is stout, and the stone wall is high.” Rude wasn’t going to mention the time he and his men were repelled with rocks. “Shouldn’t be a problem,” he said, scratching.

  They rode on, and in a while, Rude pointed. “There is the gate!”

  The blood rider pulled the glob from his pocket. The inner light was glowing longer between pulses—a good sign. He held the power gem in his palm and traced an arch across Woodside Mill. The glob shown brighter when aimed at a point beyond the mill and up toward the ridge. “Open the gate,” he commanded.

 

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