Kill him. He has magic that I want…I need…. Fret pushed onward, trying to shake her words clear. The bridge was before him in no time. He dismounted, grabbed the pack and the ax, and jumped up on the swaying bridge.
There was a learning curve on trying to walk across it. Fret stumbled three times before he made ample progress. By the time the Mordock came within earshot, Fret had already made it halfway.
“Boy, you don’t know what you are doing. Come back.” The last part echoed as more of a plea than a command, but Fret set his own course.
Lyra became silent as Fret pushed his way across, sack on his back and ax gripped tightly with the right guide rail. About the middle of the bridge, a swaying motion came, changing up the learning curve. A slight tremor felt like a huge earthquake through the ropes now. Each step became calculated but precise and quick. Step. Step. And step. And step.
It wasn’t until about three quarters of the way across that he stumbled again. As Fret lifted his foot to step, a breeze shook the bridge, causing it to sway. His foot came down with his weight in open air. Suddenly there was no tension beneath him. His hands reacted to take his weight as he desperately tried to shift his momentum.
To make matters worse, the ax turned slightly and the blade sliced through the right guide rail. His hand opened, seeking out somewhere else to grab. The river accepted the ax, which promptly sank.
Fret straddled the single-rope floor, and his other hand found purchase on the left rail but made his weight shift in the wrong direction. The bridge swung forward. His rump dipped into the river, and his pack skimmed the water’s surface.
His powerful arms struggled to pull himself up. As he did gain a little upward movement, Fret felt the tug of the current on his pack. He took a deep breath and pulled with all his might. For a moment, he cleared the water. Then the left guide rail snapped.
It all happened quickly. Fret fell backward into the water, his one leg tangled in the bridge. Instantly snatched from his body, the pack drifted with the current. Fret struggled for the surface, but his suspended leg would not allow him to come up for air.
With a strong downward push from his arms, his face partially broke the surface. Fret’s body reacted with a deep inhalation, which pulled in air, but also river water. Coughs racked his body, but his face submerged again. With each cough, water poured in his lungs. His head felt like it would explode as his lungs repelled the water.
When all hope seemed to be lost, his foot fell into the river. It hung, still tangled in slack rope. Fret came up coughing violently, his face hot, his eyes bulging out, lungs craving air.
The current took him now, and he sped downstream. He barely grasped what was happening. Fire had set in his chest. His lungs continued to spew out the water and suck in the air. But as he drifted farther down the river, there was a tug on his foot. The bridge swung him closer to the Territories’ side.
It was not a gentle floating into the opposite bank as much as it was like the crack of a whip. One moment he was being dragged, pushed toward the side, and the next he collided with a huge rock marking the opposite bank.
Smack!
But the river was not done with Fret yet. His foot came loose, and the current gripped him again. While not as powerful closer to the bank, the water still overwhelmed Fret. He floated into a sunken log that ripped at his upper thigh. He yowled in pain as his lungs sucked in more water. He rotated and flailed. Another fallen tree struck a cracking blow to the back of his head. Luckily, the tree’s branches snagged his body before it proceeded farther downriver. Unluckily, Fret was facedown in the water.
Again his lungs screamed for air, enough so that some life came back to his body and he forced himself to rotate his face. Nothing wanted to move. Other than his lungs, all other body parts had given up.
His gashed leg felt raw. As he pushed down with a foot to feel for the bottom, his ankle sent a sharp message of pain. His hand reached out for the tree branch that had snagged him, only to find it covered with sharp thorns.
And with that effort, Fret passed out from the pain; the roar of water filling his ears as all went to black.
***
Taylon found it very difficult to convince the princess that striking camp was in her best interest. At one point, Euphoria galloped off on her horse and pouted. A few times Hazel offered the sleeping potion, and even though he was tempted, Taylon thought it best if she sleep on her own.
But eventually Taylon said the magic word that made camp the best idea: monsters. Hazel hadn’t gone into detail about the predators, but he did his best to embellish what little details he knew about them. Euphoria became instantly compliant with the request to camp.
The drama did not stop there. Hazel had packed a small tarp to keep the rain off during the night. Taylon had packed a small tent, but on previous trips with Queen Euphoria—in her Rose personality—they had not needed it.
“You expect me to sleep in that thing?” Euphoria stared at the small, drab structure. True, it did not look like any place for royalty, but if it rained, it would keep her highness dry.
“That is all we have.” Taylon sighed, tired of the princess. He was ready to sit around a fire, eat, and then sleep.
“Are you being coy with me? I can easily have your head.” Euphoria approached Taylon, her finger waving in his face.
Hazel stepped in. “Your Highness, what if in the night we are attacked by robbers? Wouldn’t they first attack the tent that looked like it housed royalty? Think of it as being in disguise.”
“Robbers?” Euphoria looked around, suddenly panicked.
Great, she only heard one word out of the entire sentence. Taylon covered his face with his hand. He heard the old woman sigh. She stepped away from Taylon and motioned for the princess to come forward. As she drew closer, Hazel quickly ran the sleeping potion under her nose. The captain came forward as the princess started to sway and collapse.
“Why?” Taylon cried out. He gently laid her on the ground.
“She was wearing us both out. If we don’t get any sleep, we will be useless tomorrow and our ruse of her sickness will fall apart.” Hazel corked her small bottle. “And anyway, it was only a light dose this time. It will be deep night if she awakes, which will hopefully convince her to go back to bed.”
Taylon still didn’t agree with drugging her, but Hazel did have a good point.
The rest of the night proved to be quiet and quick. With Euphoria asleep in the tent, Taylon and Hazel ate around a small fire. Talk between them was minimal as they were both exhausted. After the night meal, Hazel turned in. Taylon sat up awhile and stared into the fire.
A crisp mountain wind made the evening a bit too miserable for his tastes. Cold penetrated through his clothing. He stared up. An almost complete moon hung in the dark sky. Tomorrow or the next night it would be full. Taylon could not remember when. That was farmer talk, and it had been a long time since he had been on a farm. His father’s farm….
He had grown up a farmer, or at least that is what his father called it. “I am a farmer,” his dad would state and then laugh. Actually he was a large landowner who had several families working farms for him. Taylon saw how he treated his farmers. It was mock respect when they were providing well for him. They would leave the noble’s house feeling like equals.
But cross his father or start doing poorly, the punishment dealt would not be gentle.
His eyes returned to the fire. Taylon had not thought about his father in a long time. As a young adolescent, he had run off to the castle to join the guard. He almost didn’t make the cut. The lieutenant in charge of the new recruits, at the time, was an ass. He scoffed at Taylon’s request, actually spat at the ground by his feet.
It was only when Taylon tried to use his father’s reputation that the lieutenant’s tone changed. He offered only one chance, a sword duel with his best officer. Being a hotheaded teenager, Taylon accepted.
“And where is your sword, Young Master Taylon?” The lieuten
ant laughed. Suddenly the cocky teenage boy started to feel a little scared. From the side, someone threw him a thick wooden butter churn stick—at one end was a solid wooden piece that looked like a grooved clover. The laughter echoed into the crowd as the new recruit picked up a housewife’s tool.
New soldiers and onlookers formed a ring for the duelists to fight. Taylon mustered up all of his courage and skill. He had learned some sword fighting and combat skill, but nothing that was going to overtake a seasoned royal soldier.
“Who is it that I need to defeat?” Taylon tried to take an aggressive stance with the churner, but it came off silly.
The lieutenant stepped forward a few feet, unsheathed his own sword, and faced Taylon. “Why me, of course.” And he charged.
If Taylon had not been quick on his feet, the duel would have ended right there. He was not expecting the charge. A quick dodge to the right and the churner came up in defense. His opponent’s sword bit into the wood, the force of the blow knocking Taylon back a few steps.
It was a one-sided battle as the stick deflected sword slashes; the handle continued to be chopped and nicked. While Taylon was losing his momentum, the lieutenant seemed to be gaining his. Blood lust flashed in his eyes, which brought fear back to Taylon.
Crack!
The stick split in two as a sword blow hacked through its remaining resistance. Taylon stumbled to one knee, staring at the fractured churner. His spirit was broken as well. The crowd went silent as the lieutenant approached the recruit, sword ready to strike.
But as Taylon looked up, he noticed one weakness he should have spotted before. The lieutenant’s armor did not extend below the waist.
Taylon fell to both knees, looking helpless. The lieutenant stood towering over him, ready, eager to deliver the final blow.
“Better luck—” But Taylon did not wait for him to finish his snappy reply. Taking the broken half that had the solid grooved-clover piece, Taylon swung it like a hammer directly at the man’s unarmored knee.
Taylon instantly came to his feet, hand grabbing for the hilt of the sword. A struggle ensued as the lieutenant clung to his weapon.
In the end, Taylon wretched the piece away and kicked the lieutenant to the ground. The seasoned officer immediately tried to get up, but his knee faulted him. Taylon pointed the business end of the sword at his opponent.
All froze in time.
“Son, killing a Royal Guard member is a crime punishable by death,” a creepy hissing voice said as a figure approached. Hsss, hsss, hsss….
The fire was slowly dying out as Taylon came back from his memory. Kreitan had intervened, taking the sword away from the new recruit and planting it in the throat of the lieutenant. The Guard accepted Taylon. And through hard training and rigorous ordeals, he made his way up through the ranks to second-in-command. Kreitan watched his progress with amusement.
Kreitan, finally gone.
Taylon yawned once. Hazel was fast asleep. He turned to look at Euphoria, who also was dead to the world. The captain yawned once more before deciding it was time that he too went to bed.
From all that occurred today, only one word haunted his mind as he lay down his head. Predators.
Chapter Thirteen
Gantha had no idea which end was up any more. The arguing started when Da’Lynn showed up and still hadn’t ended. At first he followed the conversation, but quickly it lost all meaning as the females raised their voices. Gantha thought this would be a happy family reunion of Opi’Chi, but he soon discovered he was sadly wrong.
The first major event was Katrena throwing her mother and sister out of her shop. That had only taken an hour, and for them to actually leave took about another hour. Once they finally left the market, Da’Lynn suggested they head to Ra’na’s humble abode. Talk resumed and then arguing ensued. He listened even though he wasn’t part of the conversation. When he tried to interject, one of the female elves simply cut him off. Gantha quickly learned to be invisible.
At the house, an evening meal was prepared expertly, amid heated conversation. It was eaten while words rang out. And the dishes cleared out with the chatter. Lourak and Gantha remained silent the whole time, enjoying what they could of the delicious meal but trying to drown out the arguing by having a conversation themselves. It didn’t work. Shortly, they retired to the sitting room, while mother and daughter went at it in the kitchen.
Just as Gantha was nodding off, Ra’na and Da’Lynn presented themselves.
“I’m sorry. We had a lot to say.”
“Huh…. Oh, no problem.” Gantha wanted to go to sleep. Lourak snored away; hairs from his mustache waved in the air with each throaty snort.
“Yes, Gantha, I am sorry, but this new prophecy puts a deadline on things to come. We need a plan,” Da’Lynn said.
“Um…yes. A plan. Wasn’t it to find the wizard? We still don’t know where he is.”
Both women looked at each other and then at the councilman. “Weren’t you listening? Katrena gave us some clue as to where the wizard was.” Ra’na’s words were stern.
“Um…oh yes. Now I remember. It was so long ago though.” Gantha sat up straighter, knowing sleep was nowhere near in his future—this prophecy he could trust.
Ra’na came and sat next to Gantha while Da’Lynn gave the dwarf a kick. Lourak came to with a smile on his face. “Dwarf, you should be involved in this too. Ra’na has vouched for you.” Even though her words were accepting, Da’Lynn’s face still held a suspicious scowl toward the dwarf. Elves and dwarves had never been on the friendliest of terms, but usually other elves trusted one another’s word of honor.
Once all sat, Da’Lynn began. “Tomorrow--”
“Aye will go see that magic man. Get what word out of ’em that he’ll spout,” Lourak interrupted gruffly. Ra’na gave him a sharp glare. He disregarded it.
“I don’t think—”
“Yes, that’s the trouble with ye council members. Ya don’t think,” Lourak quickly continued. “Let me say my peace and ye will see what aye mean. Say you and Miss Ra’na here go traipsing up to his house. He’ll see that yer council members, maybe even close shut his trap. Aye, on the other hand, may look like a typical bloke needing a fix.”
The Opi’Chis remained silent; Ra’na stared at her mother. Like all good high society, Da’Lynn leaked nothing out through emotions or words.
“I think Lourak has it right,” Gantha came out and stated what he thought. He was tired and wanted to get to bed. Best join in on the discussion to move things along. Da’Lynn looked up at Gantha with some interest.
“Go on.”
Her calm voice perked up his nerves. “Um…well. Sure, we know the wizard is a human male. Usually a pretty face can get answers….” And suddenly Gantha blushed and looked horrified by what he’d said.
Da’Lynn nodded with a smile. “Thank you.”
Still warm around the ears, Gantha tried to continue his thought. “Well…umm…but the dwarf…Lourak has a good plan. Maybe we will look like…umm…the regular blokes….”
“Wait just one minute. Aye didn’t say ‘we’! Aye said ‘aye’!” Lourak sat forward, protesting. He was now fully awake.
“No, dwarf. I think Gantha is right. Both of you should go. True, Gantha would need a bit of a makeover in order to play the part of a regular down-and-out, but I must insist.”
Lourak stood, facing Da’Lynn. He was only a little taller than she while she sat. “Listen here….”
“Lourak, I forgot to mention that I have some of my…” Ra’na started to say as she stood up.
“…think that aye am….”
“…fresh meade.”
“…with that… Mead?” Lourak’s complete attention and demeanor changed abruptly. Ra’na came forward and took the dwarf’s hand. She led him away as he asked about its color.
Da’Lynn and Gantha stared after the little man. The dark elf turned her attention back to Gantha. “You did well.”
“What? Oh…it was nothi
ng.” He felt himself blush at the compliment.
She stood and turned to leave but stopped. It was a moment more before she continued on. Gantha thought to call after her, but a loud roar from Lourak cut him off.
“Now that is some good mead!”
Tomorrow was going to be another long day. Sleep was what he needed.
***
As the morning sun broke on the horizon, Baeloc scrounged around on the riverbank. He had been out of his underground burrow ever since the dawn was a promise in the sky. He dared not come out any sooner. Lire wolves roamed everywhere. But as soon as the light came, the wolves disappeared.
The river was his source of life. Dead things would wash up on the bank, which he could eat—some more palatable than others. Of course, the water provided a basic need. But the other source of life was coinage, money. Every now and then, the river would spew forth something that could be worth some gold. Baeloc knew what could be sold and where he could unload it.
One time a sword washed up, but not just any battling sword. This one looked to be fit for an elf lord or better. The thing was so heavy, Baeloc had to drag it everywhere. Kobolds were not a strong race, physically or mentally, but Baeloc was the exception to at least one of those traits. After bartering out the sword, he was able to live richly for a month.
Most days it was just food and water from the river, but Baeloc was always a treasure hunter. So today, when he stumbled upon an odd shape floating five feet offshore, his instinct for greed went into overdrive.
The sack had entangled itself on a sunken tree branch. Baeloc’s offset eyes stared at it with fascination; his mind already fantasized about what riches lay trapped inside. Now, the only problem was the water. Kobolds didn’t swim. Something about their anatomy made them sink like a rock. Baeloc had experienced this first-hand when scavenging the riverside in the beginning.
Heart pumping wildly, the kobold searched the shore frantically for something to reach out with. He picked up one stick and then threw it down. Too short. Then another. Not straight enough. Then came too thin, too thick, and one that just broke apart when he tapped on it. Soon his nervous excitement became frustration.
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