* * *
By early morning, they’d traveled a far distance from the river, down the Vales and into the Windwailed Valley. The rain had started up again, promising another gray day. They spent a few wet hours trying to sleep in a stand of hemlocks tucked at the mountain’s base. Water trickled down Braxton’s back, seeping into his clothing and making for a dismal morning. He thought of being back at Zambini’s cottage, lying by the fire and enjoying Brennah’s excellent cooking. It was a memory he knew he’d recall often over the coming days. At least they were free of the patrol and heading toward the elves, a realization that brought a ray of light in this otherwise dreary day.
At midmorning, Ruskin woke them from their restless sleep, and they set a steady pace toward Arbor Loren. Travel was easier now, with Braxton and Phin more accustomed to the open terrain, able to keep up with their dwarven companion.
They reached the western foothills of the Calindurin Plains after sundown and had just entered some rocky outcroppings when Serene’s warning brought Braxton to a sudden halt.
Draw my sword, child.
“Rusk!” Brax called out, dropping his pack and reaching over his shoulder for the Unicorn Blade, cautioning Phinlera with his other hand.
But his warning came too late. The earth opened up beneath Ruskin, and they could hear the sounds of snapping branches mingled with the dwarf’s cursing as he disappeared into the pit below. A band of a tough-looking men emerged from behind the rocks and scattered trees. Wearing leather jerkins and olive shirts, they carried weapons of one sort or another, a few holding nets or ropes tied into wide loops.
Braxton felt a sinking feeling in his stomach as he realized they’d encountered the one thing Ruskin had hoped to avoid. The Hunters.
Chapter 16
As the slavers closed in on them, Phinlera stepped up next to him, her dagger and short sword drawn, ready to fight. Braxton wanted to yell at her to get back, to turn and run, but he knew she’d never listen. Fearing for her safety, he panicked that something would happen to her.
Calm your mind and focus the energy. Serene’s voice broke into his thoughts.
He took a breath, smelling the cool air, and summoned the spirit magic, feeling its warm sensation awaken to his call. The lead Hunter was almost on top of them when he unleashed it, sending out a wave of energy that hit the first few attackers, knocking them back a dozen feet or more. The other men stopped short, seeing their companions flung through the air. Taking quick advantage of their hesitation, Braxton leaped forward with the Unicorn Blade held high and brought it down upon the surprised thug closest to him. Regaining their composure, the rest of the Hunters charged in.
The closest dropped instantly, a dagger protruding from his chest. Phinlera appeared by Braxton’s side, bent down quickly, and retrieved the thrown weapon, before raising her sword awkwardly to parry the attack from another brute.
Braxton swung at a third Hunter, but the man deflected the blow.
Use the energy, then go left.
“What?” he asked, unaccustomed to hearing Serene’s voice in the heat of battle. A heavy thud struck his right temple, followed by a deafening bolt of pain that shot through his head, scattering his thoughts. Nausea filled his stomach, and his eyes flooded. The world began to spin as the ground leaped up, swallowing him into darkness.
* * *
He awoke to the irregular motion of Cassi’s wagon and the creaking sound of iron-rimmed wheels cutting their path through uneven ground. The hard wooden floorboards pressed against his cheek, and his head bumped every time their carriage fell into one of the many recesses along the rough trail. He kept his eyes shut, breathing in the fresh morning air that had a strong pungent scent of newly cut straw. Trying to roll over onto his back, he found his arms and legs numb and unable to move. A throbbing sensation filled his mind, and his stomach threatened to heave. He lay there for a while, allowing the queasiness to pass. Finally, determined, Brax gritted his teeth, opened his eyes, and sat up.
Morning sunlight struck his face, forcing him to blink until he was finally able to squint at his surroundings. He was surprised to see the expansive Calindurin Plains. Then he realized he was in a cage.
Three sides of his little mobile prison faced the central Andorah valley, but the front was boarded up, blocking his view of the driver and whatever beast pulled them on. Straw littered the floor, and, except for two dark bundles near the wooden wall, his cell was empty. He looked around, trying to remember what had happened but couldn’t recall anything from the day before. It took him a moment to realize the dark shapes were actually the crumpled forms of Ruskin and Phinlera, lying bound and unconscious.
He moved toward them, but his body refused to cooperate, and a painful throbbing stabbed at his temples, mocking his efforts. Each attempt produced the same futile results, causing his nausea to return. He lay on the decking, trying to settle his stomach, focusing on his surroundings. Gradually his mind began to clear, as if being pulled from some long, dreamless sleep.
Swallowing hard, he tasted a bitter flavor in his parched throat and felt a soft, smooth object pressed against his tongue. Rolling it around in his mouth, the taste intensified. He spat the object onto the straw and stared at the small white pebble, trying to connect it to something familiar. It was only then that he realized his hands were bound and his ankles strapped together with tight leather cords that cut into his skin. Sitting up abruptly, he struggled against his bindings before giving up. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he remembered Serene and frantically called out to her. But the effort only intensified the pain in his head, reviving his nausea, and causing him to collapse back down.
When the sickness passed, and he was able to swallow without retching, he slid over to Phinlera. Pushing at her with his shoulder she rolled over. Her eyes were closed, and her face looked pale and drawn. Sweat ran down her brow, and a deep purple bruise covered her right eye and cheek. Braxton swore, turning away and chiding himself for her injury.
When he’d finished wrestling with his emotions, he began calling to her, nudging her with his elbow. Gradually she began to stir, as if returning from some distant world, and he coaxed the white object from her mouth.
“Where are we?” she said at last, still lying on the floor, her voice weak and dry.
“Somewhere out in the Calindurin.” He sat up and nodded toward the cell bars. “We’ve been captured.”
She turned toward him. “What about your mother?”
Panic flooded into Brax as he realized they were no longer heading toward the elves. He looked about frantically, trying to determine how far south they might have gone, or how much time had been lost, searching for clues among the few landmarks he could see. But nothing looked familiar. Rubbing his chin into the side of his neck, he loosened his shirt, and breathed a deep sigh of relief at seeing the leather strap, knowing his mom’s pendant was safe. He only hoped Serene was protecting her.
Phinlera sat up against the backboard, more coherent now. She wet her lips and swallowed hard. “We should wake Ruskin.”
Working together, they helped the dwarf eject the pebble from his mouth.
“Asphidel,” he said, once he’d regained consciousness. “It’s a drug that keeps the body in a state of dreamless sleep, weakening your ability to think rationally. Comes from a plant in Amalasia. A favorite tool of the Hunters.” He spat in disgust.
Braxton knew about the southern continent but had never met anyone or seen anything from Amalasia.
Ruskin glanced around. “Looks like they’re taking us to Kharnus. Probably to be sold as slaves.” He swore again, annoyance furrowing his brow.
“We need to figure a way out,” Phinlera said, trying to sound hopeful.
Braxton looked at Ruskin. “Any ideas?”
“Maybe.” He nodded slowly. “When the guards come by.”
“I haven’t seen anyone,” Brax admitted, turning to face the cell door at the rear of the wagon.
“They’ll fe
ed us now that we’re awake. They won’t let their prisoners die—no profit in it. And that gives us an advantage.”
* * *
They continued traveling south, seeing no sign of the Hunters. Occasionally they’d hear voices approaching from the front of the wagon, but no one came into view. Wrestling with their bindings without success, they formed a back-to-back circle and Phinlera’s nimble fingers worked at undoing the knots around Ruskin’s hands. She was just starting to loosen the thick cords when the wagon came to an abrupt halt, throwing them forward onto the floor.
A fat, brown-haired Hunter appeared alongside them.
“Well, our guests have awoken early, I see,” he said in a dry, sarcastic drawl. His loose-fitting, deep-red silk shirt was tucked into black trousers that puffed out at his legs, and he wore a scarred leather chestpiece. A falchion extended from his belt, its curved blade extending out behind him as he walked. In his hands he held the Unicorn Blade.
Braxton’s heart sank at seeing the spirit sword in the Hunter’s possession, and he swallowed against the lump forming in his throat. The man continued to the back of the wagon, unhooked a large metal key ring from his side, and opened the barred door. Leaping up the single step, he stood over his prisoners.
“Let’s see if what they say about you is true.” He stared down at Braxton, ignoring the others. Unsheathing the Unicorn Blade he admired its craftsmanship. “In all my many years of traveling, I’ve never actually seen a spirit sword. It’s heavier than I’d expected.” He balanced it in his rough hand. Then he sheathed the blade and bent down, dropping the weapon. Grabbing Brax’s tunic with both hands, he yanked him upright, pulling his shirt loose and revealing his bare chest.
“So this is the answer to all the riddles.” He eyed the Chosen Cross and laughed. “You’re going to make me a very rich man, my young friend.”
Braxton squirmed, but the Hunter held him in place.
“What’s this?” he said with a puzzled look. He grabbed the pendant from around Brax’s neck and yanked it free, dropping Brax heavily to the floor.
“Leave that alone!” Phinlera yelled. She twisted about, trying to break her bonds.
“Easy, missy,” the Hunter cautioned. “I’ll deal with you in a minute. You’ll be a nice distraction for a while.” He looked at her with an evil grin, eyeing her body up and down.
Slumped on the decking, Braxton saw his mom’s pendant in the Hunter’s hand, and his mind snapped. He kicked out with his remaining strength, catching the man behind the knees and knocking him to the ground. Instantly, Ruskin’s muscular legs closed around the man’s neck, holding him in a tight grip. He struggled frantically, trying to force the dwarf’s limbs apart in order to gain some precious air, but Ruskin didn’t budge. All the while the Hunter had been focused on Braxton and Phinlera, Ruskin had been carefully working at the knot Phin had loosened, finally managing to get free. He held their captor in place now, his legs closing like a vice, slowly squeezing the life out of the man. The Hunter’s face turned a deep shade of red, then faded into a dark purple as the air he so vitally needed was denied him. Then he lay still.
Ruskin jumped to his feet, like a badger springing back to life. He pulled out the man’s falchion and cut their cords, bringing much-needed relief to their numbed limbs.
Quickly retrieving the pendant from the dead man’s hands, Brax tied it around his neck. He grabbed the Unicorn Blade and jumped from the wagon, following after the other two sprinting toward a clump of trees to the west. As he ran, he chanced a look back at the row of a dozen or more covered and prison-celled wagons, standing together, forming a winding line south. Hunters moved about the carriages, but nobody seemed to notice their escape from the rear of the column. A moment later they entered the trees.
They’d lost their packs, their food, and their waterskins, and the only weapons they had were the Unicorn Blade and the falchion Ruskin had taken from the dead Hunter. But at least they were free.
Chapter 17
As soon as they entered the copse of pines, a shrill note rang out behind them. No one spoke; they all knew what the alarm meant. Running through the dense trees, they brushed past saplings, twigs, and the long grasses of the undergrowth. Another horn sounded ahead of them and farther west. Without slowing, Ruskin turned north.
Clearing the thicket, they sprinted east along the far side of a hillock that blocked sight to the wagons, and then turned north again into the foothills. A horn signaled back at the pines, answered by the one out of the west, closer this time. A third followed moments later far to the north, echoing through the hills, and Ruskin swore.
“They’re herding us like dogs.” He increased their pace.
Keeping to the sides of low knolls or within the small pine forests that littered the foothills, they dashed across the open spaces between rocky outcroppings. Their flight continued for over an hour, followed periodically by the sounds of their pursuers tracking them. Ruskin urged them on, twisting and turning in response to the sounds of the Hunters, trying to lose their pursuers. At times, it seemed to work, but they’d invariably hear the horns again as their enemy picked up their trail.
“We’re widening the gap,” the dwarf said at one point, noting the lengthening time between signals. But Brax and Phin were starting to tire. When they came to a small gully, they called for a halt. Ruskin continued up the narrow ravine without slowing, guiding them toward a cluster of trees on a hill at the far end.
“We’ll rest there, just to catch your breath,” he said, slowing his strides to help ease their muscles.
Brax eyed the hills as they continued up the canyon. They rounded the bend on the eastern side when heavy, weighted nets forced them quickly to the ground. Voices shouted and they were pinned in place. The three struggled to get free, but exhausted and outnumbered, they soon found they couldn’t move. A long horn blew, and the nets lifted long enough for the Hunters to bind them.
They were taken to the hillock fronting the pines near the top end of the ravine, guarded by a score of Hunters. Most were outfitted like the ones they’d seen before—brown leather jerkins over olive shirts tucked into black pants, and holding an assortment of weapons. Eight of the men wore tight-necked green vests, without shirts, and knee-length pants with bare feet. Taller and slimmer than the rest, they grouped together on the hill away from the other Hunters, holding slings and seemingly more at home out here in the central plains.
Their captors encircled them, their weapons drawn. No one spoke as they watched Brax and his companions, preventing any chance of escape. The falchion and Unicorn Blade lay on the floor, several feet away, guarded by a large man.
“Now what?” Ruskin asked, breaking the silence.
The big Hunter walked over and struck him across the jaw with his gloved hand, causing Ruskin to look back with loathing and spit blood.
Braxton realized that Serene hadn’t warned him of the impending danger, and he called out to her urgently now.
It is all right, child, she said calmly. I am here.
Why didn’t you warn me? He summoned the spirit magic.
Keep your mind at peace. The energy subsided as though responding to her words.
What’s going on?
Patience, child. You need to wait now. She pulled away, breaking their connection.
The sound of cantering horses entered the canyon as half a dozen men rode toward them. They watched the group approach, led by a tall, muscular Hunter wearing a dark mustard-colored shirt under a thick leather tunic. Four spear-armed guards rode behind him. The man’s presence seemed to cause the others in the ravine to back away, obviously recognizing their leader. It was the person next to him, however, that drew Braxton’s full attention. He held his breath as he looked into the face of Zacharias.
“Is this what you wanted?” the Hunter asked after they’d dismounted. The two men walked toward the prisoners.
Zacharias nodded, watching Braxton. “You led us on quite the chase. Your dwarven guide i
s to be commended. For a while there, I thought you’d slipped past our net.”
The Hunter leader made a hmph sound.
“The bishop is most interested in meeting you,” Braxton’s adversary continued, ignoring the other man, “and I’m looking forward to introducing you.”
“What about my payment?” the Hunter asked.
Zacharias watched Braxton for a moment, then walked back to his horse. He untied his saddlebag, withdrew a large sack, and handed it over. “You’ll get the rest when we’re in Amberdeen.”
The tall man nodded, weighing the sack in his hand, then began yelling orders to his men, mobilizing them.
Serene, help me! Braxton called out, realizing they intended to take him to the capital city.
Zacharias turned sharply toward him. “Karas!” he yelled in alarm, and the leader barked a quick response. The Hunters stopped and faced their prisoners, with weapons drawn.
It is all right, child, Serene repeated calmly. Be patient and clear your mind, for he can hear you, this one you know. A decision is being made. Wait.
Nobody moved.
Zacharias took a few cautious steps forward. “Bring me his weapon!”
Cathadeus_Book One of the Walking Gates Page 10