Green Rising

by AZ Kelvin

  “You are sure of dis?”

  “Positive. They won’t risk an open move in Grannagh Province. It will most assuredly be a secret attempt to capture one or both of us or an ambush of some kind to eliminate us. Have dreyg forces taken over the Grannagh military?”

  “Yes, and de invasion force stands ready right across de Shaan border to take control of de province.”

  “Imagine the surprise when old Lord Grannagh discovers we’ve taken his province out from under his feet and he will be lord of nothing but the dirt of his own grave.”

  “De norderners breed dull minds.”

  “Don’t let your contempt dull yours, Marza.” Kazim turned to face her. “It is the northerners who have forced us into a secondary plan. Lord Nemilos has sent word. He sees the loss of the Raskan capital city as a failure—on our part.”

  A look of question and fear passed across Marza’s face and her hand moved toward her sword grip. Her eyes darted around the room.

  “Ease your mind, Commander. There is no bowman waiting in the shadows. We should be so fortunate. Death would be far easier to accept than the fate we have been given.” Kazim filled a glass with wine and drained half. “Praven has been given command of the northern continent. We now answer to him.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “We all have our parts to play. I am going to continue to play mine.”

  A knock at the door interrupted their conversation. A dreyg messenger walked in and handed a message to Marza before he saluted, turned, and left.

  “A band of MacRory hunters was found crossing de border nordwest of Glen Arwe. Dey tried to escape when de militia put dem under guard. Eight killed, two captured, and one evaded de militia and escaped.”

  “MacRory agents, to be sure. See, I told you they would try something. Have them hold the prisoners until I arrive. You, personally, are to track down the one who escaped. We cannot let word reach Cammachmoor. Fail in this, Commander, and you will not see the arrow that pierces your heart.”

  “Understood, my Prince.” Kazim could see she held back a sneer as she spoke the last two words.

  ~~~

  An hour short of sundown, Commander Malent arrived at the dreyg encampment accompanied by the prince, who was escorted by a dozen elite dreyg fighters. Two dreyg fighters and an officer from the camp approached and came to attention as they road in and dismounted.

  Marza greeted him. “Captain Fen Rollen, dis is Prince Kazim Fhadlam.”

  The dreyg officer saluted and bowed at the waist. “An honor, Prince Fhadlam.”

  “You are to be congratulated, Captain Rollen. You have caught a great prize,” Kazim said.

  “Gratitude, my Prince. These men are no mere hunters if their fighting ability is to be held in judgment.”

  “No, surely not. Agents from Cammachmoor, if fortune smiles upon us. Have they spoken?”

  “No, my Prince.”

  “Delightful, they shall before the night is out. It has been months since I drained the life force from anything, not even a dog.”

  Marza caught a flash of anger in Fen Rollen’s eye before it could be hidden. Kazim must have caught the same thing.

  “You don’t approve, Captain.”

  Anger still tinted the man’s visage as he answered carefully, “I live only to serve, my Prince.”

  “Good—then bring me a dog, so that I may torture and kill it.”

  The man seemed troubled by the request.

  “You have a dog. Don’t you, Captain?” Marza asked. “Bring dat one.”

  Anger twisted Fen Rollen’s face as he cried out in rage and drew his sword. Faster than any could see, Kazim stepped forward to grab the wrist of Fen’s sword arm with his left hand and Fen’s neck with his right. Kazim’s power instantly began sapping the man’s life force from his body.

  “Perhaps, Captain, your future is not so bright after all,” Kazim said pleasantly to Fen as he struggled in vain.

  The two remaining dreyg fighters glanced uneasily at their commander, but Marza took no action while Fen gasped and gurgled until he died at Kazim’s hands. Kazim looked at one of the men left standing there.

  “I’ll fetch the beast at once, my Prince,” the man said.

  “Then you shall be named Captain for your efforts,” Kazim replied before he turned to Marza. “Don’t you have an escapee to track down, Commander?”

  “Yes, my Prince.” Marza returned to her horse, giving orders to the dreyg squad as she went. “You men—wid me! Gadder your gear and mount up! Be quick or be left behind.”

  The squad members hastened their departure as the man returned to Kazim with Fen’s hound. Marza knew the dog was a friend to them all and rightly guessed none of them wanted to be anywhere near camp at the moment, nor their sadistic prince. Sentimental fools, she thought, and they call themselves dreyg.

  The barking of Fen’s hound could still be heard as they rode out of camp. Sounds of surprise and aggression coming from the hound changed to whimpering of fear and despair as Kazim undoubtedly drained the dog’s life force.

  The search for the MacRory agent did not take long. A blood trail marked the man’s passage clearly through the thick brush.

  “Fan out! Watch for any signs of doubling back!” Marza called out to the squad. “Ready! Forward!”

  The line of horses scared up every small beast and bird in their path as the squad slowly moved ahead. Movement caught her eye when a man shot out from under a log pile and ran over a ridgeline away from them.

  “Dere!” Marza shouted and spurred her horse to go as fast as it could in the thick woodland. The squad fell in behind her and they chased after the agent.

  A clearing began to show through the branches of the woods. The squad rode over the ridge the man had disappeared behind. Ahead of them was the Wildron River Gorge, which had brought the flight of the MacRory agent to a dismal end. A jump from this height was surely a death sentence.

  Marza and the dreyg squad moved in to capture the man. The agent’s breathing was labored and shallow. He bled from a head wound, yet it was the stab wound in his belly, which was robbing him of his life’s blood. He turned to face his opponents. He placed one fist in the crook of his other arm and gave a quick upward thrust before he turned his back on them and leapt from the cliff edge.

  Marza looked down at her saddle horn and shook her head. “Shit.”

  She sat there mulling over her thoughts until one of the squad spoke up. “Should we search the gorge, Commander?”

  “No, if de fall did not kill him, his wounds will take him before long. Return to camp.”

  Marza turned her horse and led the way back to the dreyg encampment. Kazim was waiting as they rode in. The same pleasant expression made it impossible for Marza to judge his mood.

  “Failed once again, Commander?”

  She did not really know why, but she chose to lie. “He was dead when we found him.”

  The dreyg squad members quickly found tasks far away from the two of them.

  “You did not bring back the body?”

  She felt oddly thrilled, so she lied more. “No, I drew him into de gorge.”

  Kazim’s speed took her by surprise, even though she knew his powers. In an instant, his hand was around her throat. His touch stung painfully, like a necklace of burning embers. She struggled against the agony.

  He sucked air in through clenched teeth. “I will drain you here and now if you are lying.”

  Marza glared at him and drew in a painful and raspy breath. “I would—if it were you in my grasp.”

  Kazim let her go and she dropped to the ground. She got to her feet as the pain subsided.

  “You are still of some use to me, Marza. You might wish it to remain so.”

  “Yes, my Prince,” she said, using little effort to hide her disdain.

  “Have these burned.” Kazim waved toward the bodies of Fen Rollen, his hound, and the MacRory agents. “And bring me the dead agent’s corpse from the gorge.
There is a thing I would like to try.”

  Marza motioned to her squad members. “You—lead a squad into de gorge and recover de body from de river. You—form a detail and build a pyre downwind of camp and burn dese.” She calmed herself after they left and turned to Kazim. “Did dey speak?”

  “The dog did not have much to say, but surprisingly, the goal of the MacRory agents was to abduct—me—of all people. Can you imagine? Thinking a band of commoners could overpower a Disciple of Nemilos. They have not a clue what gathers against them. The northerners will hit the ground before they know they have fallen.”

  “What of Lord Grannagh?”

  “He and the royal family will suffer a mysterious and sudden illness. Such a horrible tragedy.”

  “Den, if dat it de case, do we begin?”

  “Yes, Commander, you may give the order to begin clear-cutting the deep woods of Glen Arwe.”

  *~*~*

  Chapter Eleven

  Kian rode just out of sight ahead of Grove Seven to scout the trail to their new destination. He was content with his life as a druid. He was wed to the most beautiful woman in the world. He admired Quinlan and was honored to be one of his grove. The trip from the Northern West Conclave was halfway through its second week, yet he had enjoyed the travel so much it seemed they left only yesterday. He stopped at the edge of a river flowing with a current strong enough to carry his horse away. The Wildron River marked the boundary of Glen Arwe in Grannagh Province. They’d likely reach the Raskan capital city of Cammachmoor in another two days.

  Siasta shifted uneasily as the wind changed direction, bringing smells from downriver to the horse’s nose. She looked back at Kian and nickered. Kian focused his senses and picked up the scent of an open wound.

  “Aye, ma sweet girl.” He reached down and patted Siasta’s neck. “I got hold of it now.”

  Kian dismounted and grabbed some gear from his saddlebags. He took Siasta’s head in his hands and thought of what he wanted her to do. A nicker and a neigh let him know she understood. He patted her neck and she turned to head back in search of Grove Seven.

  Kian continued to search the banks downriver on foot. A mass of grey fabric lying among the tall reeds was the source of the smell he tracked. He moved along until he was directly across the river from the mass. He could make out an arm stretched out toward the river, but there was no movement.

  The druid took out a few seeds and piled them on the ground. He covered the seeds with his hand and chanted.

  “Feen hass nasu vek navi.”

  Kian wove his hands over the seed pile. The seeds began to glow and produced tendrils of bright green and white flaura. The tendrils moved out over the river under Kian’s control. Vines grew from the seed pile and followed the ethereal tendrils across the fast-flowing water. The tendrils of flaura reached the far riverbank and into the ground. The vines grew heavy and strong on Kian’s side while the small creepers reached their destination and took root there. The vines grew thick forming a line across the strong current.

  Kian secured his possessions and waded into the river. He let his legs hang in the current as he went hand over hand along the sturdy vine line. He made it to shallower water and waded to the opposite riverbank. Nearing the man’s body, he saw he was still alive. Kian carefully rolled the man over. At first, the man was startled until it was apparent Kian was not a threat.

  “Help…” the man’s breathing was labored and words did not come easily.

  “Hold fast, friend, I’ll do what I can fer ye.”

  “Druid…?”

  “Aye, name’s Kian.”

  “Na’veyja’s grace shines—on me.”

  “As it shines on us all. What’re ye called, friend?”

  “Wilam…”

  “Let’s have a look here, Wilam.” Kian moved the man’s tunic aside. A large chunk of flesh had been torn away exposing a portion of the man’s innards. He cringed inside when he saw the severity of Wilam’s wounds but did not let him see his shock.

  Kian wound some grasses together to pack the tear in Wilam’s abdomen. He sprinkled a fine dust over the grasses, chanting lightly as he did. “Ren fonn stet hala.”

  A line of flaura radiated out from the middle to the outer edge, sealing the grasses and dust into an instant poultice. “Hold still now, brother, ye lost a lot of blood.”

  “No—must warn—King Ren…”

  “Warn King Renalth? What warnin’?”

  “Disciple loose…”

  “Disciple? A Disciple of Nemilos?”

  “Aye, Glen Arwe…”

  A nicker in the distance told Kian that Siasta had returned. A quick look revealed Grove Seven had arrived upriver. Kian whistled to let them know his location.

  “Help is here, Wilam. Be stron’ a moment more, lad.”

  Kian went to the edge of the water and called to the far side, “There’s a wounded man here, Quin! Beyond ma skills!”

  Quinlan and Ticari crossed as Kian had, hand over hand with their legs dangling downriver. Chyne stepped up to the riverbank. She performed a small dance with an accompanying chant almost out of Kian’s hearing. Kian’s vine line suddenly swelled in size and sprouted many uprising branches until a bridge was formed with handholds along the way. She crossed the vine bridge so smoothly she could have been dancing at a festival.

  “Just here,” Kian said and led the others to where Wilam lay.

  Quinlan and Chyne exchanged concerned looks when they saw the open belly wound. The man’s breathing had gone even shallower. He grimaced in pain whenever he tried to move. Quinlan turned to Kian and shook his head. Wilam was dying.

  Quinlan placed a hand over Wilam’s forehead, “Na’veyja gon hem grev.”

  Wilam quieted immediately and his eyes opened. He locked eyes with Kian and reached out to him. Kian took his hand.

  “Beware Glen Arwe,” Wilam whispered. “Dreyg have taken over the military.”

  “Dreyg in Glen Arwe?” Kian asked.

  “Aye…” he managed a nod of his head. “They mean ta invade MacRory lands and take the castle.” A fit of coughing racked his body.

  “Easy lad,” Kian said.

  “Ye must—warn—Cammachmo…” Wilam said as his eyes lost their focus and he breathed his last mortal breath.

  “Rest easy, Wilam,” Kian said. “Yer message will reach the king’s ear. I swear ta ye.” He laid Wilam’s hand on his chest and closed the sightless eyes.

  Most of the grove had crossed the river before Wilam passed and had gathered around to hear his last few words.

  “This dinnae bode well,” Wylla said.

  “A disciple and dreyg forces here in Grannagh Province. Should we warn Lord Grannagh?” Ticari asked.

  “I believe Lord Grannagh’s ambition is behind them bein’ here ta begin with,” Freyn said.

  “What goes on?” Kian heard Ticca call from where she, Sovia, and Therin waited with their horses across the river.

  “The man has died, Teek,” Ticari called back.

  “Chyne, will you make the bridge strong to cross the horses here?” Quinlan asked.

  “I shalt do so at once, brother,” she answered.

  “Do we confront the disciple, Quin?” Kian asked.

  “Not at this time. If the dreyg have taken control of Glen Arwe, then we must warn the surrounding provinces. Sovia, send an élan to the conclave with word of what has come to light.”

  “We should be more wary travelin’ through Grannagh Province,” Kian said.

  “Yi, take the northern trail,” Therin replied, “through the mountain pass inta MacRory Province, then south down ta Cammachmoor.”

  Flit and Singer soared in and circled the group, both chittering excitedly.

  “Flit says shadows be moving this way and almost be upon us,” Sovia said.

  “Dreyg!” Kian said.

  Quinlan grabbed Askue from his horse as he instructed the grove. “Quickly, lone-traveler strategy. Chyne hide the horses, the rest scatter into
the brush.”

  ~~~

  Quinlan alone stood next to Wilam’s body when the first dreyg came into view.

  “Ho there!” the first mercenary to see him called out.

  A second dreyg advanced and seemed to recognize Quinlan’s raiment. “Druid!” he said to alert the others.

  Quinlan was circled by seven dreyg fighters in the space of two breaths.

  “What’s your business here, druid?” the second man asked.

  The man’s skin was a deep tan and his speech had an unfamiliar accent.

  “You are not of Grannagh Province, friend,” Quinlan said. “What is your business here?”

  The man seemed surprised at being questioned in return but narrowed his eyes. “None of yours, friend.”

  “Indeed, we should go our separate ways, then.” Quinlan smiled and leaned on Askue.

  “Not likely.” The man advanced on Quinlan followed by another.

  “Grove Seven!” Quinlan gave the command to engage as he turned to face the closest man.

  The dreyg moved in with his longsword forward at waist level with hilt to hip.

  Quinlan took Askue up in both hands and stepped into a forward stance.

  The dreyg lunged in.

  Quinlan stepped offline and cracked the man’s knuckles with Askue before tossing it in front of the second man’s feet. Two steps, a spin, and a small poke in the neck from a spinose thorn left the first mercenary temporarily paralyzed. Quinlan had him trussed up like a goose before he could groan twice.

  ~~~

  The second dreyg closing in on Quinlan stepped where Askue had landed. The walking stick rolled away under the man’s weight and happened to take the man’s foot with it.

  The man staggered to catch his balance only to step on the rolling Askue once again. Both of the man’s feet shot out from underneath him, landing him flat on his back, and flinging the hop-hornbeam staff high into the air.

  Askue, being an admirer of gravity, came back down. Coincidently landing in the same spot the man had, specifically on his forehead.

  The impact left the man out cold and with a growing lump over the center of his right eyebrow.