The Treasured One: Book Two of The Dreamers

by Eddings, Leigh;Eddings, David

  “Maybe we might want to swing in just a little closer when we first come across the Trog scows. We’ll come up with egg all over our faces if our first wave of burning arrows hits the water instead of those ships.”

  “And we’ll lose our shirts as well,” Buck-Teeth added.

  “You just had to go and say that, didn’t you?” Torl said. “I don’t think I’ll sleep very well until we find out if our scheme’s going to turn out the way we want it to.”

  “Don’t worry, Cap’n,” Iron-Fist said. “We’ll make it work. When y’ git right down to ’er, it has to work. We’ve got just about every penny on the Lark a-ridin’ on this scheme of ourn, an’ iffen it don’t turn out like we want it to, the crew might just decide t’ th’ow us all overboard.”

  “Thanks, Iron-Fist,” Torl replied in a flat voice.

  Sorgan’s fleet was nearing the southern tip of the easternmost peninsula jutting out from the south coast when a huge fleet of wallowing Trogite ships came sailing up toward them.

  Things were more than a little tense until a small sloop came across to the Seagull. As it turned out, the Trog fleet was not the fleet of Church invaders, but the remainder of Narasan’s army.

  Gunda spoke for a short while with cousin Sorgan, and then he returned to his own fleet to continue up the coast. Sorgan sent out several skiffs to advise everybody to stay out of Gunda’s way, and after the Trogite ships had passed, cousin Sorgan ordered his men to raise the sail on the Seagull and proceed along the coast.

  When the fleet reached the southernmost end of the first peninsula, cousin Sorgan signaled for a stop. Back during the war in the ravine above Lattash, they’d all learned how valuable the flag-waving means of communication was, and cousin Sorgan had come up with a rudimentary imitation of the much more complex Trogite version. Sorgan’s code had only four commands—“Stop,” “Hurry up,” “Run away,” and “Let’s talk”—but it was enough for right now.

  Torl rowed his skiff over to the Seagull to find out if the general plan had been changed.

  “Are we all ready?” Sorgan asked when Torl and brother Skell joined him in the cabin at the stern of the Seagull.

  “We know what we’re supposed to be doing, cousin,” Skell said. “Let’s get on with it.”

  “I don’t think so. Let’s sit here out of sight until first light tomorrow morning. Give the oarsmen some time to rest up. We’ve got to move just as fast as we can once we start.”

  “I don’t think ‘fast’ is likely to be involved all that much, Sorgan,” Skell said doubtfully. “We’ll have to slow down each time we come to a Trog ship. Since we’ll be throwing torches, we’ll have to wait a while to make sure that each Trog ship’s on fire and that the fire’s out of control. If some Trog on one of those ships is more than half-awake, all he’ll have to do is grab up our torches and throw them over the side, and that particular Trog ship won’t be on fire no more.”

  “He’s got a point there, cousin Sorgan,” Torl grudgingly admitted. “If this is going to work the way we want it to, we should probably do our very best to set fire to every Trog ship along this coast in one single day.”

  “I don’t see how that’s possible, Torl,” Skell protested. “It takes a while to get a good fire going on a ship. It’s not like we could just sail by and shout ‘fire,’ you know.”

  Torl started muttering curses under his breath as his dream of winning a fortune in bets flew out the window. “All right, cousin,” he said to Sorgan, “if you’ll pass the word to the other ships in the fleet that all bets are off, I’ll tell you just exactly how we can burn every Trog ship along this coast in a single day.”

  “I was sort of wondering just what you had up your sleeve,” cousin Sorgan said. “Let’s have it, Torl.”

  “Not until you give me your word that the bets have been canceled, cousin. If my crew gets skinned alive when we lose, they’ll throw me overboard as soon as we’re out of sight of land.”

  “All right, I promise that I’ll let everybody in the fleet know that your bets are canceled. Now, what do we use to set fire to all the Trog ships in a single day?”

  “Bows, arrows, and tar,” Torl replied glumly.

  “Tar?” Skell demanded. “How do you set fire to tar?”

  “We’ve had a fair amount of success putting a torch to it, big brother. If you stick twenty or thirty burning arrows into the side of a Trog ship, it will burn—even on a rainy day.”

  “I don’t know if I’ve got that many men on board the Shark who know very much about bows and arrows,” Skell admitted.

  “Go back to using torches, then. That’s up to you. Now, if you gentlemen will excuse me, I’ll go burn Trog ships—just for fun, unfortunately. I think ‘profit’ just got away from me.”

  3

  Torl took a certain amount of satisfaction in the business of setting fire to the Trogite ships anchored near the small villages along the south coast of Veltan’s Domain. There was a rather arrogant quality about most Trogites that he’d always found offensive. Then too, the crew of the Lark had spent a good deal of time preparing for this mission, and, although they were obviously not nearly as skilled as Longbow, they did manage to plant their burning arrows in the sides of the oversized scows along the beach. The results surprised even Torl just a bit. A ship that has just been showered with several dozen flaming arrows will inevitably burst into flame in a fair imitation of Torl’s own description of “floating bonfires.” The panicky abandonment of the flaming ships by the crews was entertaining, but Torl still felt that he and his crew had been cheated out of their rightful winnings.

  “Iron-Fist,” he called out to his first mate.

  “Aye, Cap’n?”

  “I think we can pick up the speed just a bit. I don’t see very many of our arrows going into the water, so we seem to be doing this right. Our bets have been pushed aside, but I’d still like to rub cousin Sorgan’s nose in the fact that we’re the best ship-burners in the whole wide world.”

  “We’ll shorely do ’er, Cap’n,” Iron-First chortled.

  The Lark leaped ahead and raced out in front of the other longships in Sorgan’s fleet. The men on the other ships weren’t very skilled with bows, and many of their burning arrows went into the water, and that made it necessary for the ships to slow down and fall farther and farther behind the Lark. It seemed to Torl that he could almost hear Sorgan’s teeth grinding together as he watched the Lark racing on ahead to set fire to every single Trog ship in the entire bay.

  When they reached the mouth of that first bay, Torl ordered his crew to pull in their oars and drop anchor.

  The Seagull pulled in closer a while later. “What are you doing, Torl?” Sorgan shouted. “There’s more bays and more Trogite ships ahead. Why are you stopping?”

  “I think I’ve earned my keep today, cousin, and I certainly wouldn’t want to cheat you and the other ship captains out of all the fun. Now that I’ve shown you how it’s supposed to be done, I’m sure you’ll be able to take care of the rest of the Trog ships without any help from me.”

  “Very funny, Torl,” Sorgan growled. “And just how did you plan to spend the rest of your day?”

  “I thought I might find out if the fish are biting today.” Torl turned and walked along the deck of the Lark toward his cabin. “You have a nice day now, cousin,” he called, “and when you finish up, swing on by and I’ll tell you what kind of bait works best in these waters.”

  Cousin Sorgan was inventing new swear words as the Seagull moved away.

  Torl had a nagging feeling that something wasn’t right, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on just exactly what it was. He paced up and down the deck of the Lark, staring at the beach.

  “It looks t’ me like we scared all them Trogs real bad, Cap’n,” Iron-Fist said. “I don’t think I’ve seen more’n about three or four of ’em on that beach all day. Ain’t they supposed t’ have a great big ormy down here?”

  Torl blinked. That was what was wr
ong! The beach should be covered with crowds of Trogs watching in horror as the only way they could ever return home went up in flames.

  “I think I’d better go ashore and find out what’s going on,” he said bleakly.

  “Not all by yerself, Cap’n,” Iron-Fist said very firmly. “Me an’ the crew ain’t about t’ take no chances of a-losin’ you. You ain’t a hard-nose like most ship-captains, an’ yer about five times smarter’n any cap’n I’ve ever seen. Good cap’ns is real hard t’ come by.”

  “I’m touched, Iron-Fist,” Torl said with a certain surprise.

  “Don’t git all gushy, Cap’n,” Iron-Fist said in a grouchy tone.

  “All right, then. If I take a dozen men with me when I go ashore, will that make you feel better?”

  “If’n y’ let me pick the men, it will, Cap’n.”

  The beach was deserted when Torl and his men went ashore, so they carefully went on up to the nearby village. They didn’t encounter any Trogs, but the villagers all seemed quite happy to see them.

  “Was there something you wanted?” a round-faced villager asked Torl.

  “A few answers is about all,” Torl replied. “What happened to all the Trogs? We’ve heard that there were thousands of them down here in the southern part of Veltan’s Domain, but aside from the crews on those ships out in the bay, we haven’t seen a single one.”

  “They all ran off a while back,” the villager replied. “I don’t think we’ll miss them very much. They weren’t really very nice to us when they first came here. They came dashing up the beach waving weapons, and then herded us all into a pen that I wouldn’t even have used for pigs. After a while, though, they got all excited about something that didn’t seem to make any sense, and then, they all ran off toward the north.”

  “Strange,” Torl said.

  “If they decide to come back, I don’t think they’re going to like you very much. Why did you set fire to all their boats the way you did?”

  “Veltan didn’t want them to take you people off to be slaves, so we came here and burned their ships. Did any of them ever say anything about just why they all ran off like that?”

  “Nothing that made any sense to me,” the villager replied. “Of course, a lot of things have been happening here lately that haven’t made any sense. As closely as I could tell, they all got very excited about something on up to the north.”

  “There’s not very much on up to the north of here but farmland,” Torl said. “If you go on up farther, though, you’ll reach the mountains.” Torl frowned. “Did you happen to hear any of them talking about gold?”

  The villager’s face went sort of blank. Then he began to speak in a peculiar way as if he was reciting something that he’d memorized a long time in the past. “It was long, long ago when a man of our village grew weary of farming,” he began, “and he went up into the mountains far to the north to look at a different land. He came at last to a mighty waterfall that plunged down from out of the mountains to the farmland below. Then he found a narrow trail that led him up into the mountain-land, and there he beheld a wonder such as he had never seen before. It was beyond the mountains that he saw a vast area where there were no trees or grass, for the land beyond the mountains was nothing but sand, and that sand was not the white sand of the beaches when Mother Sea touches Father Earth. The sand beyond the mountains was bright and yellow and it glittered in the Wasteland with great beauty, and now all men in the Land of Dhrall know full well that the sand of the Wasteland is pure gold, and it reaches far beyond the distance that the eyes can reach.

  “And having seen what was there, the adventurous farmer returned to his home and never again went forth to look for strange new things, for he had seen what lay beyond the mountains, and his curiosity had been satisfied.” Then the villager stopped, and his face seemed sort of puzzled. “I don’t think I know what you were talking about, stranger,” he said.

  “It’s not really all that important, I guess,” Torl replied as if he wasn’t very interested. “Thanks for the information, friend. Whatever it was that got the Trogs all excited probably isn’t very significant—except that it made them pack up and leave.”

  “That’s all that really matters, I guess,” the villager agreed.

  Something very peculiar had just happened. It seemed that the villager didn’t even know that he’d just recited a story that was really coming from somebody else’s mouth, but what exactly had set him off? “It must have been something I said,” Torl muttered, “but as near as I can remember, all I asked him had to do with gold.” Then he blinked. “Of course! he exclaimed. “It was the word ‘gold’ that blanked out his mind and set him off.”

  There was another villager standing not far away, so Torl walked over to the man. “Hello, there, stranger,” he said. “Why don’t we talk about gold?”

  The villager’s face immediately went blank. “It was long, long ago when a man of our village grew weary of farming,” he began.

  Torl walked away and left the villager talking to himself.

  Another villager came out of one of the makeshift huts.

  “Gold,” Torl said.

  “It was long, long ago . . .” the villager began.

  Torl went on back down to the beach chuckling to himself. He privately admitted that it had been nothing but pure luck, but he’d just stumbled over the reason for the sudden departure of the Trogs.

  “I wonder . . .” Torl mused. He looked on down the beach. There was another village no more than a mile away. “Let’s try it and find out,” he said to himself.

  The sun was going down when Torl and his men returned to the Lark.

  “Well, Cap’n,” Iron-Fist said, “did y’ find out what happened t’ all them there Trogs?”

  Torl shrugged. “They went north,” he replied, “and I was lucky enough to find out why they did that. We might want to drop by a few more villages, but I don’t think it’ll be necessary. Somebody—and I don’t have any idea of just exactly who—did something very strange to the people in five different villages that I visited today. Just as soon as I mentioned the word ‘gold’ every single villager I met today started to tell me exactly the same story—and they all used exactly the same words. I’ve heard it so many times now that I could probably recite it myself—and I wouldn’t make a single mistake.”

  “Now that’s what I’d call real strange, Cap’n,” Iron-Fist said, a bit dubiously.

  “‘Strange’ only begins to describe it,” Torl said. “I wish I knew just who’s behind this. I think whoever did it is on our side, but I wouldn’t want to swear to it. I hope he’s on our side, because he can do things that I’ve never even heard of before. We definitely don’t want to cross that one.” Then Torl laughed. “I’m fairly sure that this’ll drive cousin Sorgan right straight up the wall, and I don’t think Veltan’s going to be very happy about it either. I’d say that this game just got very interesting.”

  “You’re just making this up, Torl,” cousin Sorgan said a day or so later when the Seagull returned to the bay where Torl was waiting.

  “If you don’t believe me, go try it yourself. All you have to do is say ‘gold’ to any villager anywhere along the coast of this bay, and he’ll tell you exactly the same story—and he won’t even remember that he said anything at all.”

  “That’s ridiculous!”

  “Go try it.”

  “I’ve never heard such nonsense before.”

  “Go try it.”

  “You’re just clowning around, Torl.”

  “Go try it.”

  “All right, I will, and when it turns out that you’ve been lying through your teeth, I’ll whomp all over you.”

  “I’m not even a little bit worried, cousin. I know exactly what you’re going to hear every time you say ‘gold,’ because I’ve tried it myself a few dozen times.”

  Sorgan snorted and went on out of Torl’s cabin on the Lark, slamming the door behind him.

  He came back several hour
s later with a stunned expression. “That’s the strangest thing I’ve ever come across,” he declared.

  “I told you that was what was going to happen, cousin,” Torl said smugly.

  “Don’t get too happy about it, Torl,” Sorgan said. “You do know that the Trogs are marching north and that they didn’t pay any attention at all to what we did to their ships, don’t you? That means that we just failed. We were all positive that burning their ships would stop them right in their tracks, but that idea just fell apart on us. I don’t think we can even catch up to those Trogs now. They’re too far ahead of us.”

  “I sort of thought so myself, cousin,” Torl agreed. “What do we do now?”

  “You, Torl, not ‘we.’” Sorgan said quite firmly. “Somebody’s going to have to go back up to that basin and tell Narasan—and Veltan—that we just failed. Burning all their ships didn’t mean a thing to the invaders. Then I want you to tell Veltan that somebody’s been tampering with these farmers. For all I know, he might even have done it himself, but that doesn’t make any sense at all, does it?”