Si’eth and Bre’ach had long-since dropped their weapons. They were standing by Grady and Olam. No thought of fight remained. Grady glanced at them and both put their hands on their heads and knelt in surrender.
The last archer dropped his bow and ran away, back from the edge of the cliff and out of sight. The other three dropped their weapons and ran back up the slope. They, too, disappeared out of sight. The beast now stood in the centre of an otherwise empty gully, growling like a mad dog. It breathed deeply as it slowly turned towards the travellers.
Olam immediately dropped to his knees.
* * *
Grady, buoyed by the Salrians’ cowardice, raised his hands and cheered. The beast lunged towards him. Grady backed off and knelt, covering his head with his hands.
All four – Grady, Olam, Si’eth and Bre’ach – knelt before the beast, as though praying to it. They stared silently at the ground before them, not daring to raise an eye.
The beast moved slowly towards Grady, its head low as if it were stalking him. It closed within three feet, and then stopped. Slowly, it raised a hand and, with an outstretched finger, pushed against Grady’s shoulder. The black talon burned through the cloth and scorched the skin. Grady flinched. The beast moved its hand away, growling at Grady’s movement. Grady made the best job of settling himself. Again, the outstretched finger came, this time to Grady’s forehead. He could do nothing but let it come, wait, as the scorching, black blade that was the beast’s talon moved closer. He saw the top was flattened and smooth. Upon it, a ripple of dark purples and yellows swirled around the surface like oil on water. The nail touched the skin on his cheek. Slowly, it ran down the side of his face, scalding and cauterizing in a single move. Grady fought against the pain, making no noise or movement.
The beast lowered his hand back to the ground and turned to the side, as though it had finished with Grady. It looked at the other three; all were in the same pose, all with heads bowed and hands clasped behind them. The beast turned. Either losing interest, or perceiving no threat, it walked a few steps, and then in two leaps it was over the top of the ridge and away. Gone for now, praise the gods.
CHAPTER 27
Bits and Pieces
> The gully remained silent for a long while after the beast’s departure. Grady wanted to rub the burn on his cheek, but no one so much as moved a muscle.
What had just happened? Grady could barely comprehend it. Arfael was some sort of monster. Daric had fallen into the river, and could be dead for all he knew; bodies lay all around, and that scheming, conniving little twolloc, Ealian, had sold them out to the Salrians! And to think he had felt sorry for the boy. Yes, it was a lot to take in.
Grady heard a foot scrape on the dirt. Glancing to his left, he saw Si’eth had begun to stand. Scrambling for his shortsword, Grady pointed it at the Salrian’s neck before the man had a chance to straighten fully.
“Stay down,” he growled.
Si’eth submitted. Raising his hands, he bowed his head even lower, before returning to his knees without as much as a sideways glance for Grady.
“Good. And you bloody stay there,” Grady muttered.
Elspeth ran from her perch on top of the rocks. She stumbled as she crossed the path to where Ealian lay injured. Kneeling by his side, she pulled his head up onto her lap. “Look at you. What have you done?” she cried.
Grady did not know if her question was for Si’eth or her brother. What had he done? Working with the Salrians to plan an ambush. The foolish boy; what had he wanted so badly that he would plot with the northerners?
Ealian was unconscious. The arrow had been wrenched from his stomach after he collapsed – either the boy had done it himself, or it had become caught up as he slid a ways down the gully. Now, a long gash made an ugly wound along his left side, from hip to ribs. Elspeth pushed against it. Turning to Olam, she pleaded for help.
Olam needed a nudge from Grady; his eyes still fixed on the ridge over which the beast had not long vanished. The older man worked moisture into his mouth, shook his head, blinked, coughed, and took a step towards Elspeth.
“Lay him out straight. Let me see the damage,” Olam said.
Just as Elspeth began to ease her brother flat against the ground, and as Olam knelt beside her, Grady heard howling coming from the field at the bottom of the gully.
“Gods, please no,” Elspeth moaned.
And then Si’eth said, “Is that the beast? Has it come back already?”
Grady had a mind to tell the Salrian to be quiet, but he could not help answering the question. “I don’t think so.” He squinted beyond the plunge pool towards the river. “It’s the wolves. Toban and the others.”
“Toban? Where did he come from?” Olam asked.
Six wolves came into view at the base of the gully: Toban, Aleban, and four others. They looked cautious as if they could smell death; or maybe the beast’s scent was making them nervous – the baying and howling could not be for the dead Salrians. Toban looked up at the travellers and began to climb. The other five followed, sniffing and scouring the track as they went, stopping now and then to prod a nose into a discarded pack, or sniff at a fallen Salrian. Toban proceeded slowly, waiting until the other wolves had investigated every inch of the gully. Twice, the six stopped what they were doing and stared to the west, ears pricked as if something had caught their attention.
Grady wondered if it was Arfael they had heard. He hoped it was; if he could not hear it, the beast must be a good distance away.
“What are you doing here?” Grady asked when Toban was a few paces away.
For the moment, Grady forgot he was guarding Si’eth and Bre’ach. He took a step back to keep the two Salrians in his sights.
“We were tracking Salrians south of the river when we heard the whistle.”
“Whistle? What whistle? And why were you tracking Salrians, Toban?” Grady asked.
The answer was obvious; the wolves knew the Salrians were following them. How could they use us as bait? Gods, did they plan this? Did they send us to this gully on purpose? To allow an ambush so they could flush the Salrians out?
“We don’t have time for that now.” Toban was ducking the question, Grady knew. The wolf made a good job of surveying the carnage. He clawed at one of the dead Salrians, probably to check he was dead. “What is your condition? I see you have prisoners.”
Grady left his argument for another time. “To be brief, Ealian is injured, though I care not for that so much as the loss of Daric and Gialyn. They fell from the cliff into the water.” He nodded towards the waterfall. “They could be two miles downstream by now. As for Arfael… Well, I’m not even going to start with that tale.”
“I think I can guess.” Toban turned to his fellow Rukin. “Aleban, can you watch the prisoners? Keep two here with you. I’ll take two and go to the river.”
Aleban nodded.
Toban gazed down at the river. “I’ll find Daric and Gialyn, have no fear of that. If they are alive, I’ll bring them back.”
Before Grady could say another word, Toban nodded at two Rukin, and the three trotted back down the gully.
Grady was about to continue his questioning with Aleban, but a groan from Ealian caught his attention.
“This cut is deep. It must be treated, and quickly,” Olam said. He had cut away Ealian’s shirt and was poking his finger inside the gash. “I don’t think the arrow has damaged his innards…”
Olam trailed off, a look of confusion blossomed in his eyes.
“What is it?” Grady asked. “Is there something more?”
Olam rubbed his brow with his forearm – his hands were bloody. “I do not understand this fever,” he whispered so only Grady could hear. “It has only been ten minutes, and yet the boy is burning up.”
Olam opened his mouth to continue, but the Salrian captain interrupted. “Don’t move him,” he said. He was leaning to the left, peering around Olam’s outstretched arm at Ealian’s wound.
S
i’eth straightened up when Grady clipped him with the hilt of his shortsword. “And why, by the gods, should we listen to you, Salrian? “And where is that scroll? I’m keeping that!” Grady fished through Si’eth’s inside pocket. He pulled out the scroll and pushed it into his belt.
“I’m still waiting, Salrian,” Grady growled, his face a mere inch from the shorter man.
Si’eth looked away, at where the boy lay. “If you do not pack the wound before you move him he will bleed to death.” His tone was righteous, condescending. “Is that good enough for you, Surabhan?” Si’eth turned his head and gazed directly at Grady.
Grady stared back into the Salrian’s blue-grey eyes. For two copper, he could have punched Si’eth where he stood. All this for a scroll! It must be important. But why didn’t he just ask for it back at the field south of Illeas’den? This could all have been finished with. No rampaging beast, no dead Salrian’s, no injured boy. Although he suspected Ealian would have come up with another way of double-crossing them.
“He is right,” Olam said. “But I have nothing with me that will do the job.”
“Yellow root,” Si’eth said quietly.
“What was that?” Olam looked up at the Salrian.
“Yellow root will pack the wound. We have some.” Si’eth gestured to his son. “Give them yours.” Bre’ach looked confused – or maybe it was anger, Grady could not tell. “Give him your yellow root, boy,” Si’eth demanded.
Bre’ach reached into the small pouch all Salrians carried at their waist and brought out a short stick of root. He handed it to Olam. The root was indeed yellow. It looked sticky and soft.
Olam smelled it. “Yes, we call this by a different name: Ti’ash. But yes, this will do.” He looked down at Ealian. “But there is not enough here for this cut.”
Grady ungraciously poked Si’eth in his rib. “Do you have any more?”
Si’eth winced. “We all have it. Search the dead.”
Grady took a deep breath. He did not like the idea of hunting through a dead man’s belongings, even an enemy. Fortunately, Olam had already made a move to the three Salrians that lay dead in the gully.
“You should collect arrows, too,” Grady told him.
He looked around at the three dead men. A thought occurred to him. “How many Salrians were you tracking,” he asked Aleban.
“Six, eight, no more.”
“Six or eight…,” Grady whispered.
Back when they first met, Aleban said there were twenty Salrians. Seven lay dead around the gully… Arfael was chasing another four… with Si’eth and Bre’ach, that made thirteen; fourteen, with the one Grady had shot back in the valley west of the Ambieth. That left six. “Is he right?” Grady asked Si’eth. “Are there six more of you?”
“Six… ten… twenty… Why would I tell you our numbers?”
“You’ve lost, Si’eth; you’re outnumbered. Do you want more dead on your hands?”
The Salrian clenched his jaw and stared off into nothing.
“Have it your way,” Grady muttered. “Can you watch these two?” he asked the wolf.
Aleban nodded.
Olam and Grady scavenged around those lying in the gully for anything useful. At each corpse, Olam knelt briefly and said a silent prayer. Grady waited patiently for him to finish – he was not above respect for the dead. Olam collected any yellow root he found while Grady picked up arrows and food. He did not go so far as to climb the cliff, nor did they venture much farther than the top of the ridge where the three archers had been. Once they collected all they could, both men rejoined the others.
“You will need a bowl to mix it into a paste,” Si’eth said.
Olam scratched his head and chewed at his lip. For a moment, the Eurmacian looked embarrassed. “Exactly how do you prepare this type of root?” he asked.
Si’eth smiled and shot a knowing glance at his son. “You’ll have to mix it with, what do Surabhan call it, pee?”
“Are you joking?” Grady asked. He would not put it passed the Salrians to make fools of them.
“No, it makes sense,” Olam said. “The liquid must be acidic to dissolve the root. And I would guess they have eaten lots of berries, as have we.”
“Oh, please! Well, I’m not doing it.” Grady looked away in disgust. Peeing on a wounded man? What will they think of next?
“Never mind; I will,” Olam said. “I’m the one who has to mix it, after all.”
Olam stepped a few paces off to mix the yellow root.
Meanwhile, Grady turned to the Salrians. “So what do you think we should do with you two?” His tone was one of a soldier. He knew how to treat a prisoner, and he was no animal. However, he was troubled by what to do with them. He did not have the manpower to guard them night and day. At least not until Daric and Gialyn were back – Gods, let them be safe – and they would have to move quickly if they were to avoid a conflict with the rest of the Salrians. He considered just giving them the scroll and letting them go. But that thought had not lasted long; how could he trust the captain to leave peacefully after everything he had done, or tried to do? Never mind that they had already killed eight of his men – maybe twelve, if Arfael had caught up with the others.
One of the wolves spoke. “Sir, my name is Kaldaban. I have a suggestion.”
“Eat them?” enquired Grady, sarcastically.
The wolf sniggered. “No, sir. Once Toban is back, we can send for help and take them off your hands. Get them delivered to Gieth’eire by the Cul’taris pass. It is the only place for them, without taking them all the way to Redgate. Let the soldiers deal with them.”
“Yes, a good plan.” Grady smiled and looked right at Si’eth. “Let the soldiers deal with them. I like the sound of that.”
Si’eth laughed. “I’ll be sent back, ignored. Your shallow king will not risk war over the plight of a few farmers.”
“You think so, do you? More likely you will get lost on the way to the border, Salrian.”
Olam had finished with his mixture and was administering it to Ealian’s wound. He carefully pulled the loose skin up with his thumb and poured the contents of the bowl into the gaping lesion. Elspeth cringed and held her hand to her mouth. Olam spent a few seconds guiding the spillage in the right direction and then checked his work. “That will have to do,” he said, almost proudly.
After allowing it to settle, Olam turned to Grady. “You should get the Salrians to carry him. We will go up top, across the river towards the woods. There is better cover over there. And if we are lucky, we might come across one of the Crenach’dair. We could use their help if they are willing.”
“I can’t say as I’d risk it for this child,” Grady slurred with disdain.
“He’s still my brother!” Elspeth growled. “And if it were you? If you had been possessed, should we leave you to die, alone?” She glared up at him with utter disdain. Shaking her head, the girl looked disgusted. No, not disgusted… disappointed.
Shame hit Grady’s gut like a hammer blow. He had not considered what Ealian had been through these past few days; too caught up in his own thoughts, probably. He remembered the boy in the room back in Illeas’den, the frightened child. Was Ealian fighting this… thing? Is that why his behaviour kept changing? And what about the fever, back in the woods, the night Ealian had thrown the rocks at Gialyn and Olam? Was he battling with his possessor there, too? Abruptly, he realised how shallow his thoughts had been. You low, weak-minded fool, Grady Daleman. How could you say something like that? He bowed to Elspeth. “You are right, of course. I’m sorry.”
Elspeth nodded as if his remarks were no less than she had expected. She really was a good girl – woman. A strong character; she would do well in the guards… assuming, of course, they made it to Bailryn.
Grady ordered the Salrians to pick up Ealian. Together, they all climbed to the top of the gully and continued along the tributary. Crenach woods lay a mile to the east.
“We will cross up here and find a good pla
ce to camp, then work out what to do next.”
Grady knew his plan was half-baked at best, but there was nothing more to do but wait. He was not about to leave without Daric and Gialyn.
CHAPTER 28
Brea’s Lot: Part Four
Brea dropped the cloth she was holding to her mouth and ran for the tunnel. Halfway there, she cursed when realising she had forgotten her lantern. Quickly, she turned back to the table and picked it up. Once lit, she set off again, mindlessly charging up along the passageway to the inner cavern. She did not care that her feet were getting wet from her splashing through the stream, didn’t even care when she grazed her elbow on the rough rock of the tunnel wall. As soon as the cavern entrance was in sight, she began to shout.
“Tor… Tor…!” she bellowed.
Wheezing from the climb, she put the lantern down on the rock shelf by the steps and began to look about for any sign of the dragons.
“Tor… Tor… Are you here?”
“Yes, child. I’m here. What is it that has you so flustered?”
Tor’s booming voice came from the upper entrance, twenty spans up from the cavern floor. She could barely see him, only his eyes reflecting the light from her lantern gave up his position.
Most would have thought it an eerie sight, but Brea was used to it – although that had not always been the case.
“I saw it, Tor – the Cinné’arth. I saw it in the Lier’sinn. It was awful.” Brea began to pace from side to side, one hand on her hip, the other covering her mouth. She tried to calm her breathing. Patting her chest, she took deep breaths in through her nose and out through her mouth – just like her mother had taught her when she was young and scared of the dark, or some such childish nonsense. It was not working.
“Slow down. What do you mean you saw it? What has happened?” Tor lowered himself from the raised platform. Brea saw the concern in his eyes, which was unusual; he was always so stoic with matters of duty. “Child, please, you must calm yourself and explain.”
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