by James Somers
Nordin leaned toward him. “Indeed, which makes little sense,” he said. “Why keep the weapons at so great a distance?”
“Ezekiah has always been overconfident,” Varen said, dismissively.
“Perhaps,” Nordin said, “but we’ve never known him to be unwise.”
Varen grinned. “He had the map. No one was expected to find it. So far underground, they probably never would have. Besides, he didn’t need them close if he never intended to use them. You heard him spouting off at that meeting. He wouldn’t join our war against the Serpent Kings.”
Nordin hunched his shoulders, conceding the argument as he drew from his pipe again.
Varen rolled the parchment up again and placed it in its protective cylinder. “You have to admit,” he said, grinning, “Jillian really came through for us. She executed her part precisely.”
Nordin sat back against the cushioned bench, puffing smoke. Finally his bearded mouth turned upward into a smile. “All right, Varen, I will admit it. The girl has done well. She might not be Moloch’s spy after all.”
Varen arched an eyebrow and waited.
“All right,” Nordin said. “I give up. The girl loves you. She isn’t a spy. I’m now quite certain of it.”
Varen smiled broadly, slapping a hand across the old man’s leg. “As you should be,” he said. Varen tucked the map cylinder back into the lock-box he had brought with him and fastened it shut with a twist of the iron key he kept on a cord around his neck.
Four of Varen’s soldiers rode ahead of his carriage, each man wearing a steel-plated leather shield across his back, sword at his side and bow and quiver slung behind on their saddles. The road followed the tree line of a pine forest on the left side with a field of yellow grasses spreading out to the hills on the right. The Urtah Mountains rose before them, each of its peaks bearing a cap of white snow.
Two feather-fletched, hardwood shafts split the air, piercing the breastbones of both leading soldiers. Their breath was stolen away before they could cry out. But the soldiers behind sounded the alarm, even as the dead soldiers slid out of their saddles to the road.
The carriage driver stopped his team. The other soldiers called to one another, their shields brought forward as they moved their horses forward in order to surround their leader’s carriage. Nothing moved in the wood. Only the wind stirred among the grasses.
Varen called up to the carriage driver through the vent at the man’s feet. “What’s happening? Why have we stopped?”
The driver leaned down to the vent. “We’re under attack, Lord Varen. Two of our men have been—”
His words were cut short as another arrow drove through the driver’s head, pinning him to the carriage. Varen grabbed his sword immediately. He reached for the door handle, but Nordin tried to intercept him. Varen opened the door and began to step down as Nordin grabbed him by the shoulders to pull him back inside. “No, Varen!”
Varen’s left hand was still on the handle inside the carriage door when another hardwood shaft shot through the door and his hand. Varen cried out for pain, trying to pull his hand back to his body, only to bring the door slamming shut with it.
“Get back inside, you fool!” Nordin scolded. “You’re the one they want!”
As if to punctuate Nordin’s point, several more arrows slammed into the window frame of the carriage, one right on top of the other; precision grouping.
“My hand is pinned to the door,” Varen groaned.
Nordin grabbed the arrowhead. “Hold on,” he said. “You won’t like this.” Nordin suddenly yanked the arrow through the door and Varen’s palm. The feathers came last stained with blood.
“Sir,” one of the soldiers called, “what should we do? I can’t see who’s attacking us.”
Again, the man who had spoken was run through with an arrow; this time through his leg. He reacted, dropping his shield low in order to grab his wounded leg. A second arrow passed over his shield, slamming into his heart. He slumped sideways, falling out of his saddle.
Varen pushed Nordin back into the floor of the carriage. “Get down, old man!”
The horsemen regrouped, trying to close the gap left by their dead comrade. Suddenly a tightly wrapped cylinder flew out of the blowing yellow grass and bounced across the road. A hissing fuse burned quickly away as it landed under one of the horses guarding the carriage.
“Dynamite!” one of the soldiers cried, just before it exploded. Horses and men went flying in all directions. The right facing wall of the carriage shattered and the carriage itself flipped over toward the ditch on the left side of the road. A cloud of smoke and dust hung heavy in the air.
Gradually, men began to recover from the blast. The charge hadn’t produced that big of an explosion, but it had been enough to kill several soldiers and their horses. Out of a dozen battle-hardened soldiers escorting Varen’s carriage, only six were now left standing and ready to fight.
Varen and Nordin crawled out of the wrecked carriage together, the younger man helping support the older whose face had streaks of blood running across it. They stumbled together toward the surviving soldiers. Four of the men grabbed their swords and shields from the road. The other two soldiers nocked arrows, searching the fields ahead.
“The dynamite definitely came from among the grasses, Lord Varen,” one of the soldiers reported.
Varen stared across the rolling plain. He could not see anyone there. But seven corpses did not lie. “Three of you go and beat the grasses; flush them out,” Varen commanded. “And be careful.”
Three of the swordsmen hefted their shields, stepping across the road and into the field. They spread themselves at arms length, beating the grasses with their swords as they proceeded forward. Nerves on edge, they were ready for almost anything…almost.
Two women rose from the grasses ahead and began to walk toward them. Instantly recognizable in the robes worn only by wraith dancers, their sudden appearance struck fear into the hearts of the men. One of the women carried a bow slung across her breast and a quiver of arrows on her back. The other wore a narrow sword across her back. They walked together confidently toward Varen’s men.
The soldiers readied their shields, and then charged toward the women. The wraith dancer with the bow fell behind the other quickly then hopped to her shoulders. The men were startled, but did not halt their charge.
Just as the swordsmen got to them, the archer leaped over them, tumbling through the air to land behind Varen’s soldiers. The wraith dancer with the sword then drew her weapon and attacked. The archer never looked back, obviously trusting her companion’s ability to deal with the soldiers at her back.
Varen ordered his own archer forward. “Kill her!” he commanded.
His archers homed in on their target quickly and loosed their arrows. The wraith dancer pulled her bow free. She dodged one arrow, and then smashed the other from the air with her bow. As Varen’s men tried to fire another volley, she whipped two arrows to her bowstring and released in one fluid blur. Both of Varen’s archers fell to the road with arrows driven through their breastbones.
Varen and Nordin both watched the assassins work with stunned expressions on their faces. The wraith dancer with the sword darted around the soldier’s shields, managing to remain aloof as the three swordsmen fought desperately to slay her. In seconds, all three soldiers lay dead.
Varen’s remaining swordsman charged toward the archer; his shield ready and broadsword raised. She fired an arrow that passed over the man’s shoulder toward Nordin. Varen realizing the altered trajectory then moved without hesitation, taking the shaft in his shoulder as he knocked Nordin aside. Both men fell to the ground.
The last swordsmen continued his charge, feeling fortunate that the arrow had missed him. He was too close for her to fire again. Instead, the female archer whipped her bow under his shield, throwing it so that his legs became entangled. He stumbled and fell upon his shield practically at her feet.
The soldier managed only to
rise to one knee before her fingers drove into the side of his neck. The force of the Touch shattered his cervical vertebrae, damaging spinal cord and brain stem beyond repair. He fell over dead without a sound.
Jillian had heard the explosion from less than a mile away. She drove her horse even harder, fearing for Varen’s life. The attack on his caravan had clearly begun. She only hoped to arrive before the deed was done. A forest of trees passed by in a blur to her left; the grasslands hardly seeming to move on her right.
In mere minutes she could see the cloud of smoke dissipating. Below, Varen’s carriage lay tumbled and broken, resting in the ditch on the left side of the road. Three swordsmen were taking their last breaths before Rebecca in the field of gently blown, yellow grass. A lone soldier stumbled over Rachel’s bow.
As Jillian drew closer she noticed Varen on the ground covering Nordin’s body. The old man was still alive. Varen wasn’t doing so well. An arrow, almost certainly from Rachel’s bow, protruded from his shoulder, possibly he had been trying to shield Nordin from the attack.
A hot fury rose inside Jillian’s chest. She kicked against her horse’s side again and again, urging the animal on faster and faster. She knew it might collapse underneath her at any moment from the pace she had made it keep all this way, but she didn’t care. Nothing mattered here, but saving Varen’s life from these assassins.
As she drove over the last hill, approaching the wreckage, Jillian aimed her bow with two arrows held tightly together. She came within fifty yards of Rachel, who had noticed her by now and stopped in the road. Jillian let the arrows fly; the two shafts beginning to separate their trajectories more and more.
Rachel hesitated a moment as she recognized the Captain of the High Guard riding toward them very unexpectedly. Jillian had been counting on that. At the last second, Rachel sidestepped and smashed one arrow to splinters. The other had gone undetected. It sank into her side, bringing an ever increasing, bloody stain soaking through her robes.
Rachel almost fell from the unexpected impact of the arrow. Rebecca came running from the field to intercept. Rachel had been hurt badly, was losing blood and the arrow in her side hampered her movements greatly. Jillian took advantage of the situation, urging the horse on, pummeling Rachel with its large body. Except for a desperate dodge, she would have been trampled to death. Instead, she was knocked aside, landing in the ditch on the right side of the road; the arrow broken off inside her body as she tumbled wildly.
Jillian flew from the saddle, landing in the road with her bow ready. Rebecca came for her, using the gifts to greatly enhance her speed. With two arrows nocked, Jillian let fly. It was a unique move all her own. Usually an opponent as skilled as a wraith dancer could deal with one. The second, on a slightly different trajectory, often went unnoticed. But Rebecca had seen what had happened to her sister. She somersaulted over both arrows and landed with her sword ready.
Jillian, having only the bow in her hand at that moment, swung it out defensively. Rebecca tagged it with her sword, severing the bowstring and lopping off six inches of wood at the same time. Rebecca struck at her again. Jillian adjusted what was left of the bow so that she deflected the sword, causing the bow to bend and the sword to slide away from it. The rebounding wood snapped back to crack Rebecca in the face. She staggered backward in a daze.
Jillian reached into the gifts, increasing her speed and power. She spun around, whipping the bow down, intending to strike Rebecca’s lower legs and trip her. Rebecca leaped up with her feet while bringing the sword crashing down. Jillian rose to meet the sword, blocking with the bow in her left hand, while moving slightly to her side. Her right hand retrieved a dagger from her side as the sword cut through the bow, but missed her body. Before Rebecca could dodge away, Jillian drove the dagger down through the base of her neck behind her collar bone.
Rebecca stood up for moment with a bewildered look in her eyes. She almost managed to raise the sword again, but the strike had been sure. Too much blood was pouring free into her chest cavity. She collapsed in seconds, her sword clanging dully against the packed earth of the road.
Varen called to her from behind, but she ignored him for the moment. Retrieving another dagger from her robes, Jillian crept near Rachel’s body still lying in the ditch. She couldn’t perceive any breathing movements; any rise and fall of her chest. She quickly pulled her over. Her eyes were partially open and lifeless. Her head was twisted unnaturally. The impact with the horse or the tumble across the road into the ditch had likely broken her neck.
Jillian left her there and walked over to Varen and Nordin. Both men were on their feet now, but Varen was being supported by Nordin. Jillian got to him and examined the wound.
“It’s painful,” Varen said, “but I think I’m all right.”
She nodded. “We’ll need to get that out and cauterize the wound,” she said. “You’re not going to enjoy it.”
He nodded, smiling. “I know. I’m just glad you got here in time. Who were they and how did you know?”
“They were wraith dancers from the High Guard in Babale,” Jillian said. “Your attacks on Belial’s palace and temple have not gone unnoticed. The dragon commissioned them to assassinate you.”
Nordin gave him a scolding look. “And they would have too, if Jillian had not come.”
Varen took his admonishment as though he expected to receive it on a regular basis. “How did you know, my love?”
“They came to Tarris in order to get our intelligence reports,” she said. “I told you they have been aware of your visits to the city. Now you see what has come of it. They met with me and the Supreme Matron. I had to tell them what the High Guard knew of your whereabouts.”
Varen smiled, stroking her hair as a tear ran down her cheek. “Do not fret for it, my love,” he said. “You were in a compromised position. You had no choice.”
Nordin looked at her. “He’s right,” the old man said. Jillian was surprised by his sudden understanding. “If you had refused to tell them, they would have killed you. They would have used the information anyway and we would both be dead,” Nordin said. “You did the right thing and I for one am indebted to you for my life and the life of my sometimes foolish protégé.”
Jillian smiled; another tear escaping as she reached over to hug the old man’s neck. “Thank you,” she said.
Nordin grinned. “Now, let’s get a fire going and tend to this wound before he loses anymore blood.”
COUNCIL
Ezekiah sat patiently, waiting for his brother in the faith and fellow council member to finish speaking. Arthur was an elderly man and well respected among the elders living at Thorn Mountain. He had fought in past rebellions against the dragons as testified by his missing left leg and patched eye.
“The weapons left by Ezekiah’s father, are enough to equip an army, certainly, but even with the map, they will not have direct access to the cache as we have,” Arthur said.
Harris, a younger man but also well-favored, spoke up. “Yes, but are we certain who took them? If this was just the work of a common thief—”
Ezekiah stood up then. “Brothers, this was no ordinary thief,” he said. “Varen is the only one who was here when it was taken and he is the only man bold enough to use those weapons against the Serpent Kings.”
“But didn’t you say that a wraith dancer had been the one to steal the map?” Harris asked.
“Indeed I did,” Ezekiah said. “The precision of the attack was the same as we’ve seen before. Varen’s men would have been far more crude.”
“You’re suggesting that a wraith dancer has joined Varen’s army?”
“I am only stating the facts,” Ezekiah said. “Varen wanted weapons and was here when the map was taken. A wraith dancer actually pulled off the theft and killed Bartholomew. I realize it’s unheard of, but we can’t deny the evidence. And if Varen has managed to turn a wraith dancer to his cause, then he has become far more dangerous than he was before.”
“
Can we stop him?” Harris asked.
“I don’t feel like we have liberty to go just yet,” Ezekiah said. “Perhaps, Elithias will send us soon, though I’m not sure.”
“Maybe this isn’t a matter for prayer, but a clear case of necessary action,” Harris offered.
Arthur answered before Ezekiah could. “There is no such circumstance, Harris. I realize Ezekiah may have seemed unresponsive to others, but his willingness to wait upon Elithias has never led us wrong. If he does not feel led to go at this time then we wait until he does, regardless of how the situation may appear. Too often, in the scriptures, we find examples of those who hastened ahead of the Elithias’ will in their folly, supposing man could know better.”
Arthur turned to Ezekiah and patted him on the shoulder. “I knew your father and that same compulsion to wait upon Elithias helped to make him a great man,” he said. “I’ll support whatever decision you make, Ezekiah.”
The prophet smiled, then stood before the elders assembled in their council chamber; twelve in all. “As I said, I feel that we may indeed be sent to secure the weapons, but the time is not yet. Nevertheless, I feel that we would be foolish not to at least prepare for that eventuality.”
He turned to Arthur. “I thank you for your support, my friend. You happen to be the expert among us on the locomotive. We will need to have it ready to go, should the need arise. Do you think you could assemble a team and see to it?”
“I’d be happy to…the old girl’s been waiting along time for a good run,” Arthur said, grinning. “It’ll be a pleasure to see her in action again.”
Ezekiah turned to the assembly. “Are we in agreement, gentlemen? Do we trust Elithias as we have thus far?”
The majority agreed easily, though Ezekiah noticed a few who might have dissented had it not been for his challenge about trusting the will of Elithias. To offer a dissent then, would seem to rebel against Elithias. None of them were willing to be seen in that light. All hands went up.