The Dragon Writers Collection

by DragonWritersCollective

  Behind him he heard the sound of heavy footfalls and turned to see two Imperial soldiers closing rapidly, and he ducked behind a burned out wall to avoid them.

  “You there, halt!” the Arnathian shouted. “You are under arrest!”

  Too late! He thought with panic. He held very still, thinking what to do next. He had to get away and intercept the caravan!

  The soldier leveled a crossbow in his direction and said, “Place your hands on your head, and you will not be hurt!” Carym remained still and silent, frantically searching for a way out.

  “OK, OK, don’t shoot!” a familiar voice echoed from the smoky haze to his left. A figure emerged from the smoking ruins, walking towards the waiting guardsmen with his hands on his head.

  They didn’t see me! He thought to himself, relieved. All right, Carym. You’re going to have to hurry to save those people, but you certainly could use an extra hand!

  Carym quietly drew his bow and nocked an arrow, waiting for his chance. If he could save this fellow Cklathman, he could recruit him to help with his rescue mission. As the man who owned the familiar voice moved toward the guards, the Arnathians relaxed and lowered their weapons sensing there would be no resistance. Seeing his moment, Carym fired an arrow at the lead guardsmen and hoped the Cklathman would duck out of the way to allow him a second shot.

  The bolt found its mark in the throat of one of the guards and the Cklathman threw himself to the ground in an unspoken answer to Carym’s silent plea. Carym rapidly drew and fired another arrow at the remaining guard, striking him in the throat as well. With both guards down, Carym ran towards his fellow. The man stood up, his hood falling to his shoulders revealing his identity.

  “Zach!”

  “Carym,” Zach began. “I will make them pay for this!” Seething with anger, Zach appeared ready to charge headlong into another knot of Arnathian soldiers.

  “We don’t have time, Zach! We must get to Hark’s Pass before that wagon does; they are taking our people to the slave markets!” Carym whispered earnestly.

  “Where did you come from?” Zach asked, trembling with rage. “Never mind.” He realized that his need for revenge had been outweighed by a greater purpose. “Now we are even!” he said with a grin to his old friend.

  The pair quickly stripped the dead Arnathians of their weapons, knowing every second they delayed could be disaster for their plan. He tossed an Arnathian crossbow to Zach along with a quiver of bolts, and the pair ran as fast as they could into the woods.

  Carym and Zach arrived at Hark’s Point minutes before the prison wagons. They were tired and Carym was breathing hard; he was surprised at just how out of shape he had become. Ruefully he controlled his breathing and the fire in his lungs dissipated. In his younger years this little run would have seemed like a leisurely stroll. Zach tossed his longtime friend his water skin.

  I’m getting old.

  “The convoy isn’t very far...” Zach’s voice trailed off, listening intently. There it was, faintly heard footfalls of one of the convoy outriders. Carym and Zach slowly pushed themselves against the trunk of a mighty oak tree and blended in.

  “I’ll shoot him the moment he gets in range,” Carym growled in a very soft voice.

  “No,” replied Zach, speaking as quietly as he could manage. “Can’t risk a missed shot. He would escape and warn the convoy. This has to be done from close range and right deadly. When I signal, I want you to whistle to him. He will look for you in front and I will take him from the flank.”

  Carym nodded his understanding, not daring to make more sound than necessary in the deathly still wood. The outrider would not likely hear them over the sound of his own horse moving through the wood, but he was getting closer. He could not help but wonder if this man was simply a second rate fill-in, or if the rumors of the decay of the mighty Arnathian Army were true.

  It was then that Carym realized Zach had disappeared. Moments before he and his old friend had been huddled next to the very same tree; now Zach was nowhere to be seen. A subtle movement by Zach’s hand caught Carym’s attention and he could now barely make out his friend’s outline in the bush; that was the signal! Carym cupped his hands together and made an eerie owl-like call, with his cupped hands. Before Carym’s hands had reached his sides, the outrider’s short-spear was out, poised for a deadly throw.

  Slowly, the scout’s head turned this way and that seeking the source of the call. The shrewd eyes mentally disassembled every branch and shadow with his penetrating gaze, yet he did not see Carym! Carym decided that his earlier impression of the outrider had been incorrect; this was no second rate fill-in. The soldier dismounted and dropped to one knee, seemingly inspecting the ground. Then a dagger sailed through the air and buried itself to the hilt in the side of the man’s head.

  Zach dropped lightly to the ground from the boughs of tree. “The convoy will be here in less than a minute.”

  Carym hopped to his feet and helped his friend tie the dead soldier across his saddle. Then, quick as lightning, Zach swung the Arnathian’s short-spear and separated the outrider’s head from his body. He tied the scout’s ponytail to the bridle of the now prancing horse and slapped it hard on the rump with the flat of his blade. Carym watched in disgust as the horse sped away toward the approaching convoy, the headless rider slumping wildly in the saddle and the bloody head dangling below the panicked horse’s head.

  “Was that necessary?” he hissed at his friend as the horse frantically crashed through branches and bushes toward the narrow road below. Zach gave his old friend a dark look as he made his way up the embankment to their ambush position. Moments later, the horse found its way to the road, causing the convoy to come to a halt. The lead wagon driver stopped and tried to calm the wild eyed horse which was causing all the other horses to stomp and snort in fear.

  “Wait for the others to dismount. When they move to help the soldier in front, we will take turns firing volleys. Kill the drivers and the horses of the lead wagon, then kill anyone who puts their head too far out!” Zach gave Carym a determined look and stealthily moved to a position about fifty yards away.

  Carym was seeing a side of his old friend that he never knew existed. It worried him to think that Zach was such an expert killer and could stalk as silently as a shadow; however grateful he might be for that very same skill at the moment.

  Slowly he began to make out an arm through the tangle of trees before him, then a head appeared and at last, the chest. Now that Carym had a proper target he let out his breath, focused...and stopped suddenly.

  The driver of the first wagon suddenly toppled from his seat, the fletch of an arrow protruding from his throat. And Carym had not fired! Then he heard the cacophony of sounds echoing from the trees and rocks around him. Shrill hawk cries, growling cats, and eerie owls sang from the woods. Frantically he looked about, peering this way and that through the sun dappled trees, hoping to spy the source of the assault.

  More arrows soared through the air from higher up on the bluff as frantic Arnathian warriors scurried for cover. The prisoners huddled together in the wagon hoping not to get caught up in the assault. The horsemen who rode alongside the caravan for lateral protection tried feebly to turn toward the assault and counter-attack. However, the high bluffs prevented this and they were cut down quickly by the merciless arrows. Another volley soared through the trees and the Arnathian flank and rear scouts were no more. In moments all of the Arnathians guards and drivers were dead.

  He cautiously abandoned his position and moved to the tree that Zach was hiding behind; his friend seemed equally perplexed. Several heavily armed men and women dressed in dark green and brown clothes had moved in and began releasing the captives from the wagon.

  “Who are they, Zach? They wear no uniform that I recognize.” Carym studied the newcomers intently as he sighted in his bow, still nocked with an arrow. He was ready to fight should their intentions prove less than honorable.

  Zach smiled and began to speak,
but suddenly Carym couldn’t understand him. Odd, why is Zach speaking the Goblin Gib? he thought to himself. No, that isn’t quite right, is it? He thought sleepily. The words coming out Zach’s mouth seemed bizarrely drawn out and slow, almost comical. He turned to find a cloaked and hooded person pointing at him and chanting. His eyes were trying to close on him and he just didn’t know why he felt so sleepy. Then it occurred to his foggy mind that this was a spell caster! As his vision was dimming, he knew he must do something to protect himself; he drew back and loosed his arrow at the figure, just as his vision faded to black.

  Voices.

  Why are there voices in my head? Carym tried to comprehend what exactly was going on as he lay on what was apparently a very cold, very hard, stone floor. His head swam and his mouth felt like it was full of cotton. He groaned in pain. If he didn’t know better, he would have thought he had gotten drunk and blacked out. But he knew he hadn’t been drinking and vaguely remembered being ready to kill a bunch of Arnathian soldiers.

  What are they saying? It was as if he was hearing a language he did not know. And what is that banging?

  As the fog slowly lifted from his mind he realized the banging was actually his own throbbing head. He opened his eyes and saw Zach standing next to a woman and a strangely dressed man, a Karbander he supposed. The woman was as beautiful as they came, Carym observed. She had raven black hair, feminine curves and tight-fitting clothes. The man was richly dressed and had the look of one who was well traveled. Different though they were, Carym noticed they both wore the emblem of a black widow spider on their garb.

  “What on Llars is going on here?” he asked, as he rubbed his temples and stood shakily. It was quite cold. He fought the urge to shiver, refusing to display weakness in front of these strangers.

  “Where are we, Zach?” he asked, his voice raspy and hoarse.

  “We are in the underground caves of the Black Spiders of Amira, Carym.” Zach said to his longtime friend. “This is Saera Blades, she is a Spider officer and the lieutenant to whom I report.” Zach looked away and stepped back in deference to Saera.

  “Amira, eh?” said Carym as he looked at his friend curiously. “I thought the Spider Knights of Amira disappeared a thousand years ago.”

  “You know your history well,” said Saera with a smile and a flourishing bow. Carym couldn’t help but notice her voluptuous figure again, thanks to her revealing bust line. He hoped he wasn’t staring. He hoped the other man didn’t notice.

  “Amira was destroyed by Zuhr when she attempted to prevent the spread of Zuhr’s faith among the Cklathish peoples. They tried to silence his followers yet it was Amira who was ultimately silenced.”

  “We are succeeded from those same warriors of old,” she said.

  The other man was fidgety and appeared eager to be gone. Carym decided to mind his tongue, lest it painfully get the better of him. Best to be wary.

  “The Spider Lords went into hiding when Amira disappeared,” the woman continued. Carym needn’t have worried, she seemed to relish the opportunity to talk. “They continued to do the Amira’s work in secret for a thousand years. But now the goddess has returned, and so have her followers. Our liberty is at hand!” She spoke Hybrandese Cklathish perfectly, as though she was locally raised and her motivation seemed sincere though he did not recognize her.

  Carym was skeptical but tried to remain deadpan, hoping to avoid confrontation over something that was truly of no consequence at the moment. Considering he was somewhere below the surface in a cave with a group of outlaws, he regretted challenging the woman.

  “Why did you attack us at Hark’s Point?” he asked her, hoping to change the subject. “We were working toward the same end.”

  Zach laid a conciliatory hand on his friend’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, Carym. I tried to tell you before you fired. I recognized the magic-wielder at the last moment, but the spell had been cast. I didn’t know it, but they had already planned to rescue the villagers and were in place when we arrived.”

  “We could not be sure that you were not a loyalist traitor, especially when you turned your weapon on our sorceress, Malyce,” said Saera, a bit smugly. “Your resistance to magic is remarkable. In fact, you were able to fire an arrow into her shoulder before the magical sleep took you; she was quite angry with you, you know.” The dark haired woman flashed a sensuous smile at Carym, her eyes holding him. “But she is indeed a powerful sorceress and has survived her injury. She may yet be persuaded to forgive you,” she said with a sly wink.

  Carym was amazed that this woman could deliver innuendo in the midst of a serious conversation. Apparently she was trying to distract him; it was working. “The villagers who were not killed by the Arnathians have been freed and they have been sent to Dockyard City where we will obtain passage for them to Brythyn.”

  “Thank you for your efforts to save our people,” he said with genuine relief.

  “What are these things?” asked Carym, pointing at the floor.

  “They’re cave lichens,” replied Saera.

  “Like- what?” Carym seemed confused.

  “Lichens. They are mosses that grow on damp rocks underground; they are colorful and some have special properties. This is a rare species brought to us as a gift by dwarves who built these tunnels for us. They provide us with natural light underground.” Somehow he doubted that the reclusive dwarves who had not been seen in three centuries, built these amazing tunnels at the request of a band of thieves and assassins.

  “I’m glad we could we could enlighten you,” said Zach irritably. “What are we waiting for, Lieutenant?”

  “We are awaiting the arrival of another operative. One who has been working deeply among the Arnathians. It seems he has been discovered and we cannot risk losing him.” The woman spoke nonchalantly, and yet Carym was certain she was disguising her ire. The Karbander tried weakly to remain stoic, yet his scowl persisted. Karbanders were not noted for their patience.

  “I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure of acquaintance, sir. I am Carym of Hyrum,” Carym offered his hand to the fellow who simply looked at him. It was then that Carym saw the peculiar creature on his shoulder.

  “Is that a bug on your shoulder?” asked Carym with a grimace.

  “It is a praying mantis, peasant,” the man said condescendingly. “Be wary, she bites.”

  The man allowed himself a smirk framed in a curly black beard, then as quickly as the smirk came, it was gone. The bug appeared to be watching him very closely, rubbing its arms together and making a hissing sound; it truly perplexed Carym that the man would actually want a bug on his shoulder for any reason. What was more perplexing, was why the bug chose to stay there.

  The man wore no weapon that Carym could see, but there was a beautiful rod hanging from his belt by a leather strap. His pants, though subdued, were flowing in typical Karbander fashion and ended at a pair of shiny boots. His fingernails were long and with arcane symbols etched in shiny paint on each one and there was a similar symbol tattooed to his head. Karbanders never ceased to amaze Carym with their exotic attire.

  “Ahh, so good to see you my pet!” purred Saera. Certainly it couldn’t be...

  “Willam, Rashel!” growled Zach as he drew his sword and advanced on the newcomer. Apparently Zach cared as little for Willam as for his sister, Rashel. Saera raised her hand, motioning Zach to stop, and he obeyed albeit grudgingly.

  Willam stood in the dim light, his handsome features the subject of Saera’s scrutiny. He was dressed as Carym had seen him yesterday at the inn, wearing simple brown and gray shirt and pants. He looked haggard, his face soot-stained and his clothes were torn and bloody in places. He wore a silver-worked rapier at his hip, a weapon favored by those of his family.

  “Well met, Carym. Zach. I am glad to see you both escaped safely,” he said politely as he walked over to Saera and embraced her warmly. The Chevals were a very polite and proper group, and even when they disliked someone Chevals always showed them respect.
For a family scathingly regarded as turncoats, Carym found it hard to dislike the man.

  When Willam had removed himself from the warm grasp of the sultry and buxom woman, Zach was standing right there facing him with an accusatory look. “Funny how you were at the inn yesterday right before we were attacked by Qra’zim!” he said with venom.

  “Stand down, Zach!” ordered the woman, exasperated. She was well aware of the dislike between her underlings. Willam simply looked at Zach, expressionless. Carym noticed something in the young man’s eyes that betrayed his thoughts, however. Resignation? It was all very bizarre to Carym. This man whose family had sold out to the Arnathians had been covertly spying on the Imperials in the employ of a bandit gang. It did not surprise Carym that this man would feel resigned, his people would forever question his loyalty.

  “Aye, Lieutenant,” Zach growled. He stepped back from Willam but did not take his eyes from the man.

  “Zach, I know what you think. I know my reputation. Believe me, I have been on your side the whole time.” The man spoke earnestly; clearly it mattered to him what his childhood friends thought of him.

  “Spare me, Cheval. I know-” began Zach before Willam interrupted him.

  “You know nothing, man! You didn’t know that there was a second Qra’zim waiting to split your skull, which is why the other one was so bold. I killed him. I saved your lives!” he said passionately. “Please, believe me.”

  Carym wondered why Willam cared so much what Zach thought.