by PMF Johnson
Deeb's horse had likely come here from someplace else. If Deeb had been injured here, the other two would must likely have found him. So the man would be afoot -- in the Wilderlands. That put him in danger.
Arch kept his staff ready. One question he had -- where was Lok? If the imp remained over Deeb, that could spell all the difference. Even if downed, Deeb would have some defense. But there was no guarantee something had not also happened to the family's magical companion.
In a few more paces, Arch found the trail of the horse, coming through the thickets, branches torn and broken -- so it would have been scared, and running. He turned and headed into the clearing.
"Catch up that horse and let's get going. We ain't got much time."
"Mr. Compher, my husband didn't come home. We think he was hurt. We're looking for him."
"Tracks say he's farther up." Arch waved up mountain. "Prob'ly injured. But we got to move, the Preacher's outfit is down at the cabin, they'll be here soon. Too soon."
Mara nodded and Galle took up the horse's reins. They followed Arch out of the clearing. He considered quickly. The Owl at least would find their trail easily.
He led them uphill along a sort of chute between the trees, following the tracks of Deeb's horse. He glanced at the bloody marks on its back -- clawed, evidently.
The imp would surely defend against any magical attack, even against some of the more peculiar denizens of these mountains that lived half in this world, half on the Other Side, but maybe it had not been warned to guard against a cougar.
Or maybe it was not able, as the imp still did not have a great deal of influence in the physical world. It had more now than ever though, and he would have guessed it would be able to attack even a physical animal now.
Had this been one of the Preacher's animals?
Not that speculating would make any difference now. They needed somewhere to hide -- preferably where they could fort up.
If they didn't come across Deeb right quick, they would have to do so anyway and hope that the imp could protect Deeb. He saw no indication behind of where the thugs might be, but they would be along soon.
Arch tried to understand himself, why he was bothering here. He had put himself in a pile of trouble for these folks that was sure. They were strangers, why should he care? Still, the woman, Mara, she had cooked him up some fine meals, and Deeb possessed fine manners and a big-city courtliness Arch admired.
Maybe it was simply a lonesomeness inside -- that Arch needed to belong somewhere, to matter to someone. He had been so long alone. He shied from pursuing that thought -- he had always believed a man must stay independent in this world, rely on himself. But what use was a man if he did not have anyone to care for?
He turned back to the problem at hand. It was easy to follow the back trail of the horse -- it had been moving as though pursued by demons. As maybe it had been. Moving along like that, he could assume Deeb had fallen off, or been knocked off before this. If it was a cougar, even if the imp had rushed in right away the horse would have been fighting -- frightened and spooked. Hard to know whether Deeb was unhurt or not.
Even here outside the Magic, the Wilderlands were dangerous. Break a leg or catch a fever alone, there was no one to save you. A dozen chances to die presented themselves daily. Animals, other mortals, the land itself...how many folks had died alone, unmarked and forever unknown? They departed in the morning to hunt or to tend their flocks but never returned, even their remains never found.
Arch paused to take stock, and the others drew to a halt as well. But all was quiet around them. The sun shone on the upper branches of the aspens. Somewhere a warbler sang. Water whispered over rocks in a stream nearby. The rich scent of the high forest loam hung in the air. Cautious, he touched his boot to his horse and they started on.
His nervousness translated into a desire to hear something, gain more information. Were the thugs back there? Was Deeb ahead? The soft earth on the slopes below had held obvious indentations where the horse had run, but up higher here the ground was harder.
He spotted a scuffed stone where a hoof knocked it aside, a bent branch. But it was little enough. He had to review the possibilities -- a horse, or any creature in flight, would take the simplest, most direct route.
That left only a couple possibilities -- he saw scuff marks on the soil coming down a chute and they went that way, climbing out into the sunlight atop a shoulder of the mountain -- in a few paces they crossed the ridge...
...and there he was.
Deeb sat with his back against a slab of stone. he had a slash on his forehead and the blood had dried on his face and shirt. Lok hovered in the air above him, a nervous wisp of pale energy in the sunlight.
"Luwana be merciful," he said. "You have come. But how did you--"
Mara was already there, flinging her arms around him. "I was so scared."
"No new bleeding on you," Arch said. He dismounted, then checked Deeb quickly with his eyes and hands.
"Nothing else bad wrong with you. Your eyes respond to light and shadow, so no bad concussion. Some bruises sure, and that leg might be twisted up. But you'll survive what's happened to you so far."
Arch stood. "We gotta get him off this slope. Gonna be chill up here come nightfall."
He looked about. "You'll need protecting from that. And there's no cover from anyone who comes hunting. No, we gotta move you."
"Big cat came at me," Deeb explained. He made a gesture, and Lok moved out to circle the area. "I fought it off until Lok could get back. He saved me, drove it off. Smashed into it a couple times. Didn't know he could do so, but he hit it hard."
"Surprised it, more'n likely," Arch said. "Cougars hate surprise."
"I guess that means I'm getting stronger," Deeb said, "if my imp has more presence in this world."
"That's the way it works," Arch agreed.
"You can't be serious about moving him," Mara said.
"Ma'am, you want to see cold, you wait until after sundown up this high on a mountain. We need a campfire, some way to keep warm."
"But he's injured. You...I don't think you even care."
"Yes'm. I'm not family, see. And folks out in the wild like this, they'll get beat up. A cut with a bit of blood, a bruise or two, that's just a regular day's troubles out here. I had to bandage a man's skull back together once. He lived. No tellin' what might kill a person, even a cut like that could fester. But you got to deal, ma'am. Times like this, you just got to deal. Deeb, give me your hand."
Deeb reached up and Arch lifted him to his feet, then leveraged him into the saddle of his horse. Deeb's face paled, but he made no sound to show he was in pain.
Arch grinned at him. "You're getting' to be a bit of a Wilderlander already."
"Some folks are all talk," Mara said. "Pretending courage."
Arch turned away to hide his grin. He led them down off the slope. It was much quicker picking their way down the mountain to a place they could defend.
When Arch found a spot, he explained his choice, mostly to Galle. "We got a stream here, some outthrusts of stone we can hide behind. It'll have to do."
The boy nodded, but he was staring south over the plains far below, to where a graying of the landscape and a confusion of the eye revealed where the Magic started.
Arch spared a glance himself -- it seemed a long distance away. He wondered if the boy missed the Magic, or if he would ever get the chance to return there.
Chapter Fifteen
Arch had chosen a camp in a small dell with feed for the horses. The outcroppings of stone that he had explained would provide some protection were grey granite, warmed now by the sun. The forest here contained much downed aspen for fuel, seasoned and old enough to create little smoke. Mara started a fire next to the granite, where the flames would be less visible. With care, they could defend this place.
Arch kept a catalogue of similar campsites in his head from all over the Wilderlands, never knowing when he might pass that way again. Nor
was he alone in so doing -- down the centuries such places had drawn travelers again and again, seeking a defensible position with fuel and shelter.
Often he saw bits of charcoal from campsites as evidence of hunting or battle -- arrows or arrowheads, a few of metal, most of chipped flint. Some were little more than worked over hand axes, chunks of stone that carried the aura of tremendous age, and he would wonder at a past of which he knew little.
Arch used his small hatchet to cut small branches with needles and leaves still on them, fashioning a place for Deeb to rest.
"You're likely to be down a couple days," he told Deeb.
He put down his own bedding for the man.
"Do get some recuperation, and I'll look out for your family the while."
"I am so thankful, Mr. Compher," he answered. "You have treated us uncommonly well."
"Ah, you're settling down right in the neighborhood. Guess I should do well by near neighbors."
Galle looked puzzled. "But you don't live around here, do you?"
"'Pends on what you consider 'around here.' In the Wilderlands, folks ramble more broadly, and neighbors are few, so more precious. We take care of each other out here. A week-long jaunt is nothing for folks looking to visit. Anyway, don't know that livin' close has as much to do with neighborliness as who could do with some help and who's willing to give it."
Arch kept moving, preparing places for them to sleep, gathering wood for the fire, taking time in between to catch what he might hear in the brush. It was a beautiful evening, the sun going down over the mountains, birds flitting about in the brush, a faint breeze tickling the leaves. He took up his staff and bow.
"I'm going out. I got food in my pack, but take care with it. Might be a while before we can restock."
He headed out into the trees, doubling back, but not exactly the same path they took in arriving here.
"He's from breeding, you can tell as much," Mara said about him when he was gone. She worked to put something together to eat for them all.
Galle went to stand at the edge of the woods, listening. "There aren't any whirligigs for miles and miles. It scares me to be without them. There might be any kind of animal close and we'd not know it."
"Lok would tell us," Deeb said. "I've added that to his duties. He's seen nothing of any size close by."
"Will he tell us about those men?"
"If he spots them." Deeb looked serious. "I'm thinking they may have some enchantment that keeps Lok from finding them. But he'll watch as best he can and defend us if it's needful."
Galle looked worried, so Mara asked. "Was there a noise out there, Galle?"
Galle shook his head. "There's always noises, Ma. The wind, branches creaking. It's hard to separate regular sounds from ones that don't belong. Arch told me to do that, so I've been trying to."
Mara nodded. She saw Deeb was nearly asleep and she was glad of that, but worried as well. She did not think of herself as a violent person by any means, but she would fight to do what she could for her family. Ruffians like these she remembered from...and avoided in...the streets where she grew up. They ran roughshod over whoever did not stand up to them.
No, whatever else happened here she was not going back to those days, she was not going to yield to that sort of life. She had been working steadily with her wand and the power of her fireballs had grown.
"Galle," she said, "take control of Lok from your father."
Galle looked solemn, but nodded and spoke the phrases of the spell that bound the imp to him.
With a sigh, Deeb relaxed after that and fell asleep. She was glad for him. He was such a steady, solid man. He would do what he thought was right, always. That was a rare quality and it stirred her emotions. But now she had to think. Arch might leave them at any time and they were vulnerable. Deeb was injured and it might be some time before he could work a full day again.
"Galle? Keep your bow ready. I'm going to recharge my wand."
Her boy looked worried. "Ma, I didn't grab the quiver of arrows when we left. Most of our arrows are back at the cabin. I suppose those men will get them."
"How many do we have?"
"I have half a dozen in my hunting quiver. Pa has some, maybe another dozen. I looked."
#
Arch passed through the alpine forest, not setting foot on any branch that might snap, stirring leaves as little as he could, avoiding the danger of making any sound. Boots were not ideal for this type of travel but they were all he had -- he must dicker for some of those soft shoes made of hide or soft leather that the Ruskiya were so good at making, though getting to the trading bench with them was a bit chancy -- they did enjoy a fight.
He stopped to listen -- a faint wind stirring leaves overhead, the gentle calling of a squirrel someplace, halfway between plea and complaint, the cheeps of sparrows. Nothing out of the ordinary. He set off again, ghostlike.
The moon was little more than a sliver, already setting. Most of the light came from stars, outlining faint shadows on the ground. He turned back to study their campsite but caught no smell of the fire, no flicker of firelight. Good as far as it went, but no telling how close the thugs were, whether they were concealing their own camp.
Trees had fallen in a row hearabouts from a big wind some time ago -- that would make sneaking up on their little sanctuary more of a challenge, with the old trunks scattered in every direction, crisscrossing like an endless series of traps. Below lay a high meadow in the moonlight and he paused at the edge of the trees, alone, even a bit lonesome. Something stirred down there. He could hear it in the leaves. A moose perhaps, at the far end of the open area.
It was a nice cabin the pilgrims had located and would be an excellent home, with grass, good ground for crops, the beauty of the woods on the slopes above them and a natural basin in which to raise cattle or horses.
The stirring at the bottom of the meadow had quit -- the moose or whatever would have smelled him by now, with the breeze the way it was. Assuming it was an animal.
He let his gaze drift, not focusing on any one thing, to catch any movement from the corner of his eye.
Sometimes he puzzled himself -- helping these pilgrims he had never met, despite them not being relatives. But they'd been friendly to him, sure enough.
Something moved down there, maybe less than a hundred paces away. Approaching up hill towards him noiselessly. He was in a spot where his clothes would blend in. Magic generally meant a flash of light -- something that would alert the thugs. So he drew his knife. Whatever he had seen, that flicker of movement was too small for a moose or a bear. And a deer would not approach upwind against any mortal. Still he heard nothing.
Had the Owl found them? Owls flew silently, unlike any other bird, giving their prey no warning until too late.
Arch's whole body was at attention, ears, eyes, even his feet sensitive against the ground to pick up any footfalls, his skin alert to the breeze made by a knife, swinging.
A sliver of moonlight reflected off a blade was the only warning.
He dove to one side, the razor edge of the knife tugging at his shirt, cutting it and brushing his skin. He planted his staff with his left hand and used it as leverage to pivot and drive his own knife forward, keeping it down, but edge up.
His blow landed, but only a glancing blow.
At almost the same moment he took a heavy blow on his arm. He fell on his back, losing his knife.
Frantic, he raised up his legs and kicked out to intercept the Owl as the man came in. His boots smashed the Owl on his chest, driving him back.
Arch leapt to his feet and swung his staff in a short punching motion, still unable to see almost anything in the dark under the trees.
He missed, but it gave him the moment he needed to put his hand on his fallen knife. He retreated a couple paces, using his staff as a shield, then darted left.
A flicker of shadow warned him the Owl was charging again. He drove forward and up with his knife -- missed. Slashed. Missed.
> Then the Owl was there, knocking his staff out of his hand.
Arch rolled forward, smashed his fist into the man's face. The Owl buckled. Feeling that, again he drove his knife at the man's belly.
The half-elven was not there.
On the balls of his feet, taking breaths in huge gasps, he prepared for the Owl to come at him again.
Silence.
Slowly, the moon set behind the mountain. When its last light was gone, he eased up out of his crouch, listening, listening.
Only a light breeze, stirring leaves overhead. Only the bright stars, the sense that he was still alive, he had survived. He ceased to pant so hard. The Owl -- who else could it have been -- had fled.
Keeping alert, he crouched, feeling around with his hand until he caught up his staff, felt the faint thrumming of its power.
"By the hells," he said at last.
He felt a chill, wanting to kill that man, wanting him dead, but fearing him as well. Long years had passed since he last felt a fear like this.
Chapter Sixteen
Mara watched Arch disappear into the night, but heard almost nothing, then nothing more. He had vanished.
Deeb was asleep, stirring restlessly and moaning a little. It frightened her. Deeb had taken a bad blow to the head and a concussion was a dangerous injury to have, especially out here. What if he did die, leaving her with Galle?
She wanted her man there for her as he had been throughout their marriage. But if he were not then she must deal with life as it was -- she had her child to consider.
All her life she had relied on the civilized world, the city guard, judges, Boundskeepers to protect her, yet she had a brain and could use it. Being left alone here would be hard -- they would best make their way back into the Magic perhaps, where Galle felt more at home now and could use the whirligigs to help them, as he had used them to scout before.