At the edge of the light, both Petar and Commander Lyle saw the retreating group of skeletal men and the large, hairy back of the creature that was dragging their man’s torso away with it.
“Run me through,” Sergeant Tolbar yelled through clenched teeth from the ground. His body was a ruin lying in the middle of the torchlit scene. How he was still alive was beyond reasoning. “Kill me, man. Come on, do it,” he begged the stupefied man looking down at him.
Petar climbed from his horse and ran to the sergeant. A glance told him that the wounds were fatal. He didn’t hesitate when he pushed his blade tip through Tolbar’s throat, but he did mumble a prayer.
“Well met, Lieutenant,” Commander Lyle said gruffly to the only man he recognized.
“I couldn’t stay around Weir after what happened,” the wiry man said, pulling on his long mustache. His expression was tense and confused as he glanced around the bloody body-strewn road. “But by the gods, Commander, it looks like I might have done better there than out here with you.”
One of the men sitting on the wagon fell forward into the horses. The horses mistook it for the command to go and started ahead. They stopped after only a few feet when the wagon wheel wouldn’t roll over a man’s arrow-ridden corpse.
“I think they were after their friends,” Commander Lyle said with a sigh of frustration. “They’re gone.”
The lieutenant rode around to the far side of the wagon and looked around. “Maybe,” he said as he gracefully leapt from his horse and bent down to retrieve something from the ground. “They killed the fisherman.” He stood back up holding the leather satchel that had been strapped around the fisherman's shoulder.
The lieutenant reached inside it and pulled out a golden crown encrusted with enough jewels to buy a castle.
“Maybe that really was Glendar’s skeleton, Commander,” the lieutenant said, seeing the Westland lion head etched into the circlet’s front-plate.
He led his horse back around to the other side of the wagon cage and passed it up to the commander.
“It has to be authentic,” Lyle said, more to himself than to anybody. The magnificent craftsmanship and the large, glittering emeralds in the piece were definitely fit for a king.
“Eight men dead, Commander,” Petar reported. It didn’t appear that the skeletons were coming back. “There are two wounded, but not grievously.”
“Thank you, Petar,” Lyle said. “See to them.” He put the crown in the saddlebag of a riderless horse and studied the scene.
“I think our orders dictate that we chase them down,” Lyle reasoned aloud. “Set up a perimeter watch and make a bonfire. In the morning we’ll bury the dead.” He turned to the former lieutenant and the men he’d brought with him. “Will you be joining us?”
“I do believe it best. We’ve lost our old employment,” the lieutenant said. “My name is Mordon Garret, and we are at your service.”
Chapter 19
Corva wanted to be mad at Dostin for slowing him down, but he couldn’t. The monk was as determined as he was to catch up with Telgra. Dostin hadn’t asked for food, or rest, and he didn’t complain when Corva pressed them on through the passes well after dark. Sometimes Dostin pushed the elf. King Jarrek had given them each a horse, and a pack horse for them to share. Corva didn’t ride, though. He loped alongside Dostin’s mount and gave the horses a run for it. Ironically, it was Corva’s haste that caused them to pass right by the quest party encampment in the night.
Both Corva and Dostin saw the bonfire, and the guards. The overloaded wagons looked like they were part of a trade caravan. A single loud snoring, like that of a huge ox or maybe a stud bull, cut through the night. By dawn it was too far behind them to even wonder about. They had no idea that Telgra was coming through the pass toward northern Wildermont. When Corva and Dostin left King Jarrek three days ago, it was assumed she was waiting for them at the red castle in Dreen.
Corva had been mystified to tears by all the destruction they'd seen. It was baffling to think that one wizard could have done so much damage. It was also frightening to think that the Queen Mother had refused to aid King Mikahl and Hyden Hawk, even after Vaegon had pleaded their cause to her. It was true, he realized, that by stopping the demon wizard Pael from manipulating the Wardstone, Mikahl, Hyden, and Vaegon had saved all the races of the realm, including the elves. He was more than a little ashamed when the well loved and respected Wolf King told the whole of the tale. King Jarrek had fought with Vaegon and the others on the walls and in the streets of Xwarda. Had they not just witnessed firsthand High King Mikahl’s bright horse and the power of his sword, they might not have believed the fantastical story. It was hard enough to believe that Pael had tapped the power of demons and leveled the entire city of Castlemont. To think that King Mikahl had eventually cut off the wizard’s head after a grueling two-day duel of magical forces was unfathomable.
Corva planned on having a long talk with Telgra. His hope was to influence her to start chipping away at her mother’s policy of not involving themselves in human affairs. Obviously, the Queen Mother, her advisors, and the many members of elven society had no idea how close they had come to being annihilated. Corva had to find Telgra first, though, and then hope that she would listen to him. She had an open mind, but if she was anything, she was headstrong.
“I need food,” Dostin said weakly as they topped a low-backed ridge of shelved stone. The sun was high overhead but the breeze was cold. Corva decided that the horses needed a break as well.
“Let’s get down there into the valley,” Corva pointed. “There’s less wind, and still some green grass for the horses.”
Dostin didn’t answer; he just heeled his mount down the slope into the multicolored valley below. The trees that still had leaves shivered red and gold and brown in the wind. The monk was glad to find Corva had spoken true. In the valley bottom he found a place in the sun out of the wind and climbed off of his horse with a groan. He took three painful steps and his legs wobbled out from under him.
Corva laughed and took the reins of Dostin’s mounts. He hobbled the horses in a wide patch of grass and went about removing the saddles. He sat the packs by the exhausted monk and rummaged through them until he found some food. They ate bread and cheese and dried salted meat, then drank watered wine from a flask. Dostin fell asleep and Corva sat back and listened to the birds calling over the rustling of the leaves.
He must have slept, too, for when he opened his eyes again he and Dostin were no longer in the sun. Evening was approaching. Reluctantly he woke the monk, and after they ate and drank some more, Dostin gingerly climbed back onto his horse.
Thoughts of seeing the elven princess safe and sound overrode any soreness either of them felt. If they kept their pace, in two days they would be in Dreen. With that in mind, they worked their way up and out of the valley and in total silence kept traveling through the darkness of the night.
***
The first day had been pleasant for the quest party. The second only slightly less so, but by the third night they were all on edge. The hard board seats hammered at their arses as the wagons worked through the rough mountain road. The four guardsmen rode horses unattached to the wagons and were the envy of the rest of the group. Telgra chose to jog most of the time, which frustrated Phen because he couldn’t keep pace with her, or even the wagons. Overloaded as they were, the four-horse teams had little trouble pulling them along at a brisk pace.
Unbelievably, the nights were worse than the days. Oarly’s persistent and extremely loud snoring carried on from the time he fell asleep until he woke. And waking him during the night was impossible. Luckily, the dwarf was up just before dawn every morning by himself. Only then did anyone else get a chance to sleep. The group had unconsciously been leaving camp later in the mornings and traveling longer into the night, so that they could steal those few hours of sleep as the sun rose. Everyone in the group, save for Phen and Oarly, was red-eyed and cranky at best.
Ph
en wasn’t as affected by the almost scary sounds of the dwarf’s snores. He’d gotten used to it during the long months they’d traveled together. That didn’t stop him from conspiring with Jicks to help the others get at least one full night’s sleep, though.
It was the night after Corva and Dostin had passed them almost unnoticed. Lieutenant Welch spotted them and watched them from afar with a nocked bow in his hand. He was ready to drop either one of them if they ventured too close. No one else paid them any mind.
Phen told the lieutenant of his and Jicks’s plan for the dwarf. The lieutenant didn’t agree with the foolishness, but he knew that the rest of the crew needed a good night’s sleep. Even Lord Gregory pitched in by toasting the might of Doon a dozen times as they ate their rations at the fire.
Telgra said she wanted no part of it. Phen thought that she actually felt sorry for Oarly.
When Oarly passed out drunk and began to snore, Jicks picked him up by the legs and Phen took his arms. The two boys carried him a good way up the valley side. Oarly snored the whole way and never so much as batted an eye as they hauled him along. They laid him out on a flat shelf of rock and then crept away. The horrible sound of his slumber, they figured, would keep anything wild away from him.
“If not the sound, then his smell will keep him safe,” Phen said.
By the time the two boys were back in camp, the others were sleeping soundly. Only the lieutenant who had drawn first watch with one of the archers was awake. Even Telgra, who had protested the trickery vehemently, was asleep.
Later, when Jicks and the other archer were on watch, the youngster found that, without Oarly’s constant snoring to keep him awake, his eyes kept sliding closed. Sleep eventually overcame him. Luckily for the group, the archer stayed alert and the night passed uneventfully.
Oarly woke to a warm, moist smell that was as out of place as the low, rumbling growl he could hear. He opened his eyes to find a curious mountain cat in his face. It wasn’t nearly as frightening as the sea serpent or the dragons he’d been face to face with of late, so he managed to stay calm. Seeing Oarly’s eyes move, the cat’s hackles stood on end and it reared back to pounce. It bared its teeth, and its growl became insistent.
Oarly’s first thought was that the others were in danger, but as he felt his hip for his utility dagger, he came to the conclusion that he wasn’t in the camp anymore. The cat was easily as big as he was, and it was pouncing to attack. Oarly’s dagger wasn’t there. He rolled quickly to the side and found himself in thin air. As he fell, he saw that he was high up the valley slope, above the camp. His heart was in his throat when he hit the rocky ground half a second later. He’d only fallen a few feet. The cat bounded off of the shelf where he had just been and leapt down at him as he rolled through the undergrowth to the valley bottom.
Oarly managed to roll to his feet, stop himself, and turn to meet the beast head on. The cat got a good claw in and opened the dwarf’s shoulder, but Oarly muscled it down and sank his teeth into its nose. In a wild fit of utter terror, the wildcat wiggled and scrabbled and tried to get free. In the process, it sliced Oarly to ribbons with its razor claws. Oarly finally roared and twisted at the wildcat’s neck until it snapped in his grasp.
After a moment, he rolled off the dead animal and inspected himself. He wasn’t dying, but by Doon he had a dozen long, bleeding furrows torn through his chest and thighs. He made a mental reminder to relentlessly pursue his revenge for those who were responsible for this jest. He didn’t consider it anything more than that. He would much rather be shredded by a wildcat than endure a day of feeling the effects of squat weed.
Oarly got to his feet, grabbed the dead beast by the scruff of the neck, and dragged it into the camp. He was pleased to find everyone, except for the wide-eyed, open-mouthed archer, sound asleep. The poor archer didn’t even try to protect Jicks or Phen. The sight of the bloody dwarf dragging the mountain cat was enough to leave him awestruck.
Jicks, who should have been awake, was Oarly’s first victim. He knew Jicks would have helped Phen. He was the only one with nards enough to buck Welch. Oarly had been expecting the two of them to pull something. He threw the mountain cat on the sleeping boy and then leapt on top of the pile, keeping the wild animal’s head in Jicks face while he screamed out in terror. The camp came alive then. Only Lord Gregory’s sharp eye kept the waking archer from loosing arrows on the hairy, bloody thing on top of Jicks.
“Phen, you’re in for a horribly long trip,” Oarly yelled. “Remember the cinder pepper? You will beg for that kind of pain.”
“By the gods, Master Oarly, you need attention,” Lieutenant Welch said, trying to calm the wild-looking dwarf.
“No, sir,” Oarly yelled, holding the wildcat’s carcass over his head. “This here wildcat needs the attention. How did you do it, lad?” Oarly asked Phen, blowing bloody spittle from his mouth as he spoke. “Did your blasted little lyna tell the mountain cat to get me? How did you do it? Tell me lad. Tell me how you did it?”
“I didn’t have a wild animal attack you,” Phen said defensively. “We only took you up there because you were snoring so loudly at night.”
“All right then, lad, don’t tell me how you did it.” Oarly threw the wildcat back on top of Jicks. “It was a good trick, I’ll grant ya. But of all of these people, you know the revenge I’ll be exacting on you. It’s a matter of pride now.”
Everyone in the group was speechless. None of them, not even Phen, who knew Oarly better than anyone in the realm, could imagine the dwarf killing the wildcat with his bare hands. And to believe that he thought it was all some elaborate jest was baffling.
Phen mumbled another apology about the wildcat, but Oarly wasn’t trying to hear it. Telgra glared at Phen until he was shamed.
“Come, Master Oarly,” Telgra said sweetly. “We need to tend your wounds. Let these fools clean your kill and make our morning meal.”
Oarly looked at her stupidly for a moment, then down at himself. He was dripping blood from the slices in his skin and breathing quite heavily. “I need me flask, Lady Telgra,” he said in a calmer tone.
“Of course you do.” She gave Phen a look that pierced him deeply. “Phen will fetch it, won’t you, Phen?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Phen said, looking at his marble-colored boots.
Jicks was sitting up now, wiping the tears from his face. It wasn’t clear what had scared him more, the wildcat, or the wild-eyed dwarf. Either would be terrifying to wake up to.
“If you’re done crying like a babe,” the lieutenant said, “then you can explain to me how Master Oarly got close enough to you to scare you to tears. You were on watch duty, boy.”
Jicks flushed bright scarlet and looked away.
“It’s my fault, lieutenant,” Phen insisted. “I talked him into helping me trick Oarly.”
“That has nothing to do with the fact that Jicks was sleeping on his watch,” the lieutenant said. “He put every single one of us at risk, and I’m not about to let him forget it.”
“Latrine duty for the duration of this quest is a start,” Lord Gregory said. “I fell asleep on watch duty once, Jicks. My captain had me shoveling horse shit out of every stable he could find for a year.” The Lion Lord smiled, seeing that Jicks understood the magnitude of his mistake. “I’m sure Lieutenant Welch will come up with a comparable punishment for you. As for Master Oarly’s mishap, I think that we are all to blame for that. I just hate to think about how he will get us back. According to the High King, Oarly is one of the most ruthless tricksters in the realm.”
“Aye,” Phen agreed. “I’m sort of afraid of him now.”
Chapter 20
The thirty-two wood cutters, mill workers, and loaders who had deserted Glendar’s army and wound up on the Isle of Salpahel congregated around the large table of the company cabin. Master Wizard Sholt had already prepared his spell and dusted the table with a silvery powder reagent that was required to make it work. The gathering men were nervous. Lord Spyra
banged a goblet on the table, loudly drawing everyone’s attention. The large, imposing form of the former general standing beside the wizard helped bring about a sudden hush.
“In a moment, Sholt here will relieve you of the curse that you’re under, but I have a question I want to ask first.” Spyra began pacing back and forth as if he were about to make a pre-battle speech to encourage his troops. “Have any of you had an urge to go east? Or have any of you heard voices in your head?” He paused in his stride to listen for an answer. “I know nobody wants to sound like a raver, but this is important. Speak up now, and be honest.” He stopped and clasped his hands behind his back and surveyed the men. None of them said a word, but none of them looked away either. He sighed with relief. “Very well then,” he finished with a nod. He opened an arm to the wizard, indicating for him to take over, then made his way outside the cabin.
A few moments later the light of the afternoon sun was challenged momentarily by a surge of bright lavender light. A collective gasp from inside the building coincided with the flash. Lord Spyra shivered involuntarily. The idea of being spelled with magic, even in order to be rid of a curse, was enough to make him cringe.
He was glad the living men who had fallen under Pael’s enchantment were not being called by the Dark One. He had learned his men were tracking some of the others across Westland in a southeasterly direction, and not on a known road. After comparing the reports and looking at a map, he had come to the conclusion that they were all being called to the Dragon Tooth Spire.
With Master Sholt’s help, Spyra planned to send a message to High King Mikahl explaining his findings and informing him of the trip to the Isle of Salazar he and Master Sholt were about to undertake. His orders were to track down the men who had been affected and, with Master Sholt’s help, do what could be done to cure them. His orders were not to chase after rotting undead skeletons who claimed to hear voices, even though his military mind told him that it was of concern.
The Wizard and the Warlord (The Wardstone Trilogy Book Three) Page 15