Exposed
Dra’kor rallied the people, riding in circles and barking orders. He pushed his mare up and down the trail, urging the bone-weary men and women to keep moving. His mare lunged, her hooves straining to find stable ground. He looked up the road, a narrow winding rut in the earth, stretching up some eight-hundred feet from the valley to the Notch. The tight switchbacks zigzagged up the slope on the Doublehump Mountain and had served travelers for ages. Stacks of rocks were strewn up the slope where people had tried to fill holes where the road—if you could really call it that—had washed out.
He could still see the pack of wolven that had gathered on the far shore; their eyes glowed yellow and their teeth were barred; thick ichor dripped from their tongues. They threw their oversized heads back and howled, listening for a response to be carried to them on the chilled night air. The response came.
“Let’s move people. We need to get back to town.”
“Can’t we rest for a few minutes? We’ve been walking all day,” asked an elderly woman with patchy white hair, leaning heavily on her staff. Her long skirt was muddied on the bottom and her shawl was frayed along the edge. Her shoes were worn, had holes in the front by the toes and her stockings were bunched at her ankles.
Dra’kor looked around to see who was talking.
“Down here!” she said.
She was thin, with sunken cheeks, but her eyes were alert. Dra’kor rode to her side. “We cannot ma’am, but I will offer you a ride to the top of the hill if you don’t mind the smell of me and my horse. You should be able to get back into the wagons there.”
He offered her a hand and was met with a warm smile. “Thank you kindly, sir. These bones ain’t as strong as they once was. I used-ta-could walk all day. Age ain’t been kind.”
The old man walking alongside her nodded, squeezed her hand tenderly and bent slowly to the ground offering her his back as a place to step. She patted him lovingly on the back as she stepped up, steadying herself with her staff and grunting as she awkwardly mounted the large horse. She tried not to show the pain she felt in her hips, but Dra’kor could see it in her thin-lipped expression.
The man winced as he pushed himself to his feet. His knees poked through the thin overalls he was wearing and he had more holes in his mouth than teeth, but he smiled after her and Dra’kor could see that they were still in love.
He nudged his horse in its side and quickly rode up the hill, while he continued giving words of encouragement to the hodge-podge group of travelers. He felt her arms griping him tightly about his waist. He watched them move; they were as unlikely a group as he could have imagined, farmers, peddlers, merchants and fighters, all banded together with one cause…to reach Three Rivers alive.
When he reached the top, he brought her alongside a wagon and let her down as gently as he could. His grip was still painful on her arm and she winced; a tear filling her eye. One of the children in the wagon stood up, pitching as the wagon rolled, trying to lend a helping hand. He mother held on tightly to her waist-knot.
Dra’kor tried to not feel guilty for how hard he needed to grip the old woman, but a lump formed in his throat nonetheless. “Sorry,” he muttered. The old woman patted his arm and sat down in the wagon.
“I’ll be bruised in the morning, but I’m grateful. I’m not sure these old bones could have made it up that hill today.”
Dra’kor nodded and rode off after tipping his hat.
He walked his horse up to Men’ak and leaned over to speak in private. “I’m worried,” Dra’kor whispered, “…night is approaching and they are already weary. If we can’t keep them moving, the wolven will catch us in the valley.”
“There’s no place to hole up…” Men’ak muttered, stating the obvious. “There is no way these folks can make a stand, they’ll be slaughtered.”
Dra’kor nodded, looking down the trail.
Men’ak’s eyes glazed over. He was remembering when they had been caught in the open and a chill ran down his spine. “What can I do?”
“You can make sure the wagons are moving smoothly. I’m going back down the hill and help the stragglers.”
Dra’kor turned his mare and urged her down the hill, she pawed at the ground and neighed, not wanting to travel across the uneven ground. There were still several wagons trying to gain the crest. They creaked and moaned as the poorly-crafted wooden wheels rolled over deeply rutted terrain filled with rocks. The going was painfully slow, but a broken axle or wheel would be catastrophic, blocking the narrow road and stranding those below for hours.
Dra’kor eyed the wagons as he rode by and was not pleased with what he saw. Many were old, in ill-repair. The buckboards were worn, there were deep notches in the wheels and the floorboards were rotted in many. He watched men use their staffs as levers and push the laggards with all their might, sweating and swearing. These were strong, proud men, worn and tough as iron. They would not go down without a fight. Dra’kor took comfort in that.
The air chilled as the winds from the mountains swept down into the valleys. Clouds rolled over the peaks and the light of the White moon was catching the top of the peaks as it lifted into the sky. A thin fog was beginning to gather in the low spots below, it crawled across the dry grass and wrapped itself around the trees. They didn’t have much daylight left.
Dra’kor didn’t like the prospects of having to negotiate the treacherous road in the dark. A deep morass of emotions edged their way into his subconscious and his mood measurably soured.
Dra’kor rode back up the line to the top of the hill and put on a brave face. “Good job people, let’s keep it up—you are almost there.”
The first wagons had crested, cleared the pass and began making their way down the hill. It was just as treacherous as going up, maybe more so. The horses strained against the thick leather breeching, trying to slow the wagons down. The drivers held the reins in one hand and pulled with all their might on the brakes with the other. The leather straps rubbed against the wheels and groaned in protest; the trail was too steep for such heavy loads.
Dra’kor heard a loud noise behind him and turned just in time to see the horrified expression plastered to the face of a wagon driver as he sped past, narrowly missing his horse. The wagon jerked and twisted as it gained speed. The driver jumped free and flipped head-over-heels as he tumbled to the ground, landing with a sickening thud, his body at an awkward angle remained motionless.
The wagon snagged a large boulder and had been launched high it into the air. The precious cargo—all that the family owned in the entire world—was tossed high into the air and exploded into thousands of pieces when it hit the ground. Shards of wood fell from the sky, along with clothes, undergarments, pots and pans. They ripped and tattered as they were trampled by the horses and wagons. What wasn’t, was scattered down the side of the hill.
A woman came running up, screaming, her hands covering her mouth. She fell to her knees and wept. Another reached out and grabbed her, helped her to her feet and pulled her into an embrace as she wept for her husband. The woman motioned to her husband who picked up one of the blankets from the ground and covered the body.
Further down the hill the horse screamed and tossed its head in anguish as its legs gave out and the tumbling wagon crash-landed on top of the struggling animal. They fell together, collapsing to the ground in an unmoving heap. Dra’kor heard the sound of cracking bones and saw the wagon slide to a standstill on the edge of the road, teetering over the side. The horse, wedged between the road and the wagon, twitched, its eyes wide in fear. Then silence filled the air.
The drivers up the hill watched on, barely able to comprehend what they saw. They gnashed their teeth and pulled on their brakes with all the gusto they could muster. The horses complained, some rearing. The line of wagons stopped.
A howl echoed in the distance, causing the horses to rear and prance about nervously. A woman screamed. “We are all going to die.”
Dra’kor rode to the body and dismounted from his
horse. He turned his back to the gathering crown, laid his hands on the man under the blanket after pulling his legs straight and fed a stream of healing magic into his frame. The man jerked and groaned.
“He’s alive,” Dra’kor shouted, pulling back the blanket.
“Alive?” the wife asked, covering her mouth with her handkerchief. “That’s not possible; it’s a miracle!”
“Quick, bring me a board or something we can lay him on. We need to keep moving!” Dra’kor said.
The wife knelt down and calmed the man. “Jonas, yer hurt, but it’s gonna be all right! Just you wait and see.”
The man moaned and feebly squeezed his wife’s hand. Two men arrived with a board they had yanked from one of the wagons and hefted him onto it as he screamed. They covered him with the blanket and carried him off to one of the wagons as his wife lifted her petticoats and ran along their side.
Dra’kor knew that Hagra would heal the man if they could get him to Three Rivers. There was nothing more he could do. He placed his foot in the stirrup, threw his free leg over his horse’s back, and road it down to where the wagon overturned.
Dra’kor could see the panic in their faces. He slid down from his horse and led her by the reins to the wagon. It was a mess, that much was certain. The crash had been bad enough to render the wagon useless, but not enough to shatter the entire frame.
“Calm down everyone. We are going to solve this.”
Dra’kor tied his horse to a hitching nub on the wagon behind and strode in a circle, slowly checking out the wagon. The horse under the wagon was still twitching, its eyes wide in panic and fear.
A woman sobbed in the next wagon back and clutched her young children to her breast, covering their prying eyes. The small boy twisted away, trying to get a better look at the carnage. She cuffed him softly in the head. “Don’t you be lookin’ on at the mess. It’ll be givin’ you the nightmares for weeks!”
“Aw, mom,” the lad protested, but he abided by her commands.
Dra’kor pointed at a group of men. “You three, give me a hand! We need to right that wagon and get the road clear.”
The men jumped at his command and rushed to the wagon. Dra’kor and men grabbed the wagon and tried to turn it over. They strained, rocking it back and forth, and lifted with all their might, but the wagon wouldn’t budge. Another man ran to help and lent his strength and still they couldn’t right the half-broken wagon. The axel was shattered and a wheel was off at an odd angle. To make matters worse, the wagon was on top of the horse and the buckboard had split, impaling the poor animal and was wedged under its weight.
The howling got closer, and now there were two wolven who answered the call. The men stopped their work and looked off into the murky gloom.
“What’ll we do?” a woman called out, holding her shawl to her face to cover the sobs.
“We can’t give up!” Dra’kor pleaded.
“Why not? What’s the use. We are just going to end up being slaughtered,” a tall, lanky, man bemoaned, throwing his staff to the ground in frustration. “We’re gonna die, just like Jonas here almost done, and his brother.”
“If you give up now…,” Dra’kor said, “…then everyone before you has died for naught.”
The man stared into Dra’kor’s eyes with vacant eyes. “I’ve already lost everyone I care about. My brother’s dead, my son died of the plague and my wife and girl—well, they froze to death last winter. My life has no value…”
He collapsed to the ground, broke down and started sobbing.
Dra’kor set a hand on the man’s back. “You have value to me.” He waved an arm across the small crowd. “You all have value…to me. Now help me save you!”
The man pulled himself together, still sobbing lightly. He reached down and grabbed his staff and walked slowly over to the wagon where he was greeted with understanding faces.
Dra’kor stepped to the wagon. “On three, lift! One...two...three.”
The men all bent their knees, grabbed the bottom of the wagon and lifted. The wagon barely moved. They tried a second time. The wagon rocked a bit more than before, the men had to let it back down.
“My hand,” a man screamed at the top of his lungs. “Get it off! Get it off my hand.”
Dra’kor looked down and saw that the man’s hand had gotten wedged between the wagon and a large rock.
“Quick, give me some help here!” Dra’kor shouted.
Two men jumped to his side of the wagon and the three of them pulled up on the wagon, lifting it just far enough that the man could pull his hand free.
He cradled his hand in his arm. “It’s busted up good!” he said, wincing.
Dra’kor looked at the man’s hand and could see bones poking through the flesh. The flesh was already starting to turn black and blue. “We have a medicine woman back in Three Rivers. You are going to be all right.”
A woman came rushing up. She poured a ladle of water across the hand and tried to brush as much dirt out of the wound as she could. The man cursed and screamed, pulling his hand back.
“I’m sorry Jed. It’s fer yer own good. We got to clean out the wound or it’s gonna go septic. You might lose it! Stop being such a baby.”
She wrapped it as gently as she could in a rag and made a sling for him. She grinned. “You’ll do just about anything to get outta doin’ work!”
Jed called her a name and she threw her head back and laughed.
The sound of the howling wolven got closer. Dra’kor counted…now there were three. He knew more would be coming.
The lanky man wiped his brow and leaned on the wagon. He yanked his britches up and retied the rope he was using as a belt. “What do we do now, sir? I’m outta ideas.”
Dra’kor looked at the wagon and rubbed his chin. “Well, we aren’t going to lift it, that much is for sure.” He pointed to the corner. “Maybe we should just try to push it over the edge. At least we could get the other wagons moving.”
“But that wagon belonged to Jonas—”
“I don’t see that we have any other options,” Dra’kor uttered. “It’s just a wagon, and now it’s all busted up and of no use to anyone.”
The woman whose husband was lying crippled shouted from the back, “Just push it over the side. There’s nothin’ in there I want anymore. I don’t want anyone else to die!”
Then she broke down and cried, deep sobbing wails. Another woman took her by the hand and walked her back to her husband’s body. She climbed up into the wagon and straightened his twisted limbs as he screamed. Her breath came in gasps as she lovingly ran her hand over is arm. Another wail escaped her lips as she fell forward and buried her face in his chest.
A stocky man in the next wagon back cursed, “Can somebody shut her the halla up? All that wailing is getting on my nerves.”
The lanky man swung his staff at the man, catching him in the leg. “Who are you to talk?”
The stocky man fell to his knee clutching his knee, grabbed his knife from his belt, and waived it menacingly at the other. “One more step and I’ll slit you from top to bottom.”
Dra’kor stepped forward and tried to calm the group. “All this fighting between ourselves doesn’t help anyone. Everyone needs to take a step back and breathe.”
The lanky man waved his staff and spit at the ground. “Polk is always mouthing off. He has no respect. We should have left him back at the Forks. He’s ben nothin’ but trouble!”
Polk had regained his feet and was rubbing his knee. “You’re all a bunch of whiners. You sob and complain about everything, especially you Cob. You’re always ragging on about things not going your way!”
“Nobody asked you to join us…” Cob muttered.
“I invited myself!” Polk growled. “Who was going to stop me? You?”
Cob pushed hard, but Dra’kor maintained his grip on the wiry man.
“Can we do this later?” Dra’kor asked, trying to defuse the situation. “I’d rather not be dinner for those big wolve
s out there.”
Both men stared each other down, but eventually conceded. Both nodded. Dra’kor shook his head in disgust. He had met men like Polk before, in his youth before the Keep. They were gruff, crude and uncaring. They said whatever they felt like and cared naught what harm they caused. They died without friends, their passing unnoticed.
“Now, let’s push this wagon out of the way.”
The men joined Dra’kor, as did several women. They used their staffs as levers and even tied a rope to the wagon to attach to the traces of one of the draft horses. The man cracked his whip, urging the horse to pull. The hose dug in and pulled hard against the breast collar, snapping the chain traces taunt. The wagon twisted and dug into the dirt as the men worked in unison. It moved a couple feet before it stopped. No amount of pulling was going to move it any further. They didn’t get it completely off the road, but they made enough room that the wagons could sneak by…barely.
The men jumped up and worked together to remove the two wheels that were facing up. They were still spinning slowly from the accident. The men worked at the packing and bearings to free the wheels from the axel. They would come in handy if one of the other wagons lost or threw a wheel. Good wheels were dear and hard to come by, especially out here…away from the villages.
While the men worked, the line of wagons crept slowly down the hill. They were much more cautious now and moved slowing, making sure they kept control of their wagons and carts. It was almost dark and the women prepared torches. They poured lamp-oil over rag-wrapped poles and lit them. Each wagon got two torches.
Dra’kor and Cob both walked over to Jonas and together they carried his body to the next wagon back in line, where there was more room, and placed it carefully in the back. His wife got in next to him and held his hand while she sobbed. Dra’kor lifted the rear tailgate and tapped the side of the wagon with his hand. The driver nodded and shook the reins. “Hee-ya horse.”
The horse took a step forward, then another. Soon the entire train was moving again. With each step, the wagon pitched and Dra’kor could hear the injured man moan and cry out.
The Legacy of the Ten: Book 03 - Darkhalla Page 22