Daric turned to the others. “When you’re ready.”
Picking up his pack, he waited for the others to load up.
“I’ll carry his,” Arfael said, taking hold of Ealian’s pack.
“I was hoping you’d say that,” Daric laughed.
* * *
Climbing the slope proved harder than Daric had expected.
Arfael helped Elspeth by providing a steady anchor for her to cling onto; unsurprisingly, the big man had no problem walking up the steep incline. Olam and Grady stayed at the rear. Olam used his staff as a crutch, a kind of third leg. Gialyn had managed fairly well, thus far, and was now at Daric’s side.
The floor of the gully was hard underneath, but there were more than enough loose shale and deep crevices to twist an ankle if they were not careful. Indeed, even if the gully was not steep, Daric did not think they could have rushed through it. But he wanted to be out of there, out in the open where he could see all around, see what was coming. If the first rule of command was know your enemy, the second was know your surroundings. And when Daric did not know, he felt naked… exposed.
I should have come up here myself. The boy wouldn’t know enemy tracks if they jumped up and bit him on the backside.
Daric eyed Ealian. The boy was standing at ease with his arms folded, tapping his foot, apparently waiting for the other travellers to catch him up.
If there were an ambush, Daric thought, surely the boy would have noticed something by now.
The thought should have eased his mind. But then the boy flashed a sardonic grin that sent a shudder along Daric’s spine.
No, Olam can’t be right. The boy couldn’t have made plans… laid a trap! How could he…
But no sooner had the thought crossed his mind than a hail of arrows ricocheted across the ground a few feet in front of him. Daric and Gialyn ducked to the side and pressed themselves against the rock face. Daric could hear scrambling above him. On the other side of the gully, archers appeared. Their arrows pointing down at them. Daric took off his pack and placed it on the ground, then pushed Gialyn down behind it. He looked behind in time to see Arfael swoop Elspeth up under his arm and pinned her between himself and the rock face. Olam stumbled forward and knelt at Arfael’s side. Grady threw off his pack and ran to where Gialyn sat cowering behind Daric’s pack. Grady crouched, placing himself in harm’s way between Gialyn and the archers.
Daric felt the cold rush of fear tighten the hairs on the back of his neck. He glanced at Gialyn, what would he say to Mairi if he let anything happen to him?
Gods, why wasn’t there a bloody merchant train?
It was then that he caught sight of their attackers’ clothes. He forced himself to think, piece together the events that had led them to this point. Sighing, he shook his head slowly. As he realised the truth, all thought of his attackers emptied from his mind.
“You may as well stand up, Ealian,” he shouted.
Ealian looked shocked – or maybe annoyed, angry that his plan had been uncovered.
Still, the boy made a half-way believable appeal to Daric. “What! Stand up? What are you talking about?”
The boy had crouched in a narrow gap on the other side of the track, ten paces up from where Daric was now sitting.
“You know very well, Ealian,” Daric said. “Or whoever you are, hiding inside that innocent child. Enough with the theatrics, I have suspected you for nigh on a week.”
“Yes, boy! Why don’t you stand up and introduce yourself?” The shout came from farther up the slope. Daric was not surprised to see Si’eth walking down the gully towards them. “I would be most interested to know who exactly it is that I have made a deal with. Fa’rann? Doth’boa? What kind of demon are you?”
A shout of confusion came from Elspeth: “Have you all gone mad? What are you talking about?” She attempted to push her way free, but Arfael refused to budge.
“Stay there,” Arfael grunted as he held her head down and covered her with his thick arm.
“Yes! Stay there, sister.”
Ealian turned to Si’eth. “What are you doing? This was not our arrangement. You have ruined everything, you fool.”
“Did he just call me a fool?” Si’eth asked his son, Bre’ach, who was now standing at his father’s side. “Really, does he think me a puppet?” Si’eth’s voice was mocking and loud enough for all to hear.
“What are your orders, Father?” Bre’ach asked.
Si’eth whispered instruction in his son’s ear.
Bre’ach nodded, then began silently directing the other Salrians. Most of whom were standing at the top of the gully.
Si’eth turned back to Ealian. “Now, boy, just hand over what you stole from me. Maybe we can resolve this ugliness without bloodshed.”
“What? What did he steal from you?” Elspeth shouted.
“He knows,” Si’eth said. “Come now, boy, my patience grows thin, and I scarcely had any to begin with.”
Daric fought hard to beat down his anger and tried to remember it was not the boy’s fault. “Whatever he is talking about, speak of it now and let us end this. We can help you, Ealian. The Woodmen may have a cure.”
“A cure!” Ealian squawked. “And what make you think I need curing, Mr. Re’adh?”
Daric wanted to run over and thrash the demon out of the boy… or whatever it was that had possessed him. Instead, he turned back to Si’eth. “What did he take?”
Si’eth stopped pacing. “Oh, so you were telling the truth, boy; your friends do not know of your crime.” He emphasised the last with a growl. “He stole a scroll, Surabhan, a hand’s span in width, fine parchment, with a wax seal.” He began pacing again. “And if I find the seal broken… Well, let’s just hope it’s not.”
A glimmer of hope bloomed in Daric’s heart. Gods, is that all they want? He turned to Olam. “Check his pack, quickly.”
Olam dragged Ealian’s pack over from the centre of the path where it lay, then wrenched open the top. He wasted no time emptying the contents. A bowl, mug and some apples rolled down the slope. The rest lay in a heap. Olam spread Ealian’s belonging around, picking through them and throwing to one side anything irrelevant. “It is not here!”
“Of course it’s not there,” Ealian said, taking the scroll out from his inner pocket. He held it up for the Salrians to see. The seal was still intact. “See. I told you I would not read it.” Ealian took the scroll in both hands, as though about to rip it into pieces. “This is where we say goodbye, my friends. It’s a shame; I could have helped you, Salrian. I will leave the scroll at the bottom of the slope, once I’m down and away.”
Si’eth immediately nodded at one of the archers poised on top of the rock face. The archer let fly. The arrow hit Ealian in the stomach, pushing him back against the rocks. Elspeth let out a deafening scream as Ealian slumped to his knees, and then toppled sideways onto the ground, releasing his grip on the scroll.
Daric turned to the others. “When it starts, get amongst them.” He directed his first comment towards Grady, Olam and Arfael, then turned to the youngsters. “Get behind that rock and hide.” He pointed up at the rock face at where a large boulder lay wedged against a splintered dead tree trunk. “If you have to, jump into the waterfall.” He silently reached inside his coat for his blade. “They will come down to fetch that scroll. When they are close, we make our move.”
Gialyn protested, and Elspeth looked ready to spit. “We can’t leave,” she said. “My brother!”
“We have to play this well, Elspeth, or we could all end up dead. That won’t help your brother one bit. Now do as I say. If we can draw them off, you can come back for Ealian. That scroll is the key. If I can get it…”
Elspeth nodded yes, but her face said maybe. Daric did not blame her in the slightest; what if that was Gialyn laying there?
Sure enough, Si’eth and Bre’ach slid and stumbled down the slope towards where Ealian had dropped the scroll. The archers directly above Daric began to move along the top of the rock
face to join their compatriots.
Daric was glad of that much; at least he would only have to deal with the two opposite.
Until they had shot Ealian, Daric would have let Si’eth take the scroll and be thankful of an end to it. But things were different now; it was not just the scroll anymore – they had tried to kill the boy.
If he gets to the scroll, we’re as good as dead.
Si’eth, Bre’ach and two Salrians were but ten feet away when Daric gave the signal.
Immediately, Daric picked up two rocks and hurled them up at the remaining archers, giving him and Grady enough time to move. They both lunged towards the four Salrians. Daric knocked Bre’ach down and watched out of the corner of his eye as the shorter man scrambled to stop himself slipping all the way down to the bottom of the gully. Grady flew into the two Salrians that had been following Si’eth, piercing one’s shoulder with his knife. The other he hit square in the face with the hilt. The four Salrians at the top of the slope quickly slid down to help. Daric, who was about to attack Si’eth, saw them and sprang to the side, letting two of them slide right past him.
Arfael took one by the leg and threw him up against the rock – that was the end of his fight. The big man was about to attack the other, when three more Salrians jumped from the rock face behind him. Two landed square on Arfael’s back, the third lassoed his left arm, tethering it to a boulder and holding the strain with his legs… both legs. His fellow Salrians grappled with Arfael’s free arm; it took both to render it harmless. Olam hit one across the shoulder – he was probably aiming for his head, but no one was very steady on their feet. He swung his staff for another go but found himself pinned down behind Arfael’s huge pack by the two archers still up on the rock face.
* * *
Gialyn followed his father’s instructions and climbed up to the dead tree trunk. He had to drag Elspeth along with him. Once at the top, he looked over the edge. A thirty-span plummet into the plunge pool followed a ten-span drop to the waterfall. Elspeth shook her head, and Gialyn mumbled his agreement. They would not be jumping down there unless their lives depended on it… literally.
To his left, Gialyn saw two Salrians stumbling in their direction. He threw rocks at them while Elspeth readied an arrow. She was shaking fiercely, her arrow splintered on the side of a boulder a span away from its target. She fumbled for another arrow, but then reached into her pocket and took out the whistle Aleban had given her. She blew hard on it. Gialyn could not hear anything.
“What did you do that for?” Gialyn asked. “Just shoot them!”
Elspeth was pale. Shaking, she put down the whistle and tried to nock an arrow. She was breathing heavily and tears were in her eyes. Gialyn knew she was panicking.
“Help up here!” she shouted.
* * *
Daric heard Elspeth’s cry and left Grady to deal with Si’eth and the one remaining Salrian – Olam had managed to keep Bre’ach down by throwing rocks at him. Daric ran, keeping as close to the Salrians as he could. Once at the rock face, he quickly climbed up and ran along its rim. Heedless of any danger, he charged into the two Salrians that were attacking Elspeth and Gialyn. So great was the force that both he and the two Salrians fell from the cliff’s edge.
The Salrians both made a bone-cracking thud as they hit the rocks below.
Daric managed to clasp onto a thin ledge. Slowly, he shimmied left towards where Gialyn and Elspeth waited. Gialyn hung halfway over the ledge while Elspeth held him by the ankles. Daric reached for a final grasp of Gialyn’s hand. They took a weak hold on each other. Gialyn reached down and twisted the leather strap of his father’s knapsack around his wrist.
“No!” Daric cried. “I can’t hold on, son. Let me go. I’ll be fine.”
Gialyn refused. Eyes tearing up, he managed to grunt, “No, I won’t let you fall.”
Daric held on with his last morsel of strength, but his fingers were burning with pain, the sharp edge of the rock cutting into them. “Please, son! Let go!” he shouted.
Gialyn was crying. “No! No! I will not.”
Daric fell into the waters below, pulling Gialyn along with him. They landed square in the falls.
Elspeth let out a scream. “They have fallen! They have fallen!”
* * *
Olam peered out from behind Arfael’s pack. He had his “apple” ready but had nowhere to throw it. Keeping Bre’ach busy by throwing rocks was all he could do… and that only worked three times out of five. Bre’ach was closing in on Grady.
The situation was desperate; he knew that much. Gods, a fool could see that: Arfael trapped, Grady pinned, Daric and Gialyn had fallen, and Elspeth was all alone. And he could do nothing with the archers still standing on the western edge of the gully. Thankfully, the Salrian archers had not managed to hit anyone else. But it was only a matter of time before Si’eth and Bre’ach were out of harm’s way, and the archers had a clear target to aim at.
He turned to Arfael. His friend was still fighting against the ropes the Salrians had used to bind him.
Why are they doing that? Are they trying to capture him?
Olam shouted for his attention. And when Arfael looked at him, Olam said, “You have to change, my friend. We need him.”
Arfael stopped struggling. His shoulders sank. He worked his mouth soundlessly. Blinking, he shook his head. “No! No, Olam. I must not.”
Olam nodded again, more vehemently this time. “Please, my friend. There is nothing else. We will die!”
He hated himself for saying it, for asking his friend to give in to the Cinné’arth, but what choice was there? None! Still, the look of pained resignation on Arfael’s face made him wish he had not mentioned the beast.
* * *
Arfael bowed his head and laid his hands on the ground. For a long moment, a sense of calm appeared to wash over him; his breaths deepened as he slowly rocked back and forth. Abruptly, his massive arms began to shudder as he grasped frantically at the rock in front of him. He scratched and clawed at the earth, as though he were suddenly in great need of something hidden beneath the hard-packed dirt and shale. Then, just as suddenly, silence.
Arfael kneeled down, and for a moment, stayed as still as a statue. Then a long, low moaning came forth from deep within his chest: a sullen, woeful moan; a warning of things to come. His shaking became heavier, the clawing more fanatic. The moaning turned to a rasping, gurgling growl. Then he craned his head forward and let out an unearthly roar.
The Salrians dropped their ropes and quickly put hands to their ears. Indeed, everyone in the gully stood in silence, frozen to the spot it seemed. Watching Arfael, and waiting for what might happen next.
“Drop your weapon, Grady,” Olam whispered.
Grady looked at him, puzzled.
“For the love of Ein’laig, please drop your weapon!”
Olam forced the words through his clenched teeth as if he would rather be screaming a command. Grady put down his short-sword, as did Si’eth, the Salrian commander. Olam looked up at Elspeth and bid her get down and put away her bow.
Arfael crouched again, still shaking. He raised an arm and, taking hold of his cloak at the nape, he quickly pulled it over his head and threw it to the side. He punched his fingers into the rocky ground; they cut through the hard earth as if it were powder. Smoke and steam rose as the earth around his fingers melted, pooling and spitting as he stirred his fingers around. The liquid rock began to rise up Arfael’s arm like dirty water pulled through a bilge pump. As it rose, scales, like shiny granite leaves, formed around his wrists and arms. He pushed his arms out wider. More rock melted, more scales formed, up to his shoulders now. When his arms had taken all they could, he lunged towards the rock face, pushing his shoulder into it. There, too, the rock melted away. More scales cascaded along Arfael’s neck and shoulders as he pushed his way along. Rocks fell from above the hole he had made. They fell onto his skin like raindrops, spreading outwards, peeling off more scales as they rolled down his back. I
n little more than a quarter minute, he was covered, head to foot, in bristling, sandy-grey armour.
Arfael staggered and flinched throughout, grasping a breath and holding it firm against his gritted teeth. He lifted his fists towards his eyes and slowly opened his hands. Talons sprouted where his fingers once were. Blackened and thick they grew until they were almost of a length with his fingers. He placed his clawed hands over his face and stood hunched over for a moment, whining and moaning like a wounded animal. Slowly, he lowered his arms to his sides. Leaning forwards, he spat teeth and blood upon the ground. Then, finally, he lifted his face to the slowly darkening sky and, with his jaw wide, he cried out. The gaping holes left by the missing teeth began to fill. Others pushed their way through the bleeding gums – fangs of silver grey, long and sharp, shining like steel, three inches at the top and two at the bottom. Once the shaking stopped, he let out a second deafening roar and crashed to the ground, then settled – so it seemed – on all fours. His back legs had twisted, his ribs had rounded, his spine had thickened and his shoulders widened. It was no longer Arfael.
* * *
The beast stood on all fours, searching left to right. For a moment, nothing stirred in the gully. Until, up on the ridge, one of the Salrians raised his bow. The beast coiled and pounced, jumping ten feet to the midpoint of the eastern wall. Then, using that as a platform, it spun quickly and launched itself at where the archer was standing. With a single swipe, it threw down the archer. The beast jumped back into the gully, twisting in mid-air to land cleanly on its feet. It did so right among the four Salrians that were standing higher up the slope. The beast lunged forward, taking hold of a Salrian about the waist, and then threw him to the side as though he were a doll. The Salrian flew a clear five paces onto the ridge above the gully – he would not be coming back.
There were six Salrians left: the three now in front of the beast, the last remaining archer, and Si’eth and his son.
The Dragon Oracles: Omnibus Edition (The Eastern Kingdom Omnibus Book 1) Page 30