Polas sat writing names in the dirt. As he wrote each name, he would stare at the jagged lines and smooth circles of the High Peltin language before rubbing it away with his foot.
Kiff stood looking up at the stars, his dark fatigues making him a shadow against the night sky. The starlight danced across his goggles as he ran his right hand through his silver-blue hair. "So, I take it you’re not worried about the riders on the other side of that hill? Just asking since they’ve been following us for a few hours now, and you haven’t said hold or hey."
"I'm waiting for some old friends to find us," Polas replied.
"You have old friends that are still around?"
"It's possible."
Kiff returned to the warmth of the glowstone and sat next to his pack. "Hope they are your friends then, 'cause they're pretty good. Wouldn't have known they were there at all if it weren't for the horses."
"Just go to bed, Kiff."
Polas laid down, resting his head on a small rock.
"Your bandages are looking a little stale, Mr. Butcher," Kiff said. "Maybe you should consider switching them out. Hate for you to get killed by infection before you have a chance to get killed by a god again."
Kiff was right. Polas had only removed the dressings a few times to eat and drink and had not changed them out in days. Even without a complete nose, he could tell that they were starting to reek.
Polas carefully unwrapped the bandages on his face, wincing as scabrous flesh stuck to stiff cloth. He tested the limits of his jaw. It cracked and popped as he opened and closed his mouth several times. Pus leaked out of his cheek and ran down his scruffy chin.
"That really is foul," Kiff said.
Polas got up and walked over to his horse to look for more cloth strips. The night air was cold, and it whistled through the hole in his cheek.
The Undlander dug through his own pack. By the time Polas returned to his bed with more wrappings, Kiff had found what he was looking for: a swatch of fabric and a bit of twine. He set to work on the objects, holding the cloth in his stiff left hand and threading the twine through and around with his right.
Polas watched him, interested to see what could be fashioned with the rudimentary rags.
A short time later Kiff handed the bit of material to Polas. "There you go," he said. "Try that out. It’ll breathe better than the dressings, and it will make you look less like a dead Coranthen prince."
Polas slipped the new mask over the lower half of his face. It hugged his chin gently, and covered his cheek and nose. The fabric was sewn in such a way that it left his right cheek free yet kept the mask secured to his face.
"Thanks," Polas said. He sat once more, picked up his discarded stick, and began tracing the rising sun symbol of the Sigil. "Why are you here, Kiff?"
Kiff shrugged. "It's this or home."
"That’s not a real reason."
"It is if you’re an Undlander. I’ve still got some time before they make me go back, with or without a name. Besides, Matthew knows more than just about anybody about everything. So if he thinks this will be a good adventure, then I'd be a fool not to take it."
"I hate to tell you," Polas said, "but this isn’t really an adventure. And we’ll be lucky if even one of us walks away at its end."
Kiff picked up a small stone and threw it toward the brook. "Oh well. Still preferable to wasting away in a bar winning easy bets off jugor hagspawn."
"You should try to get some sleep. We’re gonna need it."
Kiff shrugged and scratched at his own mask. "Anything for the Iron Butcher."
~ 1000 years ago ~
"Calec, hand me that shoe, will you?" Polas said, reaching a hand behind him.
The family horse was tied to his stall’s door, and Polas kneeled beside it with a hammer in hand and a few short, metal pins held loosely in his lips. The musty scent of dried seed and manure swirled with the warm morning air. A brave mouse scuttled across an overhead beam, searching for a new hiding place from the coming day. The barn door shuddered at a rush of wind, and a baling hook rattled against chains and bear traps on the far wall.
Leyryl stomped around behind her father in a pair of his old boots that were much too large, but put a skip and a bounce in each step she took. She kept busy sweeping up loose bits of straw and tracked dirt, whistling all the while.
Near a stack of baled hay, Calec sat on an overturned, wooden bucket. He flicked idly at a traveling line of ants and kept careful watch on the open barn door. His wispy hair was long enough that he constantly needed to brush it off his forehead and out of his eyes.
"Calec," Polas said.
"I’ll get it, Daddy," Leyryl said. She leaned her broom against a wall and took a brand new horseshoe off a long, rusty nail. She spun it twice before handing it to her father.
Polas took it and hammered it into place. After checking the hoof for splits or breaks, he gently lowered Kurth’s leg. With a grunt, he straightened his shoulders and patted his horse on the back.
"What’s wrong, Calec?" Polas asked, turning toward the boy as he untied the horse from the stall. He closed the door and knocked a bit of mud from his boots.
"I want to go with you."
"Son, I’m doing this so you never have to. Nobody wants to go to war. It’s lots of marching and dry old food, and it’s days and weeks of planning for one little strike that might push the enemy back a few fields."
Calec pulled his bright blue eyes from the barn door and looked back down at the trail of ants. "Then don’t go. If you don’t want to go, then don’t go."
"It’s not as simple as that," Polas said.
Leyryl grabbed the broom and twirled around it as though it were her partner at a magnificent ball. "He’s just sad ‘cause he thinks you’re leaving forever. He doesn’t like when Uncle Narci and Uncle Ranar come and take you away ‘cause he’s afraid he won’t see you again."
Polas gave his daughter a meager smile, but he was shaken by her words. He knelt down next to his son and ruffled the boy’s hair.
"Is that true, son?"
Calec looked up at him for only a moment before returning his gaze to the door.
Polas pulled a bale of hay down from the stack and sat on hit. He motioned Leyryl over and pulled Calec onto his knee. Leyryl clopped over and hugged him around the neck as she sat beside him.
"Kids, I know you don’t want me to leave. I know it doesn’t make sense because things seem so nice out here on our farm." Polas hesitated and tried to get Calec to look at him. "But things aren’t nice all over. In fact, most places it’s pretty bad. And there are a lot of bad people out there."
"And Daddy has to go so that those bad people don’t ever come here," Leyryl said with her hands firmly on her hips.
Polas laughed and looked again at his son, but Calec’s eyes studied the ground.
"Calec, I’m not leaving forever. I’ll come home again before you know it."
Leyryl stood and spun on the heels of her oversized boots. "And when Daddy comes home this time, it will be to stay. Because the biggest bad guy of them all will be gone. Then he won’t ever have to leave again."
"How’d you get to be so smart, Leyryl?" Polas asked.
"Mommy says I get it from her."
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Kertyah crept down the hill and woke the Dorokti hunters one hour before dawn when their sleeping prey would be sluggish and heavy-eyed. His panther eyes had remained awake and alert throughout the night, keeping watch over their quarry.
The others checked their gear and readied their weapons. It was a fearsome group; seven of the Ginakti’s most experienced scouts arrayed for a hunt. Each carried a spear, bow, and arrows on his back. In hand, they held blades carved from bone and rock and set with wood and twine. They were a varied team, a pack of creatures with feline, lupine, and ursine features among them. Their fur was as diverse as their faces, but they all had the tone and wire of warriors.
Kertyah would lead the attack himself. He selected
Teph and Zamre, twin wolf Dorokti, and a hunter with pointed ears, a round face, and spotted brown fur named Amrus to join him. The largest of the group, Kath, made it clear he did not wish to sit out the initial assault. He stood head and shoulders above the rest and was twice as thick, but he was much gentler than his ursine visage implied. Kertyah knew he only wanted to be part of the strike so that his brothers would not need to risk themselves. Sol, a small but grisly looking male with auburn fur and a narrow snout, and Revi, a lean female with golden fur broken by scattered black spots, readied their horses in case they were needed as a second wave assault.
With a few last gestures, he led his party forward. They crawled on hands and knees as their animal cousins might stalk a bicklehorn.
As they approached, Kertyah marked their targets. The large Faldred lay sprawled on his back, snoring loudly. The young female was still within her tent. The old warrior slept restlessly on the far side of the encampment.
However, the dark one was nowhere to be seen. Kertyah cursed himself for losing track of the Undlander. His scent lingered, so he had to be close by.
Kertyah turned, leaned back on his elbow, and motioned to Kath who watched from the low mound. He waved his hand across his face, pointed to his eyes, and swung his finger in a broad circle. The bear warrior nodded and slid forward down the hill.
The dark-furred panther turned his gleaming eyes toward his three companions and closed his fist. They nodded and tightened their grip on their weapons in response. The rippling creek made more noise than the hunters as they crept toward the camp.
Before Kertyah reached the edge of the glowstone’s light, a shrill whistle split the night air. Even the panther’s well-trained eyes had trouble distinguishing the form of the Undlander riding his board high above the ground, using the dark sky as his hiding place. Kertyah swore under his breath. He had not even thought to look up in this treeless field.
The Dorokti hunters sprang forward. Teph and Zamre dashed toward the tent while Amrus sprinted toward the rousing Faldred.
"Jjeerahtah!" the mage shouted in a sleepy panic as Amrus leaped for him. A blast of flame caught him in the chest and threw him backwards.
Their leader, the Peltin, stood slowly with his hands out to his side. "Stand down, Flint."
Kertyah approached cautiously.
As the twin wolves reached the girl’s tent, the Undlander swept down from his lofty berth. In his right hand, he brandished his razor-sharp sickle. Teph looked up just in time to have his throat cut as the boy zipped by him. The hunter fell to the ground, gagging and coughing blood.
Kertyah snapped his head back toward the hill, eyes wide in anger. "Nah senfay!"
Kath started firing arrows while Sol and Revi began their charge on horseback.
Polas was not happy with the way things were going. He should have known better than to think his newfound allies would lay back and let the Dorokti capture them, but he also had no idea that Flint was a pyromancer. He had assumed the Faldred dabbled in a bit of healing, but there were so few full-book mages in his time that he had not expected the man to produce such a formidable type of magic.
"Stop," Polas yelled.
High above, Kiff spun to avoid the stone-tipped arrows. "Damn!" he yelled, as one nicked his shoulder. He turned his spin into an overhead loop and drove his board at the riders.
The remaining wolf Dorokti cut a gaping hole in the side of Xandra’s tent and was met in the snout by her quarterstaff.
Xandra stepped out to follow the blow. Her long braid was wrapped loosely around her neck, and she had rushed to dress in an effort to join the fray. She remained barefoot, and the back of her light armor was not latched fully at the top, but that did not keep her from springing to action to defend her friends.
Kiff reached the charging Dorokti on horseback and leaped from his board. He stepped on the lead horse’s face and pushed down. The horse stumbled, and Kiff used the momentum to add power to a kick that connected to the rider’s chin with a loud crack. The Dorokti tumbled backward off the tail end of his mount and rolled to a stop in the tall grass. Kiff landed on his board on the other side of the horse and swept around to take care of the next rider.
Flint wove his fingers in an arcane pattern and chanted ancient words. His fingers glowed as a small ball of orange light appeared between his palms.
Polas yelled, "Baw’tes! Stop!"
He launched himself into the panther Dorokti, spinning the hunter around to place himself in the way of Flint’s spell. The Faldred’s blast of flame struck Polas in the back and fizzled, leaving a black mark on his clothes.
"Sorry," Flint said.
Xandra froze and stared at Polas, her mouth open.
"We must surrender to them," Polas said. "We need to meet with their leader."
Flint cast a wary look to his student, and Xandra kept her quarterstaff at a low guard. Flint lowered his hands, but his eyes darted between the Dorokti hunters, watching for any signs of further aggression.
The panther whistled for his hunters to lower their weapons.
Kiff was the last to halt. He threw a few last punches into the face of the second rider, who was now lying on his back with the Undlander sitting on his chest.
"Kiff," Polas shouted, "that’s enough!"
The bear Dorokti hauled both Kiff and the auburn-furred rider to their feet and gave Kiff a quick punch to the stomach, knocking the wind from him.
"What’s happening, Master Kas Dorian?" Xandra surrendered her staff to the wolf and finished lacing up the back of her tunic.
"These are hunters of the Dorokti, and we are trespassing on their traditional lands," Polas said.
"If you knew this, then why did we come this way?" Flint kept careful watch over the lynx whose fur was burned off in a great patch across his chest as he gathered Flint’s packs and loaded them onto one of the horses.
"As I said, we must meet with them."
"Them?" Xandra said. "They're the ones we came to meet?"
"I'm not certain," Polas said. "I imagine so."
The panther held a curved dagger toward Polas’s throat and pushed him back away from his allies. When he spoke, it was in the ancient language of the Dorokti. "Eh cheh ool sal."
Polas was relieved to find that the language had survived and that he would be able to understand and, hopefully, find safe glen with these hunters. "I need to see your king, the descendent of Ve. He must join me in battle."
The panther narrowed his eyes and took a long look at Polas, from his boots to his masked face. "Nie sehn."
"Give them your weapons," Polas said.
Kertyah took the leader’s sword away. It was surprisingly light, and its blade was whiter than the snows of Corubus. Something about the weapon sparked a memory. He found himself thinking of wars, dark gods, and something else buried deep within, some flicker that caused his pulse to quicken. Nevertheless, these were merely trespassers here to defile his home. He shook his thoughts away and returned his mind to his captives.
The hunters of the Ginakti clan gathered their prisoners around the small camp and tied their hands together behind them. They piled all of the weapons onto the fabric of the girl’s tent and rolled them into a tight pack.
Kertyah made sure everything was loaded onto horses and that the campsite was cleared. Before leaving, he walked around the group of strangers and checked their restraints. The bindings on the Peltin man and the young girl were tight, and he instructed Amrus to wrap double around the Faldred’s hands.
When he tugged on the Undlander’s cords, they fell to the ground. The boy shrugged. Kertyah growled and bent the boy's arms back. The left hand remained straight as Kertyah tried to pin it to his shoulder blade, and the Undlander cried out as though he had been stabbed.
"Watch it!" he said.
Kertyah finished binding his arms behind his back and motioned for Kath to retrieve the body of their fallen ally. The warrior lifted it reverently and laid it over a mare's back. The other hunt
ers finished gathering the gear and loaded it onto the other horses. There were not enough for all members of the party to ride, even after taking their prisoners' mounts, so the Dorokti hunters set out on foot alongside their captives as dawn broke over the southern hills.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
A shimmering yellow portal opened in the middle of a shady grove far from the plains of Nas Sonath. Matthew the Blue stepped through carrying a small pack, an ornate bow, and dragging a stack of books. He looked tired and unkempt.
The dell was dark, and a cool breeze tussled Matthew’s long beard. Somewhere in the distance, an owl hooted a lonely song against the moonlight. Matthew stooped and plucked a small snow-blossom and held it to his nose. The tiny, white flower looked lost in the shadowy forest, as though it grew there by mistake or was left and forgotten.
"Welcome back to Siness, Matthew the Blue," a voice called out from behind a tree. "It has been far too long."
The voice belonged to a large creature with the four-legged body of an elk and the upper trunk and head of a man. His face was kind and joyful, with a youthful grace that hid his years. Great, fuzzy antlers grew backwards from above his pointed ears, and his blonde hair was long and wavy. He wore a scholar’s vest and had matching saddlebags tied across the ornate barding on his back. The being was a Yarsac, a race of quadruped wanderers and free spirits.
"Good to see you, Baden," Matthew said. "It has been far too long indeed. I am glad that you received my letter."
"Yes, and I was glad to hear from you," Baden replied. "Though it seems you are as enigmatic as ever with your messages."
"You never can be too careful."
"True enough," Baden said with a sweeping glance to the trees. "Why not meet me in my home, then? It is much better protected than this quiet glade. And much more comfortable besides."
"I have my own reasons for meeting you here, my friend, not the least of which is that you are now halfway to where I will ask you to go." A playful grin crept across Matthew’s lips.
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