by Adam Collins
‘What’s your name, Lieutenant?’
‘It's N’Dhun, sir. Aaron N’Dhun.’
‘I will mention you, and your men, in my report. Thanks for the helping hand,’ Preem half-smiled and saluted.
The young man saluted back, ‘It was an honour, sir.’
Preem wheeled his horse away followed closely by his two sergeants. They made their way through the dead bodies and rider-less horses to a point where they could watch the enemy soldiers retreating. They were just in time to see the last traces of them before they disappeared behind the far off hills.
‘Think they’ve had a belly-full,’ grinned Brasco.
‘And good riddance too,’ countered Fruro.
Preem sat staring after the enemy soldiers.
‘N’Dhun. Isn’t that the name of the King’s cousin?’ asked Fruro.
‘That’s right. General Markas N’Dhun.’ affirmed Brusco.
‘Wonder if that lieutenant is any relation, sir?’ Fruro leaned forward towards Preem.
‘It's possible,’ answered Preem.
‘Might be him that’s givin’ the good report ‘bout us, if his dad's the General,’ smiled Fruro. ‘Could be medals all round ‘fore the night’s out,’ he beamed, slapping Brusco across the shoulder.
Preem just kept staring ahead. Happy that the enemy cavalry would not be returning, he turned his horse around and headed back towards the rest of the troop.
‘What you think, sir? ‘Bout the medals, I mean?’ asked an excited Fruro.
Preem looked at the sergeant and then back to his front. ‘They can keep the medals...I’d settle for a wash and some hot food.’
‘Ya. Now's you mention it - a hot meal would just about clean the slate,’ laughed Fruro as he fell in behind his captain.
‘By the twos, forward,’ ordered Preem. The Pathfinder rearguard fell smartly into formation, and set off at a slow walk behind the departing pike-men.
15. Hard Lessons
No-no-no! You're trying too hard, it must flow naturally.' Balzimar was getting irritated with his new pupil. At first it seemed that Brinn would take to his newfound gift with ease. He could manage to levitate the seeker stone easily enough, but then it just spun aimlessly in his hand. Balzimar was perplexed. If he hadn't been a witness to Brinn's power he would have sworn that the young man had no more than middle to low ability to wield. He snatched the stone out of Brinn's hand, 'Blisters!' he swore.
'Hey! objected Brinn. 'I thought I was getting somewhere then.'
'Now listen to me,' continued the wizard. 'Still your mind, and take a deep breath.'
Brinn followed the now, all too familiar instructions.
'Close your eyes, and focus on your breathing...yes that's it, very good.' Balzimar placed the stone back onto Brinn's upturned palm. 'Feel the contours of the stone resting on your hand. Concentrate on its weight. Feel the pressure that it exerts as it sits there in the middle of your palm. Now make it rise.'
Brinn felt a little tickle in the middle of his palm and the stone rose.
'Excellent! Now, keeping your mind relaxed, I want you to think of Major Brok, and ask the stone to point the way.'
The stone started to quiver, it jerked a quarter turn, stopped, and started to slowly revolve without stopping. Balzimar groaned and grabbed up the stone again.
The others sat a distance away watching the lesson but trying not to be too obvious about it.
'How's he doing?' asked Tam, returning from saddling his horse.
'Not too good,' remarked Rat.
Lom cleared his throat, 'He can manage to raise the thing without too much ado...but that seems to be as far as it goes,' he said, while picking at his teeth with a thin piece of stick.
'Hmm...not too much call for that sort of thing in our line of work,' smirked Tam.
'No...not really,' agreed Rat. 'Make a good livin' at the county fair. Though he might have to learn to juggle or do a card trick, or somthin', as well. The stone trick would run fair flat after a couple of shows.'
Lom stifled a laugh, and Brok smiled.
'Saw a fella' once, that could balance a whole pile of rocks on his head,' Tam sat down.
'What's so good about that?' asked Rat, scrunching up his forehead.
'I don't mean three or four, more like ten or more. He'd just get the audience to pick up any rocks or stones laying about. They'd fling them up in the air and he'd get underneath and catch them on his head.'
'Now that, I would pay to see,' laughed Rat. 'Whereabouts was this fella?'
'Back home,' said Tam. 'He doesn't do it any more though. Tried to catch a big rock one day and brained himself. Hasn't been right since.'
Rat laughed so loud he fell backwards off the log he was sitting on.
It was morning, the Sun had just peeked above the horizon. The provisions had been packed away and the horses stood ready. They had camped on the border of the great swamps the night before. It was obvious in which direction the slavers had gone. There had been no attempt to hide the tracks. That worried Brok. They were either supremely confident, or incredibly stupid. More than likely they did not expect to be followed so quickly. After all, it was only just over a week since the ambush.
Brok sat watching Brinn's feeble attempts to make the seeker stone work. He still didn't know what to make of what had happened the night they were attacked by the Moorg. Magic was alien to him. He feared it. It was not for him. He preferred the feel of his sword in his hand, or the hilt of a well balanced throwing-knife. Brok finally stood and stretched his cold muscles, 'Tam, I want you on point this morning. Lom, you guard the rear. No more than fifty paces! I want you both close by if there's trouble.'
Both men nodded and went to their mounts.
'Hey, Wiz', we're leaving,' Rat called to Brinn.
Brinn was so deeply engrossed in his task that the words slipped unheard passed his ears. The seeker stone had slowed and was making gentle turns on his palm.
'Brinn! It's time to go,' Rat called again. But still there was no reply. He picked up a pebble, took aim at the back of Brinn's head and threw.
Brinn turned and swatted the pebble towards a completely surprised Rat. It struck him on his forehead, knocking him back over the log he'd been sitting on.
The seeker stone on his other palm was pointing in Rat's direction.
'At last, progress!' exclaimed Balzimar, clapping his hands together.
Rat lay on the ground looking up at the grey-blue sky. There seemed to be little sparkles whizzing all about wherever he looked. A garish red lump was starting to rise in the middle of his brow.
The humidity was steadily rising as the day wore on. The heat caused sweat, and its pungent odour was like a dinner call to a multitude of tiny flying biters. The Pathfinders were trained to ignore heat, cold, and pain. But, even so, mosquitoes are a torture hard to ignore for very long. All the face and arm slapping in the world will not deter them. It was an impossible fight against an untiring enemy. All but Balzimar were driven to the brink of madness. The old wizard struck his usual cross-legged pose atop Bru. He remained untouched as did, it seemed, the mule. The old man was puffing happily on his pipe as Brinn pulled his horse alongside.
'Mind if I join you old man?'
Balzimar moved the pipe to one side of his mouth, 'Course not, my boy.'
'Hope you don't mind me asking, but...well you never really explained why you were sent?'
'Simply put, I was sent to give you all a fighting chance.'
Brinn looked confused, 'There are no better warriors, in the West, than here in this band.'
'I don't doubt that. In fact, if truth be known, I would happily stake my life on it,' shrugged Balzimar.
'Then what are you talking about?'
Balzimar drew deeply from the pipe and blew a long stream of smoke into the air, 'There's more at work here than, your run-of-the-mill, flesh and blood, scoundrels. You've come to realise that, I know. Especially after what has transpired.'
Brinn looked up the trail for
a long moment, and then turned back to the wizard.
'How did he do it? I can sense when I'm being stalked, call it what you will, I just know,' he paused. 'He almost had me. If not for you we'd all be dead now.'
'Don't be too hard on yourself. He almost got past my defences too.'
'It was...unnatural. He left no sign,' Brinn shook his head.
'He was being helped.'
'How?'
'There was something else out there in the darkness. Something...evil.'
'Another Moorg?'
'No. It had an altogether different feel to it. Darkspawn.'
'Darkspawn? Impossible! They no longer exist.'
'Well Darkspawn or no, it was good at the Arts. It covered that beasts approach, and eased it past most of my defences.'
'Most, but not all thankfully,' Brinn smiled.
'Nevertheless, it's for this reason, I was sent. There are forces at work here that are beyond the control of mortal men.'
'Who sent you?'
'Askert.'
'The King's mage?'
'High Mage of the Council of Mages,' corrected Balzimar.
'What did he tell you?'
'Just that he felt a need to send me. He wasn't sure himself, it was just a feeling.'
'Thank the god's for Askert's gut then.'
Brinn went to spur his horse on but stopped, 'I'm glad you're here old man,' then with a flick of his heals his horse trotted off towards the front of the group.
The swamp was closing in all around. At times it was hard to see the trail. To any other it would have been a near impossible task. But these men were Pathfinders. They easily found the rout the convoy had taken. As the Sun started to finally set they came across a four day old campsite. Brok grinned. They were on the right trail, and they were catching up. From now on they would have to be very careful.
16. Swamp Fever
Megan was bereft. She cried until she could cry no more at the loss of her friend. Karem’s men tried to backtrack through the swamp at first light but there was no sign of Anabel. The search stopped when one of the soldiers was taken by a crocodile. It was hopeless. Megan saw the look of resignation in Karem’s eyes. Though he didn’t say it outright she knew what he was thinking. Anabel was dead. At midday Karem finally called a halt to the search.
‘Please Karem,’ begged Megan, ‘one more hour, please, I beg you.’
‘I am truly sorry, Highness. We have done all that we can. It is far too dangerous to continue,’ Karem spoke softly, and with regret.
‘If we go further south perhaps?’ Megan pleaded.
‘No. It would simply be a waste of time. We need more men in order to perform an adequate search. We will go to Ash. From there I can organise a search party.’
‘But she needs our help now, Karem...please!’
‘I’m sorry. We have done all that we can for the time being. There is always the chance that Grik may have found her. She may already be on her way to Ash as we speak,’ Karem walked away and spoke quietly with his men.
Megan flopped down onto the mud of a mound that was the closest thing to a small island in the water-choked hellhole. Her world had just suddenly imploded. Bad as the whole experience had been, she always had Anabel's company for reassurance. Now she felt completely and utterly alone. The muscles of her chest and stomach ached and her eyes were red raw. It was the first time that she had lost a close friend, and it was a grievous blow.
Karem walked back over to Megan and extended his hand. ‘Come, Highness, it is time.’
Megan clasped his hand and stood. Karem’s men took up protective positions in front and behind. With spears as their only protection against the crushing jaws laying in wait all round, they moved slowly forward as a group. The hours ticked by. This was the hottest, most punishing, time of day, but there was little option but to keep walking. The longer they spent in the wilderness the greater the danger. Megan stumbled on, helped by Karem.
It was mid afternoon, the heat was suffocating and the strength-sapping humidity soared. The small amount of fresh water that they carried was used sparingly. Megan’s mouth felt coarse and dry. She had lost far too much moisture. Her tears had come at a heavy price. She stared blankly at the ground, her tired mind starting to wander, her steps becoming erratic. Tripping over a protruding root, her body no longer had the strength to compensate for the imbalance and she crashed to the ground with a thump. Blackness engulfed her.
‘Highness!’ cried Karem as he tried, but failed, to stop her fall. Clearing her splayed hair away from her face he felt her forehead. ‘She has fever. Quickly, make a stretcher. We carry her the rest of the way.’
Karem looked worryingly at her limp body, ‘Hold on, Highness. You must be strong...the Master needs you alive,’ he whispered.
Lashing a cloak between two spears they made a stretcher and carried her for hours. It was with great relief that they finally found the raised dirt road that lead toward the town of Ash. As the Sun started to set they looked for a suitable campsite. Megan was burning up. Karem tried to get her to drink as much water as possible. She managed a few small sips during brief lucid moments. It would not be enough. Karem knew she needed a healer, and quickly. A smaller track lead off the main road. They were still many miles from Ash. They would have to take a chance. If the smaller road lead to a village they may find a healer there.
The track was narrow. Low hanging branches hindered their progress. It was an act of desperation, Karem knew it, but hoped that his gamble would pay off. The light was beginning to fade and it was becoming more and more difficult to see the trail. Sucking mud and fetid water lay either side of the trail. This was not a good place to have to spend the night. They were much too close to the water’s edge for comfort.
It was just before the last sliver of daylight abandoned the land to blackness that one of the soldiers noticed a glow in the distance. They struggled on through the ever dimming light, tripping over unseen branches and rocks before finally entering a clearing. A small hut sat atop a piece of high ground. Smoke billowed from the chimney and light shone from its single window. They had made it, but only just. Karem called out to the occupants. The door creaked open and a bent old woman stood glaring at them in the twilight.
‘Hello. We are in need of aid and saw your light from the distance.’
‘What be the problem?’ the old woman looked sceptical.
‘My friend is very sick. She has fever. We are in need of a healer.’
‘Pfftt...a healer? Not around these parts,’ she snorted and reached for an oil lantern beside the door then walked down the rickety steps towards the stretcher. ‘ I done a bit of healin’ meself in past. I’ll have a look if you like.’
‘Please do, and thank you,’ nodded Karem.
The old woman knelt beside Megan and felt her brow. ‘Aye, she be burnin’ up...bring her inside, can’t do naught out here in the black. And mind you be careful liftin’ her. She’s enough without you addin’ to it an’ makin’ old Gwen’s job harder.’ she led the way into the shack with the lantern. Inside, the one-roomed hut was sparsely decorated. A large, lumpy-mattressed bed took up most of one end, two arm chairs and a table the other. A fire crackled in the corner giving off welcome heat. It was a neat and tidy room with few luxuries, but cosy. ‘On the bed,’ she ordered.
Karem’s men gently lifted Megan onto the bed and covered her with blankets.
‘Now, as for you lot, ain’t enough room in here for you all, so outside with you. You can camp near the shack.’
‘Thank you for your help,’ said Karem, as he turned to leave.
‘You have the look of nobility ‘bout you...penny says I’m right,’ she said, sticking a bony finger into Karem’s chest.
‘I’m a Lord, as such...in my homeland.’
‘Ha! Knew it. Not much fal-dal’s roun’ here, me-Lord. But you’re welcome to a comfy arm-chair if you wants it.’
Karem smiled, ‘Thank you, it would be most welcome.’
‘There’s a chicken coop and veggie patch round back of the house. Tell your men to help ‘emselves. But leave the big red hen, she’s me best layer.’
‘Thank you, Gwen.’
Gwen mixed roots and bark and made a hot drink. She spent most of the night getting Megan to sip small amounts of the concoction. From the way that Megan screwed up her face after each sip it looked to be a bitter brew. Gwen had a stew on the boil. To Karem it tasted better than a banquet at any of the high tables in the kingdoms of the East. He slept for a few hours as best he could on the armchair, then just before dawn he awoke with a jump, ‘How is she doing?’
Gwen had pulled the other chair over beside the bed to better watch over Megan, ‘She be fine. Fever’s broke,’ she was touching Megan’s brow.
Karem thought for a few moments, ‘What are you doing out here all alone, Gwen?’
Gwen sat back in the chair and looked over at Karem. ‘Husband was a croc hunter,’ she shrugged.
‘Where is he now?’
‘Where most of ‘em ends up...belly of a Crok,’ she grinned.
‘I’m deeply sorry,’ Karem flushed, ‘I didn’t--’
‘Ha! Twas a long time ago, I’m long over it. Anyways, he was fond of the drink...an’ usin’ his fists. Didn't know it at the time, but that old croc probably did me a kindness in the end.’ she nodded, and added a conspiratorial wink.
‘Even so, it must be a lonely life out here all by yourself?’
Gwen shrugged her shoulders again, ‘It’s me home, an’ I got all I need. Couldn’t see meself in one of dem towns like Ash or Briar. Too many busybodies wantin’ to know your business. No thank you!’ she shook her head, ‘I’m happy as I am. I bothers no-one, an’ no-one bothers me.’
Just then Megan groaned and stretched.
‘Well there ya are now dear. How you feelin’?’
‘Like someone cut my head off and then sewed it on backwards. Oh!’ she groaned, feeling her temple.
‘That be the Aldberry Root. It’s good for when your ailin’, but it leaves you feelin’ a mite kicked,’ laughed Gwen.