“It will ensure you don’t sink any further before I can pull you out,” Gaunt retorted.
Erdhan shot him a dubious look but complied.
“Now, take this rope and tie it around your waist,” Gaunt said. “Slow and steady movements.”
When the rope was secure, Gaunt tested it and grunted his approval. “I will extend my stick toward you. Grab the hooked end. When I say pull, try to wrench your leg free of the mud. I’ll assist you by tugging you toward me. When you feel your leg breaking loose, do not move too swiftly lest you keel over in the opposite direction. You will need to stand up slowly and then plant your feet back in the footprints I made earlier.”
Orlla fisted her hands, an icy chill spreading through her bones. Gaunt was so short it was hard to believe he would be strong enough to pull Erdhan out by himself. She dearly wished Khor could lend a hand, but from his position at the back of the pack he could offer no assistance.
Erdhan gritted his teeth as he clamped onto the stick. “Are you certain you can pull me out?” he asked, voicing Orlla’s reservations.
Gaunt furrowed his brow in concentration. “Allow me to save my breath and we’ll find out.”
“What if he pulls you in?” Orlla asked in a panicked voice.
Akolom laid a hand on her shoulder from behind. “It’s not all about strength. Gaunt’s low to the ground and that will help in this situation. He can leverage the stick better and has more chance of pulling Erdhan to his feet without flying backwards himself.”
“Let’s hope you have judged correctly,” Orlla replied. “Otherwise it will be up to me as next in line to save them both.”
Gaunt gripped his end of the stick and set his jaw. “Now, pull!”
He made a guttural sound deep in his throat as Erdhan leaned back and strained to free his right leg. For a moment, it appeared as if nothing was happening and then all of a sudden, a slow, slurping noise accompanied Erdhan’s groans of effort. Little by little, his mud-encased leg emerged until at last he was able to pull it free.
Gaunt elevated the stick, helping Erdhan get to his feet. Eyes firmly planted on the ground beneath him, Erdhan placed his right foot inside Gaunt’s footprint. “Thank you,” he gasped, his shoulders sagging. “I thought it was over for me.”
His eyes, glassy with emotion, darted to Orlla and locked with hers. In that moment, the truth of how she felt about him took her breath away and a rush of heat flooded through her. She wanted nothing more than to fling her arms around him and weep with relief that he hadn’t sunk beneath the mud and been lost to her forever.
“You’ve left your boot behind,” Gaunt observed drily. “And that mud caked to your leg is heavy and cumbersome which leaves you imbalanced. You had best walk with extra caution for the rest of the way.” He nodded to the others. “Let’s be off. I must return to the horses before dark.”
No one uttered a word for the remainder of the precarious trek across the sinking bogs, choosing instead to focus their attention on where they were stepping—made more difficult by the sulfurous vapors that floated over the bogs obscuring their vision and hindering their breathing. By the time they reached the other side, Orlla’s neck and shoulders were tense from looking down at the ground to ensure she planted each footstep precisely inside Gaunt’s prints.
Even the ordinarily impassive Khor looked visibly relieved to have navigated the sinking bogs safely. “I have no interest in repeating that crossing on our return trip, and especially not without a guide. Tell me more about the longer route you mentioned earlier.”
Gaunt smoothed a hand over his beard. “It will bring you through the deepest parts of the woodlands bordering the bogs where most of the fugitives and mad mortals live—a three-day hike by any estimation.”
“Three days well spent, I’ll wager,” Khor grumbled.
Erdhan nodded. “You have my support.”
Gaunt pointed to a granite boulder just inside the tree line up ahead. “That’s where the trail through the woodlands begins if you decide to go back that way.”
“I am inclined to take that route on our return,” Khor replied. “If we have nothing to fear from fugitives or mad mortals that is.”
A small frown puckered Gaunt’s forehead. “They’re like wild animals—they won’t seek you out if you stay away from them, but I can’t speak for your safety should you surprise them. My advice is to stay on the trail and avoid wandering deep into the undergrowth. They won’t take kindly to intruders stumbling across their homesteads as you did mine.”
“We are much obliged for all your counsel,” Orlla said.
“I apologize that you will be burdened with caring for our horses longer than we had intended, now that we are resolved to take the woodlands route back,” Akolom added, with a bob of his head.
Gaunt smiled, his eyes glowing with genuine warmth. “It is never a burden to entertain four-legged friends. As you wisely said, my soul could use the company.” He handed Khor the coiled rope. “Take this along with you in case you change your minds and decide to return this way for any reason. And don’t attempt to cross the bogs without a good stick or two.”
Gaunt took his leave, and they watched his retreating back until he was a mere speck among the strands of fog suspended like lounging specters over the sinking bogs.
A shiver crossed Orlla’s shoulders when she reflected on how close Erdhan had come to sinking to his death, and how relieved she had been when Gaunt had pulled him to safety. If it weren’t for the stench coming off him right now, she would wrap her arms around him and tell him as much. “What good fortune that we stumbled on Gaunt,” she said. “We would never have made it across without his help.”
Khor grunted. “We haven’t made it to the Strylieht mountains yet. We should keep moving while it is yet light out.”
Erdhan eyed the sludge congealing on his leg. “I need to find some water and wash off first.”
“That you do,” Akolom reiterated. “The fetid stench emanating from your person is worse than traversing the sinking bogs themselves. Decay is best left undisturbed.”
While Erdhan moved off to look for a stream, Orlla found a fallen log and sat down to rest. Her eyes gravitated to the distant mountains rising like granite shards to meet the bleak sky where the dark dragons had been sighted. Retrieving the Opal of Light from Efyllsseum had been fraught with risk, but nothing compared to what they were about to face. On Efyllsseum she had been well-protected by the collective runes of the Keepers, and well-versed on what to do before she laid a hand on the light dragon stone. This time around, Akolom would have little support other than the protection runes they had practiced together, and whatever mental runes he could wield himself.
Orlla rubbed a hand across her brow. If anything happened to him, she couldn’t simply turn tail and run as he had asked her to. She would take his place and attempt to complete their mission. Regardless of the cost, they had to prevent the Onyx of Darkness from falling into the clutches of the mainland monarchs.
Erdhan returned looking cleaner and with a jauntier step than before, despite his missing boot. “Behold! The foul-smelling mud monster is no more! I even managed to catch us several decent-sized lake trout for supper.” He rubbed his hands together briskly. “Now I just need to dry out and find something to tie around my foot until I can get a hold of some new boots. Maybe we can start a fire and rest here for the night.”
The others exchanged dubious looks.
“It’s too open and leaves us vulnerable if anyone wanders out of the woodlands unexpectedly,” Orlla said. “We should move to higher ground before we make camp. Let’s fill our waterskins and journey on.”
Without Gaunt to advise them on their route, Khor took the lead as they moved up into the foothills of the Strylieht mountain range. Back on solid footing, no residual trace of the fear that had haunted Khor’s expression in the sinking bogs was evident. The Protector in him was back, and for that Orlla was grateful. If they encountered mercenaries, they w
ould need him primed for action.
The afternoon wore on, and the air began to thin as the elevation rose. Vegetation grew sparser with every step they took, until all that remained were a few stunted grasses, hunched over from the biting winds that swept through the saw-toothed mountains.
“There’s a sheltered overhang up ahead.” Khor pointed slightly to the left. “Let’s check it out. Maybe we can light a fire there and make camp for the night before the sun sets.”
They climbed up to the rock face and clustered together beneath the overhang, hugging their cloaks tight to their bodies, grateful for the respite from the chilly evening air.
“This will work,” Orlla said. “It’s well-protected from the elements and partially shielded from view.”
“Gather what firewood you can find,” Khor said to Erdhan. “I will scout out the area and make sure there are no untoward surprises awaiting us.”
Akolom tossed his sack with the decoy stone to the ground and massaged his shoulders with a groan. “I fear my creaking bones are finally catching up with me now that eternal youth is no longer my lot.”
Orlla swept a concerned look over her mentor. His face was aging more each day, the feathery lines deepening into rivulets and carving up his face more rapidly than she had thought possible. Even his long, blond mustache and beard were now peppered with gray. Perhaps it was for the best that her father had gone quickly in the end. It would have been hard to watch his flesh decaying before her eyes. She shuddered, dispelling the disturbing image. Hopefully Akolom had many years left in him.
“We haven’t talked about how we are actually going to destroy the Onyx of Darkness,” she said, leaning back against a boulder.
Akolom planted a sober gaze on her. “I admit I’m not entirely sure how that can be accomplished yet. But once we have retrieved it, we must be committed to doing whatever it takes to destroy it before it destroys the world.”
Erdhan came traipsing back with an armful of sticks, putting an end to their conversation. “Not much growing around here, but I found plenty of debris blown beneath the boulders.”
Once the fire was blazing, he spread out his cloak next to it to let it dry while he retreated to a flat rock to clean the fish. “I’ll cook it up as soon as Khor returns. He might be gone a while, knowing how thorough he likes to be about these things.”
Orlla wrinkled her brow. “He has been gone some time already. Perhaps I should check on him.”
“Give him a few more minutes,” Akolom said. “Erdhan’s right, he is overly cautious in new surroundings and likes to map out alternative escape routes in the event we may need them—all part of the Protector in him.”
Just about the time Orlla’s stomach had begun to rumble insistently, Khor emerged from the boulders and strode purposefully toward them. “We should be safe here for the night. There is no easy access that I can find for anyone intending us harm, and I have marked a trail we can take if we need to leave in a hurry for any reason.” He flopped down by the fire and stretched out his limbs, eying the fish hungrily as Erdhan pierced it with a stick and secured it to a forked twig.
“It won’t take long to cook,” Erdhan reassured him as he held it over the embers.
Orlla closed her eyes savoring the warmth of the fire and the succulent aroma of roasting trout while Khor described the terrain around them in tedious detail to Akolom. Just as she was about to succumb to sleep, Erdhan announced triumphantly, “Supper is served!”
They tore at the fish eagerly, picking out the tiny bones as best they could in the deepening dusk, relishing the welcome change from the salted mutton they had brought from Erdhan’s home.
Orlla washed down her meal with a swig from her waterskin and then rose. “Back in a minute.”
The men nodded, stripping the last bits of fish from the bones.
Orlla scrambled over some boulders and walked behind a small cluster of gorse bushes to relieve herself. When she came back out, a plaintive bleat greeted her. She stared wide-eyed at the bearded mountain goat regarding her with curiosity. “Well aren’t you the pretty—” She broke off at the sound of muffled voices carrying through the canyon.
For a brief moment, she considered tracking down the source but dismissed the idea. She would be putting the others at risk if she ran into trouble and had to be rescued. “Don’t tell anyone you saw me,” she murmured to the goat before clambering over the boulders and speeding back to their campsite.
“I heard voices!” she said in an elevated whisper as she scrambled down to the others. The men’s eyes widened. Khor was the first to his feet. He grabbed his sword and then tried to douse the fire with what gravel and sand he could scrimmage. Akolom reached for his sack. “We need to find a more secure hiding place. If mercenaries are passing through, we won’t be able to outfight them.”
“They’re not mercenaries,” Erdhan said, gesturing to the boulders above them.
Chapter 9
Orlla jerked her head up and sucked in a silent breath. Circling them in the rocks above was a group of swarthy, bearded goat herders dressed in animal skins and carrying crooks.
“Lower your weapons,” she muttered to the others, not taking her eyes off the motionless strangers silhouetted against the setting sun. Although unarmed as far as she could make out, their wary posture signaled they could have archers hidden around the hillside, for all she knew. She needed to reassure them they bore no ill intent.
Both groups stared silently at each other for several uncomfortable minutes, neutral expressions revealing nothing, until a lanky goat herder with sunken eyes called down to them. “Who are you?”
Erdhan stepped forward. “I am Erdhan, son of Josef of Wilefur, a Macobite.” He gestured to Orlla and the others standing next to the fire. “These are my friends, Orlla, Akolom, and Khor.”
The goat herder conferred with his group in an unfamiliar tongue before addressing them again. “Are you with the mercenaries?”
Khor loosed an emphatic “No!”
“We are only passing through and have no business with mercenaries,” Akolom added. “Are they nearby?”
The goat herder shuffled uncomfortably before pointing with the curved end of his crook to the east. “They went that direction. They captured Varon, one of our own.”
“Why don’t you come down here to our campfire and we can talk further without shouting?” Orlla suggested.
The goat herder languidly raised a hand to his companions and then proceeded to lead them down through the boulders to the clearing next to the overhang where Orlla and the others were standing. A small herd of goats of all sizes and colors sprang over the boulders after them, zig-zagging their way down.
Akolom bent over the fire and busied himself stoking it up and adding some kindling to the hot embers. Khor remained in a state of alert, one hand gliding along the hilt of his sword as he regarded the strangers joining them.
Erdhan greeted them and Orlla gestured to them to take a seat.
The goat herder who had addressed them introduced himself as Yaarlin before sitting down cross-legged by the fire. “My companions are from the lost kingdoms,” he explained. “They speak only Choranch.” He looked around, an astute glint in his eye. “You are a mismatched group. What is your business in these parts?”
“We saw a great darkness hovering over the mountains,” Orlla answered. “We came to explore its origin.”
Yaarlin tightened his jaw. “Then yours is a wasted journey. The origin of the darkness has departed with the mercenaries.”
A knot twisted in Orlla’s stomach. “What do you mean?”
“Earlier today, one of our goats lost its way and ended up in a cave unfamiliar to us. The entrance was buried by snow until recently, so we did not know of its existence.” He blinked pensively. “Varon heard the goat bleating and went in to rescue it. He yelled something about tripping over a gemstone that glowed with a strange hue, and that was the last thing he ever said.” Yaarlin was quiet for a moment.
“When he didn’t come back out, I went in to look for him,” Yaarlin continued. “He was slumped beneath a craggy overhang cradling a nondescript rock in his arms that didn’t appear to be of any worth. Nonetheless, Varon refused to leave the rock behind so we gave him a sack to put it in, thinking he must have hit his head when he stumbled because his behavior was so odd.” Yaarlin hesitated, twisting the crook in his hand. “When we sat down to eat later, he kept the sack close to his chest, but did not utter a word, not even to answer our questions. Whether he was unable, or simply refused to speak, I cannot say.”
“You mentioned mercenaries,” Khor prodded. “Did they attack you?”
Yaarlin gave a barely perceptible shake of his head. “We laid down to rest after our meal and when we awoke Varon had vanished. A few of us followed his trail, and that’s when we spotted the mercenaries. We were too late to stop them from intercepting him. They wanted to know what was in his sack.” Yaarlin stared distantly into the crackling flames. “When they tried to take it from him forcibly, the stone began to glow through the sack, and then we heard a rumbling like thunder and a black shadow circled overhead. The mercenaries scattered, diving behind boulders for cover. When the sky cleared a few minutes later, they tied a rope around Varon and dragged him after them, still clutching the sack.”
Akolom pulled thoughtfully on his beard. “You said the origin of the darkness disappeared with the mercenaries. Do you know what it was?”
Yaarlin’s dark eyes grew fearful. “Upon reflection, I believe the shadow in the sky was a dragon. The rock Varon found must have been the Onyx of Darkness.”
His words hung in the air between them, portending a doom they had hoped to forestall.
“That was the purpose of our journey here,” Orlla said. “We are rune weavers who set out to reach the dark dragon stone and destroy it before anyone laid claim to it.”
Yaarlin’s eyes widened at the news.
Onyx of Darkness: An epic dragon fantasy (The Keeper Chronicles Book 2) Page 7