The Jewel of Turmish

by Odom, Mel

  “Of course I have,” Haarn said, barely paying attention. “I’ve wandered all over Turmish.”

  “Did you ever go to a city?”

  “No.”

  Druz couldn’t believe that. “How can you talk so badly of Alaghôn and other cities if you’ve never seen one?”

  Haarn looked at her. “Have you ever been bitten by a poisonous viper?”

  “Yes.”

  “You know the poison will kill you if left untreated.”

  “Of course,” Druz agreed as she worked at her own bonds.

  She found no looseness in the leather ties. Her aggravation at the druid increased, but she knew it was a byproduct of her own helplessness. Railing at their slaver captors wouldn’t be safe or satisfying, and the druid’s chain of logic eluded her.

  “If you didn’t see the viper that bit you,” Haarn asked, “do you believe that the poison would kill you just as certainly?”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s how I feel about the people I’ve met who come from cities. I don’t have to see their cities to know that they’re unacceptable.”

  “That isn’t fair.”

  “I don’t have to be fair,” Haarn said, then he started chanting.

  The guttural words sounded incredibly old and harsh to Druz, but she felt the magic in them. During her sojourn as a sellsword she’d had several occasions to work around combat mages. Once at a fair in Westgate a seer had told Druz that she carried a hint of magic about her. Druz had chosen not to pursue that possibility—she didn’t much care for magic, and mage schools were expensive—but she’d always known when magic was working around her, if it was close or if it was strong.

  She knew the magic Haarn used was powerful just by the way it prickled her skin and tightened the hair at the nape of her neck. He spoke a single word at the end of the chant and a sudden cold feeling stabbed into Druz’s stomach.

  Haarn’s features started to melt, collapsing and flowing like a beeswax candle. Feathers took the place of flesh as the druid dwindled in on himself, becoming smaller and smaller. In a matter of heartbeats, a great horned owl stood on clawed feet where the druid had been sitting only an instant before. The leather fetters lay on the ground.

  The owl unfurled its great wings and leaped up. Though the winged predator’s weight prevented it from speedily gaining ascent, the owl flew nevertheless. The druid in owl form sped toward the five slavers gathered around the cookfire. Druz heard the wings beat the air as the owl sailed over the sleeping slavers.

  One of the slavers noticed the owl’s approach and cried out in alarm as he dragged at the sword sheathed at his side. Without hesitation, Haarn raked his owl’s claws across the man’s face, savaging his features into a bloody ruin and narrowly avoiding the sword blow that cleaved the air for him.

  The slaver fell back, squealing in pain and fear. The other slavers grabbed for their weapons and shouted an alarm. Even as the rousing slavers struggled to come to their feet and react, the huge brown bear broke the tree line around the clearing and charged into the camp. The bear roared and the sound was deafening.

  The slavers yelled in fear and called on their gods. In the next instant, the bear was among them, flailing and rending with its great claws and fangs. Men dropped away from the bear’s attack, and many of them never moved again. The bear was as vicious as it was relentless.

  Haarn, in owl form, attacked a man who had fitted a crossbow to his shoulder and was taking aim at the bear.

  The slaver dropped his weapon and screamed, “My eyes! My eyes!”

  He stumbled back and fell into one of the campfires. Smoldering embers rose into the night air along with the man’s renewed screams of pain.

  The chain holding Druz’s leather restraints jerked. She glanced down the line of slaves and saw that most of them had roused. Three of the men grabbed rocks from the ground and stood ready to defend themselves. Druz pulled at the leather binding her, but there was no way to get free. She watched helplessly, knowing that if the druid wasn’t successful in killing the slavers, he might have doomed them all to harsh deaths.

  The owl cut the air and glided over a small wagon that sat at a tree on the other side of the camp. A pair of horses neighed loudly and fought against the ropes and hobbles that held them. The owl dropped from treetop level and plummeted with folded wings. The druid touched the ground again in human form.

  Haarn raced to the small wagon and went through one of the chests in the back. He located his scimitar and a small kit that Druz assumed he’d worn under his blouse because she hadn’t seen it earlier. He also took out her sword belt. Firelight danced across his features and the wild black hair that brushed his shoulders. His face was cold and impassive, and the absence of emotion—fear or anger—made him appear like an alien thing.

  The bear roared and growled deep in its huge chest as a crossbow quarrel took it high in one shoulder. The offending sliver of wood and fletching looked incredibly small against the bulk of the ursine. Turning its broad head, the bear snapped at the quarrel and bit part of it off, leaving only a few inches embedded in its flesh.

  Haarn threw himself into the attack. Firelight glinted along the scimitar’s length as the druid engaged one of the slavers. The fight lasted only a moment. Perhaps the druid had never been to a city to accept proper tutelage, but his bladework was some of the best Druz had ever seen.

  Fiery red lightning strobed across the night sky like a hag’s withered claws. Druz smelled the change in the weather as the humid heat that had plagued the day suddenly chilled. For a moment she believed the druid might have summoned the weather change, and she knew the slavers probably believed that as well.

  Out of over twenty men that Druz had counted, a dozen lay stretched out on the ground. Many of them never moved, and the others wouldn’t be getting to their feet soon, nor were they in any kind of shape to resume the fight.

  Twisting viciously, the druid avoided a desperate sword cut from his opponent. Still carrying Druz’s sword in his other hand, the druid whirled and brought his scimitar around in a flash that was almost too fast for even Druz’s eyes to follow in the uncertain light. The scimitar’s last few inches slashed through the slaver’s throat.

  Crimson bubbled down the man’s shirtfront as he dropped his blade and reached for his throat. Druz knew from experience that the slaver wasn’t going to survive the cut.

  Coldly, the druid stepped forward as the dying man dropped to his knees. Haarn’s attention was already focused on his next opponent. He stepped forward and took his place at the bear’s side with a graceful ease that showed years of experience.

  The remaining slavers broke and pulled back.

  The slaver leader, Brugar, called the surviving men to him, holding his battle-axe in two hands before him.

  “Form up a damn line!” he called. “Do it now or the damned forest elf is gonna gut you all!”

  The men scrambled, pulling into a loose formation behind their leader.

  Haarn threw Druz’s sword belt over to her. Kneeling, the druid plucked a throwing knife from a dead man left stretched out by one of the bear’s blows. His eyes never left the slavers as he tore away a piece of the dead man’s red shirt.

  Standing with the piece of red cloth trapped between his fingers, the druid spoke words in a guttural tongue. The red cloth frayed in the whipping winds that preceded the cannonade of thunder that shook the earth. Lightning threaded across the wine-dark sky again, briefly illuminating the camp and the horror it had become as if in the brightest day.

  One of the men tied to the chain darted forward, intent on claiming Druz’s sword belt. She turned on the man, catching his eyes with hers.

  “No,” she commanded.

  She felt pity for the people bound to the chain, but she knew from experience that she couldn’t do them any good if she wasn’t able to take care of herself.

  The man backed away resentfully and said, “If they get the chance, they’re likely to kill us now that
you people have interfered.”

  Interfered? Druz bridled at the comment, then pushed it out of her mind. During her years of service she’d sometimes found herself cursed by the same people who’d thanked her for her help at first. It had gone the other way too when an engagement played out well.

  Druz gripped her sword hilt and slid the weapon free of its scabbard. Holding the sword trapped between her knees, she slid the leather binding her wrists against the sharp edge. The leather parted like a spider’s web. Still, her hands had numbed and she knew she couldn’t properly wield the weapon, so she made herself wait.

  One of the slavers reloaded the crossbow he held while the others screamed at him to hurry.

  “Haarn!” Druz called out, seeing that the druid was praying again and might not have seen the threat.

  She became aware of a distinct buzzing noise that cut through the silence left after the thunderous cracks. Even as the crossbowman brought his weapon up, a swirling mass of flying beetles slammed into him. The insects cut at the slaver’s flesh. Bright drops of blood streamed from his face and arms. The beetles clustered to the man, covering him the way bees swarmed over a honeycomb.

  The slaver threw the crossbow down and tried to flee, but the flying beetles pursued him. He didn’t go a half dozen steps before he tripped and fell, seemingly weighed down by the heavy mass of beetles clinging to him. The man stopped writhing and fighting in seconds, and chill horror cut through Druz as she realized she didn’t know if the man was alive or dead.

  The bear growled a challenge and started forward. Almost carelessly, the druid reached out and caught up a handful of fur.

  “No, my friend,” he said softly, holding onto the massive ursine.

  The bear twisted its wedge-shaped head and growled again. It sounded as if the bear was protesting the fate of the slavers.

  “Kill them,” Brugar snarled, starting forward.

  Druz took up her weapon. Though feeling hadn’t quite returned, she knew she couldn’t leave the druid standing against the slavers on his own.

  Haarn raised a hand and uttered a few more words.

  Another prickling sensation passed through Druz, almost strong enough to buffet her as much as the storm winds that came howling through the forest. She watched in amazement as the trees around the slavers came to life, twisting and writhing like arthritic snakes.

  “Brugar!” one of the men yelped.

  Tree branches reached down and caught the man up, curling around him and ripping at his clothing and skin with rough bark.

  A jagged flash of lightning sizzled across the black sky, turning the surrounding world harshly white for a heartbeat, then dropping the curtain of night back into place. Only two of the slavers escaped the groping tree branches that lifted them high into the air.

  The bear left the druid’s side in a diving lunge that took it back to all fours. Before the two slavers could take more than a handful of steps, the bear closed on them. Jaws distended widely, then snapped closed, ripping through the back of one man’s neck. A mighty paw slammed against the back of the second man’s head, crushing the skull like a grape and spilling a loose-limbed corpse to the ground. The bear shook its first victim then dropped the body and stood up. It growled a challenge, reaching for the men suspended in the trees.

  The slavers drew their legs up, barely out of reach of the bear’s claws.

  The wind picked up in intensity, bringing an almost wintry cold with it. More red and purple lightning darted across the black sky.

  The druid stood unmoving in the winds and peered up at the slavers. It was easy to believe, Druz realized, that the man had summoned the storms.

  “I am Haarn Brightoak,” the druid stated in a loud voice, “charged by the order of the Emerald Enclave to protect and care for the lands you have invaded.”

  Lightning flashed again, followed immediately by booming thunder that almost drowned out the pleading cries of the men trapped in the trees.

  Can he crush them? Druz wondered.

  She’d never seen the spell before, but she’d witnessed black tentacles summoned by combat mages that had wielded incredibly destructive force. The men hanging in the trees, she knew, had to be asking themselves the same thing.

  The slavers struggled against the grasp of the still-moving tree branches, screaming out in pain as the rough bark tore into their flesh. Even if they got free, the bear and the druid waited below.

  There was no escape. Druz realized that even as she knew the slavers had to. She’d seen men kill coldly in battle before, and even some kill coldly afterward. Some of those kills had been merciful, putting injured men out of their misery, but some had been done with a vengeance. She didn’t know what emotion moved the druid, and she didn’t know if she could stand by while the men were ruthlessly executed.

  The trees finally stopped moving and resumed their normal shapes. The bear growled threats at the slavers, who wisely made no attempt to climb down from the trees.

  “Leave these lands,” the druid commanded in his fierce voice.

  “Are you going to guarantee us safe passage?” Brugar called down.

  Haarn didn’t hesitate. “No.”

  “Then what are you going to do?”

  “Let you go free,” Haarn replied. “Whether or not you make it out of these lands is up to you. Animals will hunt you until you are clear of this area, and they will devour you if they catch you.”

  “That’s no kind of bargain,” Brugar objected. “You’ve killed over half of my men. We’ve got damn little chance of getting clear of here.”

  “Nature doesn’t bargain. It is neither merciful nor merciless and only requires that the strong survive. Whether you’re strong enough to survive is up to you.”

  Haarn turned away and the storm winds whipped his hair across his implacable face.

  “Druid …” Brugar called.

  “In a few moments, I’m going to release these people,” Haarn replied without turning around. “I’m sure they’ll avail themselves of the weapons that are lying around this campsite. Perhaps they’ll even choose to shoot you down from the trees with the crossbows they find … if you haven’t left. I understand that a crossbow doesn’t require much skill.”

  Brugar snarled oaths. “If those peasants think that I’m going to—”

  Haarn looked up at the man. “If you dare attack them in return, I’ll hunt you all down and kill you. None of you will ever see home again. I offer my oath to Silvanus on that.”

  Quietly, after only a little hesitation, the slavers climbed down from the trees. As soon as they reached the ground, they ran for their lives.

  The druid turned his attention to the people tied to the heavy slaver’s chain. His scimitar flashed, reflecting the lightning as the impending rain started to fall in heavy drops.

  Unfettered, the people gathered in small groups and took shelter from the pelting rain, but they were careful to avoid the trees that had captured and held the slavers. A few of them scavenged among the supplies the slavers had left behind, seeking out other garments as well as something to eat.

  Druz kept her sword naked in her fist. Even with the power that the druid had shown, she didn’t trust the slavers completely to leave the area. They’d left too many things behind. Maybe, she thought, staring at the trees that now just looked like trees again, the slavers had been scared enough.

  Glancing back at the druid, she watched as he quietly talked to the wounded bear. The massive animal dropped down to all fours and nuzzled the man. Gently, Haarn put his foot against the bear’s shoulder, gripped the broken crossbow quarrel, and pulled it from the animal’s body. Blood leaked out of the wound, matting the bear’s fur. Growling, the bear licked the wound with a bright pink tongue.

  The druid spoke softly to the bear, then prayed for a moment and placed his hands over the animal’s blood-matted shoulder. Blue light gleamed from under the druid’s hands, and Druz’s skin prickled again in response. When the druid took his hands from t
he animal, the bear moved its shoulder tentatively, then put its weight on the limb with greater confidence. The bear rumbled again, but this time it sounded almost pleased.

  Haarn turned from the bear and walked to the wagon. The released slaves backed away from him fearfully, but a few of them muttered that he was probably coming to claim his choice of whatever gold and silver the slavers might have left behind. Instead, Haarn only recovered the few items of his that were personal belongings. He rigged his weapons once more about him without a word and set off into the forest.

  “What are you doing?” Druz asked.

  “Leaving,” the druid replied.

  “You can’t—we can’t just leave these people here like this.”

  “I don’t owe them anything.”

  “You freed them.”

  “I came after the slavers,” the druid said, “not to free those people. They’re responsible for themselves. If they’re meant to live, they’ll find a way.”

  He stepped into the brush without hesitation or a backward look. Caught off-guard, Druz quickly went to reclaim her own kit from one of the men, who had taken it from the wagon.

  “That’s mine,” she said.

  “I found it,” the man said, clutching the leather kit to him.

  Druz showed the man the sword in her fist. “I’m not leaving here without that kit,” she stated in a calm voice.

  Even though she’d felt sorry for them a moment before, she also knew she’d take what was rightfully hers. She’d been in cities before that had been attacked by invading forces. Even after the invaders were routed, looting had gone on in the shops and homes that had been damaged. The citizens had taken whatever was left by the invading forces.

  “Let her have the bag, Larz,” a thin woman with a bruised face said.

  “I found it,” the man said.

  “It’s probably hers.”

  “Maybe she’s lying.”

  Angry and frustrated, Druz stripped the bag from the man’s hands. She’d liked the man better when she’d believed he was a victim. Stepping back from him, she tucked the kit under her arm and opened it. She took a few small packages from the kit and handed them to the woman.