“I’m more interested in what we are able to do,” put in Sarah. “If we ran into such difficulty with a group of holy men, how do we expect to confront Acantha and survive? How do we even get into the keep in the first place?”
All eyes turned to Everett. He was reclining in the shade, head on pack with hands linked on his chest and legs sprawled in front of him. His eyes were closed as if he was asleep. He sighed and rolled his head in Sarah’s direction.
“I can get us into the keep without detection,” he said. “Most of the rest will have to be left to Michael.”
“How?” asked Michael. “What am I supposed to do?”
“Improvise, lad. Improvise.”
The group watched Everett, waiting for further information, however none was forthcoming. Everett had fallen asleep.
* * * * *
“How, old man? How do you plan to get into my keep?” Acantha was once again watching Michael and his friends through her magic bowl.
She had lost two slaves through replenishing the blood supply needed to keep the magic bowl active. They had died when she drew too much of their blood for the all-day and all-night vigil she had kept during the stay and escape by Michael’s group from the church. Her next chore would be to secure replacements for the slaves that she had lost.
Leaving her tower laboratory -- one of the few times she had done so in the last couple of months – she went in search of one of her most trusted captives. Milo was in the kitchen on the ground floor of the castle. He had been a cook on one of the supply ships that passed up and down the coast. Acantha had captured him when his ship had put in for repairs near the castle. Repairs that were made necessary because of Acantha. She had caused the damage with her magic. She had been in need of servants, and rather than going in search of them, she greatly preferred that they come to her.
While the ship’s crew was busy making repairs, Milo had just walked away as if in a trance. Which was exactly the case. Once Acantha had him in her power, he quickly became enraptured by her cold beauty. She no longer needed a trance to keep him by her side, but Acantha would take no chances. She had a faithful servant in Milo, and she was determined that he would not change his mind. She kept him enraptured with magic as well as her feminine ways.
“Milo!” called Acantha as she neared the kitchen.
He looked up as he heard his name called. A sly grin played at his lips as he anticipated serving his lady.
“Oh, shit!” exclaimed Milo’s helper. “The bitch is coming here.”
Without looking, Milo lifted the nearest available pan and backhanded his helper across the face. “That’s no way to talk about our mistress,” stated Milo, as his helper crashed to the floor unconscious.
Acantha flowed into the kitchen, to see Milo standing over the fallen man. He only had eyes for her, however, as she entered the room. With uncharacteristic mirth, she asked, “Have you been playing with your helpers again, Milo?”
“He was disrespectful, my lady.”
“How charming of you to come to my rescue, Milo. You are the ever-faithful servant. You will be rewarded later, but first I have a chore that needs to be done.”
Milo listened intently as Acantha told him about losing two slaves, and the need to replace them. She would use her magic to transport him to a remote and sparsely populated area in the north. Once there, he was to find two suitable replacements. She would once again use her magic to bring them back to the castle.
Following Acantha up the stairs to the laboratory, Milo found it disconcertingly difficult to concentrate on the errand he was to do for his mistress. All he could manage to do was stare at the womanly figure preceding him. She was wearing a very thin, clingy black dress that swayed and moved with every step she took. It must have been made from the very finest silk, because every time she passed in front of a sunlit window her body was silhouetted inside the transparent garment.
He was mesmerized by the movement of her buttocks as she climbed the steps in front of him. Like two wildcats fighting inside a bag, he told himself.
Watching her as he was climbing, rather than watching where he was going, caused the inevitable to happen. He caught his toe on the lip of one of the steps, and with a startled cry fell forward, painfully banging his shins as he fell.
“Really, Milo,” said Acantha, as she smiled down at the prone man, “you must watch what you’re doing.”
Face beet-red from embarrassment, he pulled himself to his feet and limped after Acantha as she continued the climb. Upon regaining her laboratory, Acantha was once again consumed by the business at hand.
“Do you know exactly what is expected of you, Milo?”
Milo puffed his chest with his feelings of self-importance. “You want me to capture a couple of men for you. No problem there.”
“No, I do not want you to capture a couple of men. I want you to find the men for me. I will be watching you, once you have found them I will bring them back here myself. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Mistress.” Milo’s chest had deflated when he heard the disapproval in Acantha’s voice. “But, how are you going to know when I’ve found them,” he persisted.
“For God’s sake, Milo! Don’t be stupid, just do as I said. You find them, I’ll do the rest.”
Milo did not have a chance to inquire further. With a disgusted frown on her face, Acantha made an intricate pass with her hands, and he was gone.
Milo was scrambling for a foothold as he suddenly found himself on a steep hillside covered with brush and fallen pine needles. He was losing the battle, and soon rolled head over heels down the hill. He came to a halt as he splashed into a creek-bed at the bottom. With arms rigid behind him, he propped himself up in the middle of the creek. He looked around in confusion as the water from his soaked hair flowed down his face.
He was not an impressive figure under the best of
circumstances. Barely over five and a half feet tall, Milo had a pudgy little body, two chins, and cheeks so round they obliterated any hint of a jaw line. Now, sitting in the middle of the swiftly flowing creek, blowing like a beached whale, he looked like anything but an agent of the most dangerous magician alive. His menace was not physical danger, but rather his lack of concern for anyone’s safety or benefit except his own. If this little soiree would ingratiate him to Acantha, he was all for it. To hell with the lives of others that it may wreck.
He stood up to retreat from the water and gain his bearings. He was at the bottom of a ravine, the area around him was heavily wooded. Everything was deep in shadow, hidden from the early afternoon sun. Deciding to follow the stream to the coast, he slogged along beside it, water draining from his boots as he walked.
It took less than an hour of walking before he heard the sound of a woodsman’s axe. Crawling on his belly -- in an attempt to come as close to the man as possible, and still not be seen – Milo had approached to within a scant few yards of the woodsman before he could see him. Peeking around the base of a slender pine, Milo could see the man working. His shirt was off as he worked furiously, splitting small logs. He was middle-aged, but had the body and muscular structure of a much younger man.
“There’s one,” Milo said to himself. “Now all that remains is for Acantha to take him. Then all I have to do is find one more.”
“My God, but you are stupid!” Acantha’s voice burst into Milo’s head so quickly that he immediately flattened against the ground in an attempt to hide, thinking that the woodsman was sure to have heard the outburst, and would be after him in an instant with his axe.
“Oh, will you get up, Milo? That lumbering great oaf over there can’t hear me. My voice is inside your head, only you can hear me.”
“Oh,” replied Milo with embarrassment.
He crawled backwards until he was out of site of the woodsman. He made his way back down the ravine before resuming his hunt.
“Are you still there?” he asked. He was looking around the heavily wooded area as he waited for an answ
er.
“Yes, I am still here. Now will you get on with the task I have assigned you?”
“Sure. Sure, I will. But, what was wrong with the woodsman?”
Milo could almost believe he could hear Acantha sigh with exasperation.
“I want a servant, Milo. I want someone that will accept being enslaved to me without putting up a fight. I’m too busy to concern myself with revolt from my servants. That woodcutter was the hero type. I can’t be bothered with someone like him. Now go and find me someone as pliable as you!”
Acantha released her mental hold on Milo so quickly that he reeled from dizziness. He leaned against a nearby tree until he regained his senses. His next encounter was more to Acantha’s liking. As he neared where the small stream fed into the ocean, he saw two men and a small boy crossing the stream ahead of him. He came to a halt as soon as he spotted them, in the hopes that he would not be seen. But his passage was too clumsy, too noisy. The trio looked up almost as soon as Milo spotted them.
“Well, if they’re what you want, take them so I can get out of here,” he muttered to himself as the two men took a couple of steps toward him.
With a blinding red flash, the two men disappeared in mid-step. It was hard to tell who was the more surprised, Milo or the small boy that had been accompanying the two men. They both stood rooted where they were, staring at the empty spot that had so recently been filled by the two men. The two moved their stare to encompass each other. Milo put his hands on his hips, raised his head in a haughty gesture and smiled a cruel smile at the boy.
The boy’s mouth dropped open as his eyes grew in equal proportion. Understanding was settling into the boy, as the fear and loss battled to consume him. Like most small boys, this one had a gangly body, with spindly arms and legs. The rough mop of brown hair standing on his head went by its own rules, not conforming to anyone’s wishes. “What did you do with my father!” he screamed at the man in front of him.
Milo continued to smile cruelly at the boy, his only sign that he heard was a slight lifting of his already elevated chin.
The boy’s rage defeated his fear as he ran at his silent tormentor. He paused in his charge long enough to collect a couple of hand-sized rocks from the stream bed. “What have you done with my father!” he cried again as he resumed his charge.
As he charged, he hurled one of the rocks in his hands at the man. The first rock whizzed over Milo’s head, missing by mere inches. The second rock struck him full in the chest.
“Hey!” bellowed Milo in shock. “What are you doing?”
“What did you do with my father?” was all the boy was capable of saying as he stopped to pick up two more rocks.
Once again he began to charge at Milo. Choosing discretion rather than valor was Milo’s normal response to trouble. So it was now as well; he turned on his heels and ran from the wildly charging boy.
As he began to run, the next rock struck him in the middle of the back.
“Ow!!” came the painful response.
The last rock came in seconds later. It struck him on the back of the head. Milo felt himself beginning to lose consciousness. With the darkness beginning to enfold him, he could feel his balance leave him as he started to fall.
He saw the floor of Acantha’s laboratory rush up to meet him as the darkness took full control.
CHAPTER 16
Milo opened glazed eyes and saw the late afternoon shadows on the floor of Acantha’s laboratory. He rolled over to his back trying to remember how he had gotten there. The last he remembered he was in the woods somewhere. There were men, a stream-bed...and a small boy. With the thought of the boy, it all came back to him. He moved his hand to the back of his head to massage the delayed pain that was living there. His hand came away sticky.
“Now, do you see what I mean when I say I don’t want any hero types around here, Milo? I want them all to be just as cowardly as you.”
He turned to find the body behind the voice, wincing at the pain his movement caused. He saw Acantha sitting at her work bench. She was posed on a heavy wooden chair. Her legs were crossed, one arm was casually flung over the back of the chair; the other was resting on the bench, fingers tapping in rhythm.
“But, coward or not, you accomplished the task I set before you. Now,” she continued, “we shall attend to the reward I promised you earlier. If you feel that you can raise yourself from the floor, you may lead me to my chambers.”
Milo painfully clambered to his feet. The grin that threatened to split his face in half belied the throbbing hurt in his head. He rushed for the door, looking over his shoulder to see if she was following him. He would be her lap dog for a few hours; that’s all he had hoped for.
Acantha allowed her own grin to play across her face; this fool would be her source of amusement. Even world conquerors needed their time of decadence. She rose to follow the pudgy little man to her private rooms. There would be time enough later to concern herself with Michael and his foolish friends.
* * * * *
While Milo had been on his hunt, Michael’s group had spent the entire time overlooking some of the most rugged scenery the west coast could produce. About the time Acantha took Milo to bed, they had once again begun their journey south. Little progress was made throughout the late afternoon. This area of the coast -- as well as the next fifty miles – was the most difficult to traverse. The coast road they had been following was nearly destroyed along most of the route. What did remain was dangerous to travel because of the decaying conditions next to the rock-strewn drop-offs. Only a handful of miles could be completed in a day’s travel before exhaustion would once again set in.
Camp was made that night on a grassy knoll right at the edge of one of the cliffs. Nature put on a dazzling display for their benefit. The western sky was aflame in shades of orange and lavenders. The curve of the ocean’s horizon reflected the colors back to the sky in mirror-like images. The five silhouetted forms sat on the knoll, experiencing the sight before they set about starting the evening fire. The day’s journey had been rough and they were enjoying the chance to rest before beginning the evening’s activity.
“How long before we reach Acantha’s keep, Everett?” asked Sarah.
“Oh, a month if we hurry. A month and a half if we don’t.” “Are we in a hurry?” asked Thomas.
Everett smiled at his mammoth friend before answering. “No,
not yet anyway. I don’t want to show up before Michael is ready. And he is woefully short of being ready yet.” “Well, I don’t know what you think is going to happen in the next month -- or month and a half, as far as that goes – that is going to prepare me,” Michael replied.
“Really, Michael,” answered Sarah in exasperation. “He wants you to experience what the emerald can do. He wants you to use your abilities every chance you get so they will get stronger.”
Everett looked with surprise at the girl he had so easily dismissed not many days earlier. She was showing an intelligence and understanding for the situation that he had previously thought was beyond her capabilities.
“I could not have put it better myself, Sarah,” he said. Turning to the rest of the travelers, he added, “She is absolutely correct. This has been a rough trip so far, and it’s going to get worse, the nearer we get to our goal. Acantha will use greater force the closer we get, and you will need to call on strength greater than you knew was possible.”
Michael stood with a sigh that signaled he felt he was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. “Well, I’m glad that you feel...”
Michael’s words were cut off by a low rumbling sound that was rapidly becoming a roar. Vibrations from the ground could be felt by the travelers. The deafening roar and shaking of the ground likened to an earthquake without the rolling motion.
“What the hell’s going on?” shouted Oliver as he lurched to his feet.
“I think the cliff-face is giving way!” shouted Thomas.
The three that were still sitting n
ow jumped to their feet, grabbing the packs that contained supplies that could not be replaced in this remote area. They began to make a dash as far from the cliff face as they could, hoping to reach safety in distance.
Everett, Sarah, and Oliver were the farthest from the drop, and were steps ahead of Michael and Thomas when tons of rocks from the side of the cliff erupted upwards as though spewed from a miniature volcano.
“Magic!” was all Michael managed to shout before one of the flying rocks delivered a glancing blow to his head.
In two powerful strides, Big Thomas rushed to the fallen Michael. He scooped him up in his arms and threw him over one shoulder without pausing to check his condition.
“Run! I’ve got him! Run!”
Everett, Sarah, and Oliver turned and continued the panicked retreat. Rocks, boulders, even small pebbles continued to vomit skyward. The rubble was flying a hundred feet or more into the air before beginning to rain down among the travelers.
Everett managed to hastily erect a magical shield covering their retreat, but the massive blows that were being hammered down on them were weakening Everett. His strength was beginning to fail him as the onslaught began to slow, finally coming to a halt with the smaller pebbles and dirt showering down in an anticlimax. The three finally stopped their run to gaze about them in disbelief. The ground between them and the grassy knoll where they had been resting was strewn with rocks and boulders of all sizes. Michael and Thomas were nowhere in sight.
* * * * * Thomas had hauled Michael from the ground and begun running with him as the first of the upward avalanche struck. Because of the darkness, the panic, and the sky full of rocks and boulders, Thomas was unclear of which direction to take. The truth be told, he did not pause to consider where he should run. He just ran in the direction he was headed.
As he ran parallel to the edge of the cliff, the contour of the land herded him closer to the edge. A large boulder came crashing down within feet of him. It was just to his left, and he instinctively veered to the right, closer to the edge. The path he was following began a gradual descent, but soon, the angle of decline increased. He found himself careening nearly out of control, afraid to slow his speed for fear of losing his grip on Michael. Everything was becoming a blur to him, Michael was bouncing heavily on his shoulder, rocks were flying in a maelstrom around him, whizzing past his right shoulder as he flew down the side of the cliff.
The Enchanted Emerald (The Enchanted Stones Book 1) Page 13