They had given little thought to what lay north; their path was to the south – follow the stream to the river and then follow the river east to the Crenach’coi. Once at the woods, all they need do is keep to its edge until they arrived in Aralan. The Great Western Road, on the northern border with Taris, would take them the rest of the way to Bailryn.
Olam had risen early, but he was not alone. Grady was usually the first to rise. And was already at the stream, washing and organizing the pots for their breakfast. Olam gave him a good morning nod before setting about his own routine.
Since leaving Eurmac, nearly a half century ago, Olam had forgotten more places than most would ever visit, left behind more friends than most would ever know, and never once had his travels taken him home. He had often thought of going back, if only for a while, but there never seemed to be enough time – always somewhere to go, something to see. Still, for a Eurmacian, he was quite young. There would be plenty of time to go home after he had helped Arfael discover his past – he hoped.
The mystery surrounding his large friend had never been far from Olam’s thoughts. Even now, rolling up his bed, thinking about breakfast, he could feel a constant itch in the back of his mind. Other duties may come and go, other quests to run, but for thirty years or so, holding to this particular promise was his priority. Since the day they met, Olam knew Arfael was the key – he could sense his friend had a destiny – but the key to what? As the years passed by, the need to discover the answer seemed more and more urgent. Gods, I pray there is enough time!
Before long, the rest of the travellers rose, or at least awakened. An expectant buzz filled the air, a definite sense of things turning for the better. Olam could not help but smile; he had worried that last night’s mood might follow them into the morning, but even Gialyn appeared happier. Indeed, none seemed in much of a hurry to leave; it was a pleasant valley. Olam himself would not mind in the slightest if they decided to rest for a while.
As if reading his mind, Elspeth said, “If you ask me, we should stay a day and replenish our food. Washing our clothes would not be a bad idea, either.”
Daric gazed into nothing as he held his half-rolled blanket out in front of him. He appeared to be pondering Elspeth’s suggestion. “We were due to arrive in Bailryn a full two weeks before Midsummer’s Eve. That gives us a few days to spare – and all for the better, if it means less time with the mother-in-law.” He whispered the last part, but not very quietly. Daric continued: “Yes. Maybe you’re right, Elspeth. At any rate, it will save us time looking for supplies later. But I think we should make for the river first. There, at least we can prepare some fish.”
“Oh no, please – no more fish,” Elspeth said, sighing and swallowing hard while holding her stomach.
Olam did not know if she was teasing.
Daric laughed, though; it must have been a joke.
“You may well turn your nose up, young lady,” Daric said, waving a finger at her. “It is a good full meal for its size. Half a bag of fish will keep us all for near on a week.”
“I suppose so, but if there is a deer, I’m after it.” Elspeth gestured as though firing an arrow from a bow.
“As long as it stands still for you,” Ealian muttered.
Olam heard him clearly enough. But thankfully, he did not think anyone else had caught the boy’s jibe.
“And I’ll be right behind you, Elspeth,” Grady said, looking somewhat mockingly towards Daric.
Daric pouted. “So that’s the way of it, is it? Nobody likes my fish. Fine, that just leaves more for Gialyn and me. Is that not right, son?” he said with a broad grin on his lips and an arm round young Gialyn.
“Well, to tell you true, I will be waiting behind Grady.” Gialyn ducked at the inevitable swipe and backed away from his father, laughing.
“Traitors, the lot of you.” Daric cried. “And I suppose you’ll be joining them, Ealian?”
Ealian did not answer. Instead, he shot Daric that vacant stare he did so well.
Daric looked at Olam.
Olam knew what Daric was thinking. Aware the others may be watching, he shook his head a little, trying not to make too big a message of it. Not that it meant anything; Ealian was often rude, even before the Black had infected him… if, indeed, he was infected, Olam still was not entirely sure. No, that wasn’t true; he was certain of it. The doubts were just his wishful thinking.
“Anyway,” Daric said. “Let’s not waste time. We’ll make camp by the river for the rest of the day and night, and th—”
Arfael let out a sharp, rasping groan. He fell to the ground with the thud of a man already unconscious. The large rock that had struck the back of his head rolled to Olam’s feet.
For a second – one that felt more like a minute – Olam stood with his mouth wide, unable to comprehend what was happening. Slowly, he raised his gaze towards the top of the sandy-coloured cliff. Two men appeared with bows pointed at the travellers. They each let an arrow fly. Olam could not help but flinch as both shafts sank head-deep into the fallen tree that lay between their camp and the cliff.
Daric shouted, “Run!” and the travellers split off in all directions. Olam shepherded the youngsters into the trees. Ealian seemed reluctant to move. Gialyn hid behind the thick bole of a birch tree. Elspeth had followed the boy and was kneeling down behind a holly bush, peeping over the top. Olam waved her back, but she stayed put – foolish girl. Daric followed. He stopped next to Elspeth and pushed her back into deeper cover. Olam managed a grim roll of the eyes as Daric shook his head at the girl. He must have thought she was a fool, too.
Grady had crouched behind the fallen tree trunk. He peeped up at the men on the cliff and then looked back at Daric. “My bow…? Where’s my bow?” he shouted.
Olam scoured the camp, but Elspeth found the bow first. He tried to grab her before she ran from cover, but she was too quick. “No, Elspeth, just—”
Grady cursed. “Gods, Elspeth, you’ll get yourself killed.”
Elspeth ran stooped over with hands all but dragging along the ground. She slid into cover and then crouched next to Grady.
“I said the bow, not you.”
Olam expected the girl to look abashed.
Far from it, she had a triumphant smile on her face. Fool was too tame a word for her, Olam thought. Imbecile might be closer the mark.
Olam struggled to listen as Grady took an arrow from the quiver and nocked it. “Carefully, Elspeth; look through that branch.” He nodded farther along the downed tree. “Let me know if they are standing up.”
Elspeth shuffled along until she was crouched below the branch, then tentatively peeped through the gap. “Yes, they are,” she said, then wriggled back under cover.
Grady pulled the bowstring to full and quickly spun where he sat. Olam did not think he had had enough time to aim, but Grady loosed anyway. The archer standing on the left fell forwards, gripping Grady’s arrow – which was now sticking out of his chest – with both hands. The dead man – Olam assumed he was dead; he made no noise as he fell – landed face up. His bones made a sickening sound as they snapped and shattered on the rocks at the base of the cliff.
Daric used the distraction to join Grady by the fallen tree.
Olam watched as the second archer backed off. He knew there would be more where they came from… and sure enough, five more entered the valley from the north, charging over the low ridge where the cliff disappeared into the grass verge. Daric, Grady, and Elspeth still lay in cover, talking – or rather, arguing – to one another. Olam whistled and Gialyn threw a pebble to get his father’s attention. When Daric turned, both Olam and Gialyn pointed to the five newcomers.
“Who are they?” Elspeth's voice was shaky, but even in that state she still managed to ask the obvious question.
Daric leaned to the side of the fallen trunk and peered through the upturned roots. “Gods, it’s the bloody Salrians again.” He eased away from the edge of the trunk and sat with his back to it. “W
hat do they want? Why follow us this deep into Aleras?”
“Never mind the questions. They’re here and they’re not happy.” Grady counted his arrows and gestured to Olam to look for more.
At the same time, Olam noticed Gialyn gesturing to Daric, pointing farther up the slope, towards the end of the rock ridge. Daric moved back to the roots and looked through at what Olam could already see. Si’eth, the Salrian captain, was walking towards the travellers’ camp.
“What in all the land does he want so bad that he would risk following us this far from the border?” Daric asked.
Olam was only a few paces from where Daric was sitting, but he had to strain to hear what the man was saying. It was a good question, though, why would they follow them all this way.
“It makes no sense. The man is risking everything: all-out war, if the battalion from Gieth’eire finds them,” Grady said. He was sticking his arrows in the ground for easy access. “And for what? To teach us a lesson? He must be mad.”
“It can’t be us.” Daric pointed at Elspeth’s bow and then gestured for her to give it to him. “There must be more to it than that. But the gods alone know what.”
He took Elspeth’s bow with a reassuring smile. “When it starts,” Daric told her, “you get back to the trees. Take Gialyn and your brother and run south to the river. Turn east and hide in the rocks.”
Elspeth looked indignant. “But we’re not going to le—”
“No argument, Elspeth. That first shot was a warning. They mean to make trouble and they outnumber us. I won’t pretend to know what their plan is, but I don’t want you, or my son, near this place when we find out… if we find out.”
Elspeth gulped and blinked before nodding her agreement. Clearly, she did not like the idea of running. Olam did not know if she was brave or stupid.
He looked to the north and watched Si’eth and his son Bre’ach walk down the hill until they were level with the other Salrians.
“Are you there, magician?” Si’eth shouted. “The sorcerer with the tricks and magic? Come out where I can see you.”
Daric, Grady, and Elspeth turned to Olam. It was obvious who the Salrian was talking about, but what did he mean by “Magic”?
“What do you want of him, Salrian?” Daric shouted, waving Olam down.
Olam knelt down. He had no intention of usurping Daric’s authority, at least not until he knew more – they could not have come all this way simply because he let off one of his bangers and scared their horses. Surely not.
“I will speak to the magician, to your leader.” Si’eth paced up and down behind the line of Salrians, hands on hips, staring at the ground in front of him. Something was amiss; he looked like a man stalling for time, Olam thought. “This need not go badly,” Si’eth continued. “I merely wish to talk.”
“If talk were what you desired, you would not have shot first, Salrian,” Daric shouted. “Don’t think me a fool, for I am not.”
Daric could indeed play the soldier when needs be, Olam thought. But if Si’eth was time-wasting, Daric was playing right into his hands. Surely Daric must know that, too.
Olam turned to Gialyn. “I think your father is stalling. He’s likely thinking of a way to allow you youngsters to escape. We should be ready. Gather your weapons, if you have any, and pack only what you can fit in your pockets.”
“I’m not leaving!” Gialyn protested. “Not without the others.”
Olam smiled. “Child, there is a time for bravery and a time to run. You will live longer if you learn to tell the difference. I am sure your father has a plan, so be ready for anything.”
Gialyn nodded his agreement, if reluctantly.
Ealian, on the other hand, was sitting cross-legged behind a holly bush, eating some flatbread, seemingly oblivious to events. Has the Black taken him already?
* * *
Bre’ach gazed down the slope at where the Surabhan were hiding. Why had they not surrendered? They were outnumbered.
Turning to his father, he whispered, “Why not just ask them for the scroll?” He did not understand what all this business was with the magician. It was that idiot boy, the one travelling in a good shirt, who would have stolen it.
“Fool,” Si’eth muttered. “And have them place greater importance on it, should they escape, knowing that it is the reason we gave chase?”
Bre’ach’s shoulders sank as his father looked down on him with that disapproving expression – the one that said Bre’ach would never be good enough to lead, that he was a failure. His father was good at that look. Sometimes, Bre’ach wondered if it were the only one Si’eth had.
Si’eth continued, “If you’re to make leader one day – if you make leader one day – you must use what is in your head as much as what is in your hand. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Father. Sorry,” Bre’ach said.
But it was not what he wanted to say. He wanted to say, Stop treating me like a fool; how am I supposed to learn anything when all you ever do is complain…? Or something like that.
* * *
Olam knelt down behind a tree and tried to peer through the thick shrubs at his friend. Arfael had not moved since the rock had hit him, but Olam could see his chest rise and fall – thank the gods.
He had thought about leading the youngsters away, but how could he leave his friend unconscious at the mercy of the Salrians? No, the three young travellers would have to run south on their own, at least for a while. They would be safe; the Salrian’s would have to get past Daric, Grady, and him before they could set out after Gialyn and the twins. The three of them against what… eight? The odds were not good. If only Arfael would wake up.
He shook off the thought, then listened as the Salrian captain continued…
“I would speak with your leader, Surabhan, not with his henchman.”
“He is not our leader,” Daric replied. “We do not have a leader. But if any were to take the mantle, then it would be mine to hold.”
Olam searched right and left, craning his neck to see over the stream and beyond the trees to the southeast. He could see nothing there that spoke of another ambush. What were these Salrian’s up to? As competent as Daric was, this… talk… appeared to be heading for stalemate. “We cannot wait here all day,” he whispered, and then calmly walked out into the open. Slowly, he crossed the few steps to where Daric, Grady, and Elspeth were crouching behind the fallen tree.
“I believe I am the one of whom you speak, sir,” Olam shouted. “And who might you be?” Of course, he knew very well what the man’s name was, but the Salrian would not know that – a chance to catch him in a lie, maybe.
The Salrian archers – three of them – immediately took aim at Olam.
“What are you doing?” whispered Daric, who was now barely half a pace in front of Olam.
“Looking for answers; the same as you, my friend,” Olam said. “I assume you have a plan to get the children away. The other two are ready.”
Daric smiled. “Just you get ready to duck. I don’t think this man came all this way to talk with you. When it starts, if it starts, Elspeth will join the others and run south.”
Olam nodded surreptitiously at Daric, then raised his chin to the Salrian. “So, my friend,” he said. “As you are not willing to start… what would you like to talk about on this fine morning?”
Daric coughed and held back a laugh.
Si’eth continued pacing back and forth. “I was curious about your little exhibition, Surabhan. I was wondering how you came across such a trick.”
Olam suspected a trap – no, he knew there was a trap – but from where? They needed to get the youngsters away from here. For now, though, he could think of nothing else to do but play along. “I’m not Surabhan, good sir. I am of Eurmac and of Moyathair and take no man as my leader.” Olam stood tall and defiant in the face of the Salrian. “Again, I ask you, sir: to whom am I speaking?”
The Salrian stopped pacing and folded his arms; he did not appear to like O
lam’s tone. “What is your purpose, magician? Why are you travelling through Illeas’cu?”
“My business is my own, sir. If this is parley, then my title I will give freely: I am Olam O’lamb, Emissary to Arlenoch of Illeas’den, Fourteenth Alpha of the Rukin, Guardian of the Truth.”
Daric looked up at Olam with wide-eyed surprise.
Olam held back a smile and whispered, “I made up that last part.”
Made up or not, Si’eth seemed to ponder Olam’s words. Then: “I’m Si’eth Uldmae, captain of this troop. Other than that, I have no titles. I am, however, impressed with yours. Are you here for duty or pleasure?”
“And there he goes again, talking about nothing. This is going nowhere. What is he planning?” Olam whispered.
Daric shrugged.
Olam opened his mouth to speak, but closed it when he heard a noise behind him…
“Get off me. Leave me alone,” Gialyn shouted from the trees.
A moment later, Gialyn and Ealian stumbled out into the open, hands raised, with the points of three Salrian swords at their backs.
“About time,” Si’eth groaned loud enough so even the travellers could hear. “All right then, whoever you may be, let’s have done with this. Lower your weapons and stand at surrender.”
Si’eth raised his hands in the air as if complaining at the time it had taken his men to capture two children. Grinning in triumph, he edged forward and began to walk down the hill. He had not made three paces before the sound of howling echoed down from the cusp of the grass verge.
The Dragon Oracles: Omnibus Edition (The Eastern Kingdom Omnibus Book 1) Page 20