by Sandra Kopp
Akira tugged her arm again. Chemille glared but settled down beside him and gave Davon a pitying look. “Are you sure?”
Davon nodded. “Yes. Sometimes when I consider my state I. . .it frightens me. Were I alone, where would I go? What would I do?”
“You needn’t fear.” Chemille’s shoulders rose and fell as she sighed deeply. She clasped her hands together. “We will ensure your safe return home. You must trust us.”
Davon feared to respond. He wished she would direct her focus elsewhere. Under her constant perusal he felt like stone eroded by weather. Continuously, relentlessly, she sought to wear him down, to evoke some arousal within him. Her present concern, while seemingly genuine and harmless, unnerved him and as he looked at her now, he wondered if already he had begun to succumb. Sympathy and compassion had softened her features, diminishing her characteristic steeliness. Indeed, she looked almost pretty. Yet the mere memory of her touch repulsed him. He need not worry. He felt no desire; he had not succumbed.
His hosts watched him intently, as if awaiting some response to Chemille’s words.
“Thank you.” Davon could think of nothing more. He only hoped his ploy still fooled them. Chemille appeared convinced; but Akira? Davon shivered.
“You tremble.” Chemille cocked her head and shifted her weight forward as if to rise.
Davon offered a little smile. “It’s growing chilly.”
“Ah, so it is.” Akira rose. “Well, young man, as you maintain your need for motion, why not help gather some wood and we’ll light a fire.”
“All right.” Davon stood and picked his way among the shrubs and rocks, gathering twigs and small branches as he went.
The daylight waned quickly. Nightfall followed close behind. Davon wondered how keenly his hosts’ senses served them in the dark. He might try slipping away. If Fortune failed and they caught him, he could plead that his confusion had led him to stray.
“Stay close by me.”
Davon gasped and half turned to look behind him. A foliage-laden limb pushed ahead by thin elongated fingers swished back into place as Chemille passed through. “Forgive me,” he said. “I did not know you had followed.”
She smiled softly and extended a hand but withdrew it again when Davon stepped back. “You took ill so suddenly. I’ll not risk you fainting or injuring yourself with no one to help you.”
Davon dipped his head. “I assure you, I am quite well. ‘Twas just a passing spell.” He hated this dialogue: Her constant concerns regarding his health, and his constant assurances he felt fine, uttered mostly to ward her away.
“So you say,” Chemille shot back. “However, despite your protests, your injuries demanded bed rest. You still must take care.” She hesitated, regarding him tenderly. “Your continuing lack of memory concerns me. I wish I could do something. I only pray you did not suffer permanent harm.”
“Thank you.” Davon caught himself, again feeling under attack. Why did Akira not keep Chemille with him? His jealousy at times bordered on insanity. Possibly he sanctioned her actions to entrap Davon. Of Chemille’s intentions he had no doubt. Undisguised passion now lighted her face. She edged closer and raised her head, eyes half closed as if awaiting his kiss. Swallowing hard, Davon turned away.
Chemille sighed quietly and then bent down to gather several branches broken off by an early spring storm. “Don’t fear Akira,” she whispered. “He talks fierce but will not harm you.”
Davon suppressed a snort. He reached for another branch but Chemille grasped it first and urged him toward the camp. “We have enough. I’ll not have you overexerting.” She nodded then to a flickering orange bloom growing larger amid some nearby trees. “See, Akira has the fire going. We must go back.”
Davon followed reluctantly and deposited his gleanings on the small pile Akira had made near the flame.
“Well!” Akira gave Davon an approving nod. “You see, Chemille? Our guest recovers and no longer requires you hovering over him.” He wrapped his arm around Chemille and escorted her to the log where they had previously sat. Davon returned to his stone.
Akira squeezed Chemille’s shoulders and glanced from her to Davon. “Now then, what shall we talk about?”
“We’re almost there.” Cumah, in human form, pointed to where the trail curved into dense shrubbery just ahead. “Around that bend.”
Angyar emitted what sounded like a half laugh, half sigh. “And I shall enjoy freedom once more with my brother and my friends.”
“Remember your obligation.” Cumah’s icy tone chilled Angyar to his core.
Angyar sobered. “Of-of course.” He steeled himself as they advanced, hoping against hope Cumah’s ‘guest’ would be someone he recognized but held no allegiance to. He took a long uneven breath, wishing he could muster enough spittle to moisten his parched mouth and throat. Not Arris, not Davon, he prayed. He could scarcely betray Davon and he feared Arris.
He buys your unconditional freedom, Angyar.
That was all that mattered: Freedom and the lives of his brother and countrymen. He would do what he must. Angyar squared his shoulders.
The smell of moss hung heavy in the dank gloaming air, along with something more pungent, almost acrid. Patuka walked steadily, head high and ears erect, occasionally emitting a low snort through her flared nostrils. Angyar patted her neck, trying to quiet his racing heart as he braced for the impending encounter.
They rounded the bend. The path widened into a bare rocky space among silent trees, crossed a low mound of hard-packed white dirt, and ended before an aspen curtain. Angyar followed Cumah through the aspens and then stopped, gaping at the trio seated around a smoldering campfire. His heart sank.
Davon slumped atop a tall stone, head hanging, his hands clasped between his knees. Akira and Chemille leaned toward him, chatting back and forth while coaxing Davon to join in. Even in the waning light Angyar noted his ashen face and blank stare. Instinct would have propelled him to the younger man’s side; reason rooted him where he was, forbidding any emotional display.
What have they done to him? Only a shell remains! The fiends! They stole his mind and soul, and now this devil requires I reveal his origins so they can plunder his people as well!
“Ah!” Akira brightened as he beheld the new arrivals. “At last! Behold the man possessing the wisdom of the ages. He will supply the answer to our riddle.” Akira rose, his expression almost amiable as he regarded the old herder. “This young man has vexed us, for neither we nor he himself can determine who he is.” He laughed. “I do not mean that harshly. What I meant is, we cannot return him to his people or even render proper care, not knowing whence he came.”
“I see.” Angyar dismounted, advanced a couple of steps and stopped. A light wind arose, softly stirring the mossy strands draped shroud-like around the ancient pines standing guard behind the now silent trio.
“So.” Cumah clapped Angyar on the shoulder. “Solver of all enigmas: Do you know this man? Come, don’t be shy. Approach him, if you require a closer look.”
I must betray nothing. Maintaining his composure, Angyar edged toward Davon, head cocked, studying him intently. Davon passively returned his stare, his dull eyes lacking even a hint of recognition. His bruised, blood-encrusted forehead bespoke an injury, which probably caused his amnesia. Angyar put his hand to his mouth, pondering whether Cumah had dealt that wound.
Cumah stepped up beside Angyar and stood, arms folded. “Well?”
Angyar cast him a sideways glance. Cumah had dropped his guard and now his own wounds, much more severe than Davon’s, showed plainly. The lad hadn’t gone down without a fight, he mused.
“Come, man. What say you?”
Angyar returned his attention to Davon. What can I say?
He buys your unconditional freedom, Angyar.
No. They’ll not release him, and revealing him will buy me nothing. I must find another way.
He turned to Cumah and shook his head. “I cannot say, for I’ve not seen h
is like before.”
Cumah’s eyes glowed faintly red. One corner of his lip curled back, exposing a cruel fang. “You, an exalted father of the Wyars, a general in the struggle to regain your sacred land, you do not know—”
“I repeat, I’ve not seen him before or anyone like him.”
Akira snorted. “Chirubach, it seems your friend is not all-knowing, after all. He has failed.”
Chirubach’s breath whistled through his teeth. All amity, pity, and mercy displayed the day before vanished; only raw savagery remained.
Angyar raised his hand. “I can, however, take you to one who does know.”
Chirubach planted a hand on his hip. “And who would that be?”
“The sorcerer ascending the throne of the Red Castle.”
Chirubach cocked his head, regarding him narrowly. “There is no sorcerer. A sorceress reigns, and she has not yet ascended.”
“An ignorant wilderness woman vaunts herself as such, but has lost Anhuapta’s favor and the throne. His chosen abides at the castle even now. He possesses the answers you seek.” Angyar met Chirubach’s stare. “This I know!”
“We have heard no such thing.” Akira strode to Angyar and jabbed a pointed finger at his chest. “How do you know?”
Angyar remained calm. “’Tis common knowledge to my people. I scarcely believe—” Angyar narrowed one eye —“but you are not of Epthelion. Of course you would not know.”
Chemille slipped up beside Akira. “So this sorcerer can tell us?”
Angyar nodded. “Yes. He can tell you all; and perhaps this young man holds some value to him such that he would reward you handsomely for his return.”
“Ah.” Akira’s eyes gleamed.
Chirubach straightened and haughtily stared Angyar down. “Very well. Tomorrow we depart for the Red Castle.” His face hardened. “Pray that things unfold as you have spoken.”
“I have no doubt.”
Chirubach turned and strode away. Angyar hesitated, then darted ahead and stopped in front of him. Chirubach loosed an exasperated breath and looked aside. Undaunted, Angyar said, “I do not know this man; but since I directed you to the one who does, you will still deliver to me what you promised, yes?”
Chirubach responded with a stinging backhand that sent Angyar sprawling. “Silence, you sniveling worm!”
Angyar stared, aghast. His breath came in gasps and wheezes, for Chirubach’s blow and the force of his fall drove the wind from him. Groaning, he sat up and with a trembling hand wiped away the blood trickling out one side of his mouth. “Cumah! You—” He broke off, cowering as Chirubach again raised his arm.
“Cumah?” Akira chortled. “What manner of name is that?”
“A childish term coined by idiots for a beast unfamiliar to them,” Chirubach snapped. “I tolerated it for a time, but it ceases to amuse me.” He pointed from Angyar to Davon. “Bind them both and prepare to travel. We leave at dawn.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
Charles kicked his stirrups free and stretched his legs. For over an hour the company had traveled the rugged mountains, crossing ravines, picking their way over rocks and roots and around trees and thickets. Now, at last, the terrain had leveled and only a few stones littered their broad path. The mid-morning sun filtered through the forest’s dense canopies, flooding the glens with golden rays. The scene made him think of a woodland cathedral illuminated through emerald windows cut into the firmament above them.
A fragrant breeze stirred the branches. Every eye and ear had attuned itself for the slightest sound and motion. So far they had seen nothing and heard only the occasional chatter of chipmunks or leaves rustling in the sweet air.
Charles stretched again and heaved a sigh of relief before returning his feet to the stirrups.
Bertrand grinned back at him. “Feel better?”
Charles grinned back. “Aye, for the moment.”
“Best toughen up. We’ve still a long way to go.” Bertrand faced ahead again.
Edwin squinted skyward and then sat back. “Looks to be about ten o’clock. We should make Rama-Rauth by five—I hope. This blamed saddle and my arse aren’t exactly hitting it off this morning.”
“You’re soft.” Bertrand peered about. “Where are the Little Folks?”
“Scouting ahead.” Marcos’ lips tightened. “Myan seems edgy, like he senses trouble.”
“I would bet on it.” Bertrand swatted a fly off his horse’s neck. “The Rauths seek trouble on a good day, and now that they’re set on getting Rauwyar back. . .” His voice trailed off. He frowned. “You hear that?”
The men fell silent.
WHO-o coo coo coo! WHO-o coo coo coo! The plaintive cry reverberated among the trees.
“Mourning doves,” Edwin muttered. “What are those blamed things doing here?”
“Most likely the Little People,” Marcos muttered. He shifted in his saddle. “Stay sharp, everyone.”
WHO-o coo coo coo! WHO-o coo coo coo!
Myan burst through a curtain of young aspens, flung himself off his horse, and tossed the reins up to Marcos. “Here,” he said. “You’ll find the rest of the nags tied up along the way. Bring them with you.” He noted Marcos’ quizzical look. “From here we travel on foot.”
Marcos cocked his head. “Everything all right?”
“So far. Hopefully it stays that way.” Myan nodded once and darted into the forest.
Bertrand rubbed his chin. “We’re still hours from Rama-Rauth,” he murmured. “Something must be brewing.”
He stole a sideways glance at Marcos. “In this land expect anything,” Marcos said quietly. He waved then toward small glade where a dozen horses waited behind a hedge of ferns. “Here’s the first bunch. The rest should be nearby. Everybody grab one and keep it with you until Myan and his folk decide to ride again.”
Several woodsmen alit. Each untied one of the horses left by the Little People, remounted and then, leading the riderless horse, hurried after the company. Several yards away they spied another glade with the remaining horses, and these they retrieved before continuing on.
The trail angled toward the base of a sheer wall of gray-white granite soaring some two hundred feet straight up. On its top, piles of stones clustered, fortress like, amid the scattered trees. Bertrand studied the forbidding crown. “Hmpf. A veritable citadel. Good place for an ambush.”
Marcos jerked his head toward the right. “Let’s get off the trail and stay inside the trees. They will cover us all the way to the mountain.”
“And then?” Bertrand raised a brow.
“Branches conceal the path there as well, and I assure you the Little People are scouting that mountain even now. If anyone lurks there, we will know.”
Bertrand grunted. “Good.”
The company turned off the path, melting into the shadows of the denser foliage. Here the trees huddled closer together and tangled thickets or rotting logs choked many of the spaces in between. Fortunately, only a quarter mile lay between them and the mountain.
As Marcos predicted, the trees lining the path opposite the wall spread their branches across, forming an arboreal tunnel. The horses’ hooves crunched on a liberal pavement of gravelly shale, the shattered remains of once proud boulders that had plunged from the top or succumbed to the ravages of weather and frost. After seventy feet they passed the wall, descended a steep embankment, and continued through the forest.
WHO-o coo coo coo! WHO-o coo coo coo!
A pause, and then an owl answered with a baleful who-who-whoooo that to Charles’ ears portended certain doom. For a moment the woods quieted, and then spates of squirrel chatter coupled with various other bird calls rebounded throughout the forest. Charles glanced at Marcos who, although listening intently, seemed unconcerned.
The trees thinned a little. Hazy sunbeams bathed the forest in golden glow. The rocky trail rose and dipped over gentle swells. Austere cedars a short way ahead stood guard on either side of the path, which disappeared once more into shadow
and deep forest. The Little People continued their vigil, communicating back and forth with the chirps and warbles of wilderness fauna.
Despite his earlier trepidation, Charles relaxed. Rama-Rauth and Nedra still lay at least four hours away. Until then. . .
An arrow sang past his ear and embedded itself in the trunk of a large fir. Three others missed Benno, Mason, and Robert LeConte by mere hairsbreadths. The beleaguered company dove for cover among the massive cedars, seized their weapons and answered with a volley of their own.
Myan burst through the bushes. Dozens of feet drummed the ground as the Little People raced to join the larger company.
“Blast it!” Marcos hissed. “Why didn’t you warn us?”
“We neither saw nor heard them,” Myan wheezed. “Even now we cannot see them.”
Another arrow shot from behind grazed Marcos’ shoulder. He spun around, gaping, scanning the sun-spotted terrain for their attackers; but aside from arboreal vegetation he saw only his own men. “Where are you?” he shouted.
The entire company clustered into a tight circle, facing outward as they fired volley after volley.
“Hold!” Bertrand suddenly held up a hand. The onslaught had ceased, leaving in its wake uneasy stillness. They still saw no trace of their assailants.
Another cloud of arrows streamed toward them, narrowly missing their marks and burying themselves into the trunks of surrounding trees.
“They’re taunting us!” Bertrand scowled. “They could have taken us all down, but did not.”
Mason squinted as a movement near an alder thicket caught his eye. “There!”
“Let’s get the blighters,” Bertrand growled.
The men facing that direction put arrows to bowstrings. Before they could shoot, however, their arms dropped to their sides, limp and powerless. Bows and arrows clattered to the ground. Their legs, though still supporting them, had become leaden and immoveable. They could, however, turn their heads.
“I can’t move!” Mason gasped.
“I can’t either,” came from Robert LeConte.