Dagon's eyes flickered in momentary confusion and anger, but just as fast, it subsided to reason. "I understand. I must leave at once. I trust my family can stay here until Mandrake is safe?" he asked, though he knew the answer.
"Of course they can, my friend. They shall remain here until you have cleared Mandrake of these cowsons." Tundal clasped his hand firmly. "May your horses travel as swiftly as the wind."
"Lord Dagon," Prince Berrit called before he had taken more than a few steps. "I will send with you half of my personal escort. They are fierce warriors and battle would do them good. Now, go save your people, and be sure to send us swift word of your victory."
"I thank you, Prince Berrit." Then Dagon was gone.
"May the Creator grant him a thousand kills," Andras said, grabbing an apple from the bowl of fruit on the table, polishing it on his shirt.
*****
The sight of carnage still loomed in Rift's mind as he and Shahariel rode down the road toward Dragon's Cove. They had lost the Princess' tracks at the encampment and had crossed the river, hoping to pick them up again. There was not a single doubt in Rift's mind that the Princess had been in that supply wagon when it had arrived at the encampment. They had not found her body or the bodies of Ursa and his apprentice…which meant they were still alive. The supply wagon had not been touched, which meant it had arrived after the battle was over. They were still out there somewhere.
Rift's men that had left Draco Castle with him had caught up by the time he was done overseeing the body checks. He had ordered them to stay behind and help fortify the encampment in case the savages came back for another assault. They were of little use to him anyway.
Rift's mind had raced since the night he had left Draco Castle on why Ursa might have done what he did. But he could not come to any realistic conclusions. A large part of him hoped he would not have to kill the Wizard. Ursa had been a decent friend throughout the years. He had healed him several times on the battlefield - saving his life more than once.
Ursa had also been a close, dear friend to King Borrack and the Queen for many years. King Borrack had put more trust into Ursa than anyone else that Rift had ever seen. That had to count for something. But Rift would kill him and Meath, just the same…if he had to.
Rift knew it would take everything he had to take the two Wizards down if it came to that. They were Gifted and he was not, which gave them the upper hand. But he had taken out the Gifted before. A handful of Shyroni lay dead by his quick hand and quicker instinct.
"You sure seem to be stuck in your thoughts today," The tracker said, riding closer.
"I cannot get my mind around why they would have taken her. It just does not make any sense to me at all."
"I wish I had an answer for you, but I do not. Perhaps if I knew them better I might, but I have only heard stories about Ursa," Shahariel told him honestly. "Are you sure none of their bodies were back at that camp?"
"I checked every one - none were them," Rift grunted. He did not want to think of what had happened back there. He had seen worse, but still the sight of a brutal slaughter such as this did not please him. He had never liked killing and had only done it because he was good at it.
"Maybe there is more to this than you know," the tracker said. "Maybe Ursa did not kill the king and kidnap the Princess. Maybe he was saving her from whoever did kill the King. Something did not seem right about that Zandorian Prince - maybe he had more to do with what happened than it appeared."
Rift glanced over to the tracker with a half-hearted smirk and a shrug.
"Are you sure Dragon's Cove is where they would be headed?" the tracker asked.
Rift truly had no idea where they were headed. Dragon's Cove would seem to be a likely choice, no one there yet knew of the King's death and the Princess' kidnapping. He was sure the news would reach there before he did, but not by more than a day or so. "It is the only place that I can think of. The Lord and Lady of Dragon's Cove hold Ursa in the highest regards. He has done much for them. Maybe he believes they will trust his word and hide him."
"Seems a risky chance," Shahariel sidestepped his horse around a fallen tree.
"My senses tell me to go to Dragon's Cove and they have never steered me wrong." This was all Rift could say - he just hoped he was right. It had been tearing him up inside that he had not yet been able to save the Princess. If she were hurt, he would never be able to forgive himself. He whispered a silent prayer to Queen Lavira - asking for her forgiveness and that he would bring Nicolette home safe.
"Hopefully we will not run into any savages out here." Shahariel eyes scanned the shadows. "I would hate to run into the tribes that overtook that encampment. There are dozens of tracks around these parts - it is going to be hard for me to determine which ones are the ones we are looking for. So, what makes you the man for this job, Rift?" Shahariel asked, swatting several horseflies off his steed. Shahariel was in it for the money and he was being paid very handsomely for his services.
"I am oath bound to her. I am her Champion as I was her late mother… Queen Lavira's Champion." Rift replied softly.
The tracker nodded his respect. Unlike himself and the many others who had been paid, Rift's honor was on the line and for a man of his caliber that was the highest price.
"We will find the Princess." The tracker yawned. "I have always been able to find my charge."
They had been traveling with little to no sleep for days now, and it was beginning to take its toll on them. The clouds were beginning to turn dark purples and bright pinks as the sun slowly ascended from the clear sky. A thick crimson line rimmed the mountaintops. It would be dark soon and they needed sleep. He would need all his strength and wits about him when they found her. "We will make camp once we get to that rocky slope up the road."
The land had already begun to flatten out since they had crossed the Sheeva River. The high peaking mountains dipped down into rolling knolls. The trees thinned substantially - the dense thicket of different palms and opaque vegetation slowly transformed into large powerful evergreens and deciduous trees. Ferns and vines were replaced by long, rich green and golden grasses, thorny bushes and boulders.
They made camp just as the first stars began to shimmer in the darkening sky. They made a small fire and cooked a plump hare that Shahariel had caught earlier that evening. Rift had not allowed a fire before - as a fire would give away their camp at night. But tonight, high rocky slopes secluded their camp on three of the four sides and a decent growth of trees and foliage veiled the fourth. The fire would not be seen easily and Rift wanted a hot meal for a change to help lift his spirits.
"Well, with this terrain I should be able to pick up their trail again. They are not going to be foolish enough to travel on any of the roads openly. I would bet my bottom silver they will not be far off." Shahariel turned the chubby hare over and juices dripped onto the hot coals with steamy hisses.
Rift inhaled the aroma of cooking meat, his mouth already watering with anticipation. "It will be easier for them to travel at night, not as many dangers here as in the jungle. But it will be harder for them to hide during the day. We will find them."
"They might already be in Dagon's Cove."
"It is possible," Rift replied. He hoped they were - it would make things easier - but he doubted it. He had to believe most of their traveling would be on foot and off the roads. Though knowing they had already made it across the river meant anything was possible. Ursa was never one to be underestimated.
Rift got up to check the horses and make sure they could graze. While he was there, he patted his horse's neck and whispered, "We will get her back."
"If you do not get back over here soon, I am going to eat all of this without you," Shahariel called to Rift with a chuckle.
Rift gave his horse one last pat on the neck before he went back to the fire. "Give me a piece of that and I will tell you how bad a cook you are," Rift joked. It had been the first time he had laughed in a while.
"
So the man does know how to laugh - who would have thought." Shahariel smiled, handing a wooden plate with half the hare on it.
Rift examined it mockingly, "Well, it looks like you cooked it right, but looks can be deceiving."
"Well, if you are gonna be like that, give it back I will eat your share too," the tracker joked back, his lips and chin already slick with grease.
Both men ate greedily until there was no meat left. Shahariel broke a small loaf of bread and handed Rift half.
"We will take shorter turns on watch tonight. After what happened back there at the river camp, we should not let our guard down," Rift said, wiping his mouth free of the meats' juices and breadcrumbs.
"I was thinking the same thing. I guess I will go first. I am not overly tired," Shahariel replied.
"Good, ‘cause I am," Rift chuckled, getting under his blanket and resting his head on his pack.
"You need as much beauty rest as yo…" Then all went silent.
"Forget how to talk?" Rift joked turning around just in time to see the tracker fall into the fire, face first, a crudely made spear sticking in his back.
Within a heartbeat, Rift was out of his bedroll and had his sword in his hand. He scanned the dark growth, slowly making his way closer to a pile of rocks so he would have cover from the attack and could see where it was coming from. He heard the sound of something slipping off a rock and looked up just in time to see a dark figure dive at him from above. Rift was slammed hard into the ground as the man hit him. He pushed the body off him - the man had been impaled right onto his awaiting sword. Rift did not have the time to be thankful for his good fortune; another spear hit the rock he was standing beside with a spark. Rift sidestepped the next one and threw his dagger blindly into the darkness, in the direction the spear came from. When he heard the scream, he knew it had found its target, though doubted it had been a fatal hit.
Rift bolted to his horse and cut it free. He leapt onto its back while another dark figure ran at him from the side and jabbed a spear up at him. Rift parried the attack and was quick to reverse, slashing the man across the chest. He kicked his horse hard in the ribs and it sprang off at full gallop. Two figures stood in their path, but the horse did not falter and crashed hard into both men, as it shot off into the night. Rift held on tight - he could not see more than a few feet in front of him. With no saddle or reigns, he prayed the horse could find its way along the road without his help.
8
"Meath, you cannot stop fate!" The man in black taunted, his teeth showing through his wide grin. The rest of his face was obscured by the gloomy hood of his cloak.
Meath stood there in a void of darkness. All he could see was the man who had been haunting his dreams. His arrogant, egotistical grin boiled Meath's blood. The man's eyes pierced out from the gloom of his cowl - they were cold, dark green and bore deep into Meath's very soul. The worst part was they seemed so familiar.
They stood only an arm span away from one another, but there was no ground - nothing - just empty obscurity. Meath wanted to reach out and attack the taunting man, but knew it would do no good. This was just another vivid dream.
"I know who you are! You will be stopped!" Meath yelled, but his voice did not carry any further than the man in front of him.
The man laughed. "You really are a fool, you know. You have no idea what is or is not. You do not really know who I am, Meath, but I know who you are."
Meath fought to say something. The muscles in his face twitched as he tried to speak, but in truth, the man was right. They did not really know who he was. They knew he had The Gift and was pretending to be the Prince of Zandor, but his true identity was still unknown.
"See, you know nothing." His head titled back as he issued a mocking laugh, "and yet I know everything about you, Meath. I know your strengths, your weaknesses, your fears, and doubts."
"Why are you doing this?" Meath interrupted through gritted teeth.
"Why? Why you ask? Because it is destiny - it is why I was created."
"I will stop you!" Meath barked, trying to take a swing at him, but his arms just hung by his side limply.
The man smiled back at him. "The question is, when the time comes, will you really want to?"
The question threw Meath off, "Show me your face! Stop hiding behind your hood, you coward!"
The tooth-filled grin showed through the darkness of his hood again. "Run along now, I am done playing with you…" He lifted his hand out, the tips of his fingers pushed deep into Meath's chest, "for now…" Immense pain flashed through Meath's entire body causing him to spasm uncontrollably and collapse into the empty void.
*****
Meath struggled for breath - as he came around, his eyes were blurred by tears and grit. His body was covered in a thick, greasy sweat, but he did not even notice. Pain pulsed and flared through his entire body with each gasp of air and was accompanied by a whimper of pain. He tried to move his hands up to his face to rub the grit from his eyes, but he could not seem to find the strength.
Why am I is so much pain, he wondered. What had happened to me, why can I not remember? He forced his eyes open and fought past the prickling sting that assaulted them. He blinked several times, clearing the grimy haze enough to make out a thick green canopy of trees and growth above him. Several scattered beams of light cut through the awning of growth, allowing enough light to see. Did I fall? he wondered. Was this where I landed? Have I broken anything? I am in so much pain!
"Meath, can you hear me?" An angelic voice said from somewhere.
Yes, Meath, that is my name - the voice was talking to him. He tried to answer back but all that escaped his dry lips was a mumbled moan of anguish.
He felt movement on his left and then a figure appeared above him. He blinked several times and his eyes locked with the golden brown eyes gazing down at him. He knew those eyes, and that voice. He blinked again, his eyes sweeping over the whole figure that leaned over him.
Then it all flooded back to him. Vivid flashes assaulted his mind - Zehava and his capture at the Sheeva River encampment, their futile attempt at escape from the slave barn. The insane Shaman who had consumed an old Wizard's Gift in front of his eyes. Then his own savage torture as the Shaman prepared him for the same fate.
"What…what happened?" Meath labored out, finally finding his voice. His throat was hoarse and dry.
The Princess's eyes welled up with tears as she lifted a water skin to his lips. "You are safe now. Everything is going to be all right," she cooed, her tears finding their way down her cheeks to roll off her slender chin.
Meath drank greedily for several long moments, ignoring the agony that went along with the movement. "How…did you…" Meath stopped himself. "Zehava, did you find him? Did he make it out too?" Meath stammered, trying to sit up in his panicked state, but the pain that followed stole his strength and he slumped back down.
"I am right here," Zehava coughed weakly from several paces away, "though I did not fare well either."
Meath turned his head, ignoring the burning protest of his muscles to look at his friend, a small smile of relief creasing his lips. They had both made it out alive.
"How did you get us out?"
"Very quickly, and with more good fortune than the Creator normally bestows upon an army of men," Ursa replied. He handed the Princess a wooden cup filled with a runny yellow paste that he had just mixed.
Nicolette raised the cup to Meath's lips and he drank without argument. The potion was thick and grainy and tasted of moldy yeast as it slid down his throat. He knew it would help dull the intense pulsating pain that engulfed his body, and right now, taste was the last thing on his mind.
"I am sorry, Meath. I could not get to you." Zehava sat up, wincing from the pain of the forced healed whip wounds.
"There is no need for apologies," Ursa snorted in amusement. "You were both in dire peril. Though Zehava has the sense of one whom was moon-touched." Meath looked at the Great Wizard, confused.
"Your friend here could barely stand - the weight of his own sword was more than enough to off balance him. Yet he decided that he is able to fight his way through an entire encampment of enemy warriors in hopes of finding you," Ursa muttered, shaking his head. "Had he been delirious, it would be understandable, but instead, it was just a senseless act of suicide." Ursa folded his arms and shook his head at the soldier. "I will give you this, Zehava - you are a brave and loyal half-witted fool."
Zehava chuckled softly. "Well, if I would have known you were going to show up I would have stayed where I was."
"I am just so glad you are still alive!" Nicolette squeezed Meath's hand. "I thought you were already dead when I saw you. What were they doing to you back there?"
Meath turned his eyes on Ursa, "The Shaman was going to take my Gift." Ursa's expression turned grave.
"That is impossible!" Nicolette cried out, looking to the powerful Wizard.
"No, it is possible," Meath replied dryly. "I watched him do it to another."
"Why did you not just kill him with your powers?" Zehava asked, craning his head stiffly over to look at him.
"I tried." Meath explained. "I do not understand it, but there was this white powder in a circle around me - it prevented me from using my Gift. I could still feel the power inside of me, but when I tried to use it…" Meath paused for a moment, remembering the immense physical and mental pain he had suffered when he had tried to call upon his Gift. He had tried to use that to his advantage, in a final effort to end his own life before the Shaman could finish his ceremony and absorb his innate powers, but he decided that he had better not mention that. "It shot pain through my entire body and mind like fire in my veins. There was nothing I could do."
"The white powder that you are speaking of goes by many names, the most common is Everto Sal - it means Demon's Saline in the old tongue. It just may very well be the rarest thing in existence. And it is the greatest weapon, and vilest curse of those with The Gift. It is said that it can render even the greatest Wizards useless," Ursa finally spoke. "I have only ever seen it a handful of times in my life and never in that quantity. A mere pouch-full is worth a King's ransom."
The False Prince (Fall Of A King Book 1) Page 19