Brin bowed his head as he struggled to bring his rope-entangled left hand back to the anchor, hugging the metal chunk with both arms as if never wanting to let go. Suddenly a chill shot through Nicholas when he realized Brin’s intention.
“I could never stand being alive…knowing that I failed both Vellan and the Isles,” he continued, his face pale and lifeless. “That’s a fate worse than death–at least for me.” Gathering all his strength, Brin pulled the anchor as close to the edge of the raft as possible with a terrific groan, causing Nicholas to struggle to his feet.
“Brin!”
“Good luck finding…your princess.”
With a final effort, Brin pulled the anchor toward him one more time, causing it to topple over the edge and plunge into the water. The rope coil swiftly unraveled. Nicholas barely had time to call for help when the rope around Brin’s left wrist tightened like a noose and yanked him under the surface, the anchor dragging him down into the river’s darkened waters. Nicholas stared dumbfounded into the murky liquid. A second later, the rope stopped uncoiling as the anchor reached the river bottom. Nicholas felt a thousand miles away and a thousand days out of time’s reckoning. He didn’t even hear Malek walk up behind him and call out his name. He took no notice until Malek grabbed his hands from behind and cut the binding ropes with a dagger.
He spun around and caught Malek’s steely gaze. “Brin went under. He needs our help.” His voice sounded far away.
Malek gently rested a hand on Nicholas’ shoulder. “Brin is beyond our help now, and you’re not to blame. He chose his fate.” Malek bent down, grabbed the rope and cut it loose with his knife, dropping the free end into the water like a dead snake. “The river will bury him,” he remarked. “Now come ashore with us, Nicholas. We have things to discuss before we move this raft farther upriver.”
“All right…” he said, hearing Malek’s words but not really comprehending them.
Nicholas still pictured Brin’s pale face the moment it was pulled underneath the surface, questioning why he felt a void inside for such a terrible person. The image both sobered and bewildered him as he followed Malek off the raft and onto the grassy bank. He noticed the body of the other dead man whose face had since been covered with his own coat. He wondered if Malek would have his men bury him or consign his remains to the river. He sighed wearily as the voices of the others slowly came into focus. He realized how tired he was and how much his shoulders ached from having had his hands tied behind him so many times over the past several days.
Nicholas recalled walking through Kanesbury shortly before the Harvest Festival, certain then that he had found his path in life and a door to endless adventure when he decided to join the King’s Guard. But when he looked around at the strange faces inhabiting this desolate land with the smell of fresh blood and death swirling in his nostrils, he realized that this wasn’t the adventure he had had in mind. But imagined or not, it was an adventure he was now a part of, and for the moment, one in which he could find no way out.
CHAPTER 88
A Deed Well Done
Within the hour, Nicholas was again aboard the raft traveling slowly up the Gray River, only this time not as a prisoner but as one of the crew. After Malek and his soldiers had commandeered the vessel, Nicholas was politely informed that he must accompany them until he was thoroughly questioned about his involvement with the Islanders and about Brin’s charge that he was a spy for King Justin.
“As to me being a spy, Brin had quite an imagination,” he had earlier told Malek while on shore. They spoke in private as Malek’s men buried the dead steersman. The sun had since disappeared behind a new bank of thickening clouds moving in fast from the west.
“Imagined or not, when we reach camp, some of my friends and I would like to have a long conversation with you about your recent whereabouts,” Malek said. “I usually trust my first impressions and believe you are no threat to our cause. But one can never be too careful in these turbulent times.”
Nicholas sighed with frustration. Though he guessed that this man from Surna was only seven or eight years his senior, he detected a confidence in Malek that seemed beyond his years, no doubt developed and honed during his time spent fighting in the wild against Vellan. But not wanting to appear ungrateful after being rescued, Nicholas calmly uttered a simple sentence.
“So, am I your prisoner now?”
“Indeed not. Your hands are no longer bound and no sword is pointed at your chest. Trust me, I understand the reason behind your question. Yet I would be derelict in my duty if I just let you roam free without learning your story.” Malek, his hands shoved in his coat pockets, leaned back and stretched his back to fight off the day’s weariness. His cool green eyes, framed by a head of light brown hair, focused on Nicholas’ dubious expression. He knew he had not completely gained the young man’s trust.
“Why do you even need to know my story?” Nicholas asked. “You have the raft and supplies now. What more do you want?”
“Information, and the certainty that I’d be doing the right thing by releasing you. But I won’t force you to come with us,” he said. “If you wish it, I’ll question you here. But that would delay us and keep the raft possibly exposed to enemy eyes. There is a tributary several miles ahead on the east called Kaddis Creek. I had hoped to pole up that watercourse and into the trees to get out of harm’s way. Though the last Island vessels have passed by for the winter, there are still enemy stragglers on foot roaming the mountain valleys.”
Nicholas glumly nodded, recalling the men who had taken Ivy. Yet if he was to find her again, he suspected he would have a better chance with some help rather than going it alone. He wondered if he would ever have rescued Ivy from Karg Island without the assistance of Arch Boland, his sister Hannah and so many others. If he was once willing to rely on Brin Mota to lead him to Kargoth, surely he could trust Malek to do the same. But as he shook his hand, agreeing to leave on the raft at once, Nicholas knew it would be a difficult task to convince him to arrange an expedition to Vellan’s stronghold. For Ivy’s sake, he couldn’t fail.
Light snow fell on the Gray River as twilight encroached. The raft made steady progress with eight men rotating among the two positions of steersmen. Nicholas was currently on duty, wearing a hood and a pair of gloves. He walked the circuit on the east side of the raft, thinking about Ivy as he did during most of his waking hours. The other men were scattered about the vessel, some napping, others engaged in quiet conversation and one guarding the two prisoners from Brin’s crew. Sala, walking the west circuit, called out to Nicholas in the deepening gloom as he operated the pole with his beefy arms.
“The turn into Kaddis Creek is just beyond that trio of pine trees up ahead,” said the man who had convincingly faked his injuries to catch Brin off guard. He wore no hood as if unbothered by the cold. “Know how to turn one of these things?”
Nicholas smirked in the shadows. “I’ve had nothing better to do for twelve days than observe Brin’s men poling upriver and veering to and from shore. I could handle this with my eyes closed, Sala. But I’ll let you call out the commands just to be safe.”
“Eyes open would be preferable,” Malek joked as he walked up to him. “Kaddis Creek, though wide, is not as deep as the Gray River. We don’t want to get stuck on a sandbar. Sala will capably guide you.”
As they passed the trio of pines, Sala quietly called out instructions to Nicholas to maneuver their poles and slowly turn the raft to the left where the two watercourses converged. With little difficulty, the pair steered the vessel directly into the center of Kaddis Creek and moved eastward along the waterway. When Nicholas looked around, he was thankful to see the beginnings of a thin forest sprouting up on both sides of the creek and noticed thickening foliage farther south in the shadows of the looming mountains. Here the air smelled sweet and fresh which invigorated his spirit. For a moment he was confident that he would find Ivy, yet managed to keep his emotions in check as he helped guide the raft
nearly two more miles up the Kaddis. He and Sala brought it to a rest on the southern bank in a secluded spot beneath some overhanging branches.
“Now what?” Nicholas asked as darkness took hold.
“Now we eat,” Malek replied. “A brief meal and a warm fire will do us all good before our next task.”
“No rest for the weary tonight?” Sala asked with exaggerated dismay as some of the other men gathered around.
“Though you all deserve a good night’s sleep,” Malek said, “we must work a few more hours to bring some of these supplies to camp.”
“How far is that?” Nicholas inquired, happy with the change of scenery.
“Less than three miles into those woods. We’ll take only what we can carry on our backs in one trip. After all, we need to bring something back for our comrades to prove we haven’t been idle while we were away tracking this raft.”
Nicholas raised an eyebrow, intrigued by the revelation. “So you had planned this caper all along? You didn’t come upon Brin by chance?”
Malek shook his head as he stepped ashore, the scent of cold soil and pine dancing thick in the air. The snow had since let up, though the threat of more hung palpably in the low lying clouds.
“Our group paddled over to the western shore and observed Brin’s craft for over two days after one of our scouts first reported back to camp upon sighting it. Up until then, we believed that the last of the Island vessels had passed by for the winter. We saw an opportunity to nab this solitary raft. That it was manned by such a small crew only played to our advantage.”
“Luckily for me that you took the chance,” Nicholas said appreciatively. “Brin had commandeered this craft near the mouth of the Lorren for his own purposes, expecting to strike a deal with Vellan and reap the rewards. Otherwise the raft would have made its way upriver in the company of several others.”
“Brin’s greed was our gain,” Sala remarked.
“Tomorrow we’ll return with flat sleds and bring about half the supplies to camp,” Malek continued, pointing out three members of his crew. “You men will stay here overnight to guard the raft.”
“Why only half?” Nicholas asked. “What of the rest?”
“The remaining goods will stay onboard and continue up Kaddis Creek for several more miles to another landing point closer to other camps to repeat the process.”
“I’d like to learn more about your operation,” Nicholas later said to Malek as they looked over which supplies to carry back to camp. A few torches had been lit which erratically reflected upon the water’s dark, oily surface.
“Perhaps you will during our question and answer period,” he replied, handing Nicholas a sack filled with hardened biscuits from a crate he pried open with a metal bar. “Though I suspect I will be doing most of the questioning.” He handed him a second sack. “Take another. They’re light. The men will enjoy them dipped in hot tea.”
Nicholas slung the sacks over his shoulder, happy to be of use again in a cause greater than himself. Though he and Leo were instrumental in reforging the key to the Spirit Box, he still wondered if their efforts had borne any fruit. But this simple act of providing some hungry soldiers a bit of food seemed almost as great an act of heroism as his grueling trek through the Dunn Hills. He took modest pride in the small deed, eager to learn more about the people who had banded together throughout the Northern Mountains to fight Vellan’s iron rule, and hopefully one day, defeat him.
After trudging through darkness for what seemed like hours, they finally reached camp deep inside the woods. About twenty men greeted the new arrivals, some stepping outside their crude tents while others had been tending to a few bonfires. A half dozen other men were still concealed in the shadows, keeping silent watch around the perimeter. A modest one-story cabin had been built in the center of camp which served as a meeting and dining place for the group. Another small storage building had been constructed off to the right where the men deposited all the goods they had carried with them. Soon after, Nicholas found himself sitting at a table inside the cabin with Malek and Sala. Also joining them was Tradell, another member of the camp who coordinated its day-to-day operations. The oldest of the trio with a military background, Tradell exhibited a cautious gaze above a thin, brown mustache and a deadpan expression. Nicholas listened to the questions they politely posed to him while all enjoyed hot tea and some of the biscuits Nicholas had carried in.
The cabin, though consisting of one large room, was divided into four semi-open areas–one for eating, one for meal preparation, another for sitting and holding meetings and the last one as wood storage and sleeping quarters for whichever group was assigned to cabin duty. In the center of the structure stood a large square fireplace constructed of rounded stones with an opening on each of the four corners, above which rose a single, shared chimney. Here the crackling fire was kept burning all day and night in cold weather. A few men milling about in the other cabin sections kept their voices low so as not to disturb Malek as he questioned Nicholas.
“I avoided asking specifics about your life earlier,” Malek said as he began his friendly interrogation. “I thought it best to let you get to know us better before we spoke in earnest.” He sat back in a wooden chair, warming his hands against a mug of steaming tea. Nicholas was seated opposite him with Sala and Tradell positioned on either side of the main table. Other empty chairs were scattered about and a smaller, second table against one wall held a plate of biscuits and a wedge of cheese. “So, where should we start? Do you care to tell us how you got tangled up with a man like Brin? Or is there somewhere else you’d like to begin your tale? We have all the time in the world.”
“I may need it,” Nicholas said, enjoying the comforts of the cabin as compared to his last several days as a prisoner on the raft.
As he sipped tea and glanced at his eager audience, he felt no fear or distrust as he might have if he had met these men during his trek to Wolf Lake. But since all Nicholas wanted was to find Ivy as quickly as possible, he decided that being honest would offer him the surest path to that goal. Besides, now that the business with the key was out of his hands, and King Justin and Prince Gregory had by now led their armies to Rhiál and Montavia, he knew there was nothing he could say to endanger his friends and their missions. All he wanted was Ivy.
“I’ll start by telling you where I come from and about the journey I’ve been on for the last three months or so,” he said with little hesitation, noting the surprised yet appreciative expressions upon his companions. “My home is in the village of Kanesbury in Arrondale. And yes, Brin was somewhat correct when he said I was a spy for King Justin,” he added matter-of-factly, taking another sip of his drink. Malek and the others leaned forward in anticipation of a stirring account. “However, Brin was merely speculating at the time and knew nothing about my true relationship with the King.”
“So you really know King Justin? And you’re willing to tell us about it?” Malek asked, not fully believing him yet.
“Yes,” he replied. “But whether you take me at my word is another story. I just hope that when we’re through, you might trust me enough to lead me to Kargoth and help rescue someone I love. That’s all that matters to me now.”
“Then begin, my friend,” Sala encouraged him.
Nicholas recounted the highlights of his life since fleeing Kanesbury. He spared no details about Dooley Kramer and Arthur Weeks framing him for the gristmill robbery, his chance meeting with Princess Megan, or the failed attempt to rescue Ivy along the Trillium Sea. He painted an honest and heartfelt narrative to earn the trust and respect of his newfound friends. He also told them about Carmella and Jagga, the medallion and his meeting with King Justin.
Sala nearly interrupted when Nicholas mentioned the Spirit Box and how Tolapari believed the medallion could be remade into a key to open it and destroy the Enâri race. But Malek and Tradell cast sharp glances his way, cooling Sala’s desire to comment on the matter. When Nicholas mentioned that he and Leo
had volunteered to search for the wizard Frist in the Dunn Hills, Malek was pleased with the information, confirming the first impressions he had developed about the young man. And with a trace of melancholy, Nicholas recounted how he had learned the truth from the wizard about his father’s death during an Enâri raid.
“If what Frist told you is true, Nicholas, then perhaps you were destined to have a greater role in the troubled events of our times,” Malek quietly remarked as the crackling flames cast a warm, flickering glow upon their faces. “After what the Enâri did to your father and to your village, it’s fitting that you should be the one to hasten their downfall.” He leaned back, considering his next question. “Were you and Leo successful in your quest?” he asked, casting a knowing glance at Sala.
“We were,” Nicholas replied. “Frist remade the key, though I’m sad to say that it cost him his life in the end.” He lifted the round, silver amulet from underneath his shirt and held it up for all to see.
“What’s that?” Sala asked, impressed by the craftsmanship as he leaned forward for a closer look.
“Frist made this for me before he completed his work on the key,” Nicholas said, “with what little life and magic was left inside him. He hoped that it would lead me to those I wished to find and preserve life wherever death and destruction lurked.”
“Perhaps it helped save your life on the raft,” Tradell said, “if you can imagine Frist’s hand guiding an archer’s well-aimed arrow.”
“I can. In fact, it happened twice. I was saved by another arrow a couple days after donning this amulet,” he said, recalling his first meeting with Hannah along the banks of the Wolf River. “Now if only this amulet would lead me to Ivy.”
“It may. In any case, treasure the gift. Maybe Frist somehow walks with you while it is in your possession,” Malek said as Nicholas slipped the amulet back beneath his shirt. “Or maybe you’re just an extremely lucky individual. Now tell me, were you successful in returning the key to Morrenwood and opening the Spirit Box?”
Nicholas Raven and the Wizards' Web (The Complete Epic Fantasy) Page 138