by PMF Johnson
"What are you thinking to do?" Mara asked.
"I'll stay here, use the bow, make them think we're all still here. Offer a rearguard action. Then slip off and join you."
Mara seemed reluctant, but Galle urged her on. "Come on, Ma, we don't have time for this."
At his urging she headed up the gully, bowed down, her son leading the way, excited to be helping. Deeb watched them vanish into the predawn darkness.
When he turned back to look out over the meadow and cabin, he found himself confronting a tall, thin stranger, magic staff in hand. The human wore a wide-brimmed hat and his features were hidden in the night, but he was one of the thugs all right.
"Evening there," he said. "Were you planning to be heading off somewheres?"
Deeb was surprised, and surely somewhere inside he was afraid, but more than that he was ready. It seemed as though this moment had been coming a long time. The man was a renegade and a murderer, surely, and Deeb knew the danger.
"I wasn't intending to go anywhere just yet," he said.
He had to delay the man, buy time for his wife and son to get away. He was thinking furiously, casting for a way out or some sort of edge. "I do have a question, as long as you're here."
"A question?" That surprised the man.
"Absolutely. I'm trying to understand, Mr...?"
"Ulf Menesketh."
"Yes, Mr. Menesketh, why have you been following me? What is it you want exactly? You see, I'm a man who tries to understand things so I'm curious why you have been tailing after us. To be honest, I really can't see what your payoff would be."
Ulf Menesketh was a bit taken off guard. This fellow was not what he expected. Oh, a pilgrim certainly, but there was something else to him out of place. Unexpected.
He did not seem as cowed by the danger as Ulf would have expected, for one thing, as though danger was not as alien to him as it should have been.
"That's easy enough for anyone to get," Ulf said. "We're after your raw magic."
"Raw magic?" Deeb was caught unawares in turn. "We aren't carrying any raw magic. Who would carry raw magic out into the Wilderlands? People with raw magic take it to cities to sell or to work into magic artifacts.
"Have you ever been to one of the big cities? Hyntaria, or Byzartei?"
"Can't say as I have."
"Thing is, there's no end to the uses of raw magic in civilization. Trade, art, commerce. Please understand me, if I had raw magic I'd have stayed there until it was all gone."
He paused, let his embarrassment show. "Kind of like what I did with my money. I've never been good at hanging onto things."
Ulf could relate to that. "Money's easy enough to spend anywhere." Then the implication hit him. "So you got nothing? In that cabin, the wagon, anywhere?"
"We did have some family magic, Mara's family, but they were carven figures -- simulacra of her ancestors. They were too heavy for the mules. We left them back on the road a ways. All that's left is a saw, an axe, a plow, the implements of a farmer. That's who I intend to be, Mr. Menesketh."
"Huh. Well, there's the stock, and Rock'll take your wife. I guess that'll have to do." Ulf Menesketh could not believe he was in a casual conversation with a man he was going to kill, a man whose whole approach took him off guard -- chatty, open, a manner that invited some sort of response.
"Well, now that you know the situation, Mr. Menesketh, maybe you'll reconsider. The stock I have...a lot of folks know they belong to me, you understand."
"Not important." Ulf waved that off. "Ain't no Bounders or other rules out here in the Wilderlands except them made by mages, and I'm as good at casting magic as any you'll find."
But Deeb was nodding. "I've heard folks get pretty upset out in the Wilderlands when a woman is bothered. Or stock is stolen, for that matter. They get up a posse and take the law into their own hands in such cases."
"How they going to find out? You and your'n ain't going to be saying anything."
"Mr. Menesketh, it makes more sense for the all of you just to ride on. There's no magic as you were thinking. Planter's tools won't do you any good. You would have to take the wagon to haul the heavy items, and you won't bog yourselves down like that. As for the stock -- I'm a member of the Et'tal. The caravan masters? That's my family, my brother runs the business. My relatives will know that horse, Mr. Menesketh. The Et'tal have folks everywhere."
No need for Deeb to mention his brother was dead, his organization scattered. "They'll see that horse, get curious, and talk with each other. I'm known to be out here with my family. That stock'll be the death of you if you try to sell or truck it. The Et'tal have a lot of associates, Mr. Menesketh."
Deeb was amazed he would use his family's reputation like this after all his efforts to stay clear of their business. But he was arguing for his life and that of his wife and child. He just was sorry the story he was spinning wasn't so.
Ulf was not buying it. "Step forward," he ordered. "Where I can see you."
When Deeb did so Ulf pointed towards the river. "That way."
Deeb did as he was told. After a short walk, they came to a lone horse tied to a tree. Ulf tied Deeb's hands and feet and hoisted him up on the horse so he hung face and hands down. Then Ulf mounted up himself and, one hand holding Deeb in place, headed out through the brush. After a short ride they entered a campsite.
Men stepped forward out of the underbrush, Rock at their front. "I want that woman. I don't see her."
"They taken off already. This is the only one I found and he was thinking of heading out, too."
"Then he'll have to die," Rock said.
"Wait a minute." Ulf dropped Deeb to the ground. "Back down there, Rock. This one's mine. Anyway, he was telling me something you'd best hear."
Ulf repeated Deeb's tale, spiking it up some.
But the Preacher only spit. "Tales and spun dreams," he said. "Ain't none of that true. You can't believe all that."
Ulf shrugged. "I ain't gonna be the one brings these mules to Plover to test it. I know them Et'tal. They're everywhere, and lower than mean. That's a hard crew."
"I want the woman," Rock said. He muttered a word, under his breath -- preparing a spell -- then moved closer, and yanked Deeb to his feet. His eyes were flecks of ice. "Tell me where she is."
"I don't know," Deeb answered. "Wouldn't say even if I did."
Rock spat out a word, and an orb of blue light shot out and smacked Deeb straight in his forehead. Will magic.
It froze him in place. Deeb could not breathe. His heart stopped thumping in his chest. He was utterly helpless, feeling the sense of mockery from his enemy.
Rock stepped forward and smashed his fist into Deeb's face with a fist so heavy it lifted him into the air.
Deeb fell to the ground with a heavy thud, landing on his back, seeing a confusion of light.
After a moment, Rock released his will, and Deeb's heart and breathing started up again.
Shook, Deeb's limbs weakened. He had been in fights as a youth and his first impulse was to fling himself at his foe, but the memory of that will magic freezing him made him pause.
He sat up, carefully. "The woman's gone."
He dabbed the blood from his mouth. "Went out with that Arch fellow. Dumped me."
Chapter Nineteen
Though Deeb's words weren't true he hoped they might be, that Mara had found Arch. She would have a chance, anyway, to get away, save herself and their son. He stared at the blood smeared on his knuckles, his own blood, and inside him something shifted.
He had tried to make his choice to be peaceable, to stay away from his brothers' life and avoid trouble. Thinking things through, negotiating, coming to a mutual understanding, those had been his ideals. But he had been raised by physical men who fought easily, and that was part of his heritage too.
These scum threatened him for no reason but their own cruelty and greed, endangering his family. Something hard and cold rose inside him. But he would not let them see that. Not yet.
"We're peaceful folk," he said. "We have no raw magic, no wealth. We came here for a new beginning."
"That true about your family being in that business?"
"You seen any of the Et'tal? I look like them, sure enough. My cousin Thad runs the family's business in Hyntaria. You know him? But it doesn't matter if it's true, does it? Bothering a woman out here, strangers will be helping tie the rope around your neck."
"Be done with him," said the Preacher, his eyes a little shiny. "Cut his throat."
"For what?" Shef responded. "Nothing to him, no money, no stock, no woman. This country'll do him in. There's Murkung around, we cut across their trail earlier. They'll have him toasting over a fire in no time."
Shef began to gather wood. "I want some tea."
The Preacher studied Deeb. "Arch took her from you?"
"You don't see her here, do you? Or him. The boy went with them too. Even my imp."
That made Dunshil react. The goblen clicked in alarm. "Tt. Arch Compher stole your imp?"
"I was getting better at handling it, too."
The goblen hissed and clattered to herself.
The Preacher chuckled. "I'm beginning to see the light. Getting' to understand that Arch feller too." He looked up. "He's in ahead of you, Rock."
Rock's face showed no change. "Makes sense. Women love the most powerful man. When a stronger man came along, she discarded this one and took him. When I kill him, she will see I am most powerful and choose me. My children will be healthy from her. She is an intelligent woman."
Shef turned away so Rock would not see his face after that declaration. Shef touched a fingernail-thick chunk of raw magic to shredded bark and twigs and muttered a word. A spark flared, catching the tinder afire. In a few moments he had a fire roaring away, ready for his battered teapot.
As he worked he spoke, as though thinking things through. "This guy seems more a problem dead than alive. Not anyone I'd have to kill out of worry. An' if we do kill him we got to worry about folks finding out. Either way it's not much use to do him in. An' if she's already left him for someone else, then Rock killin' him don't prove anything to her."
The Preacher turned to Deeb. "Whyn't you go out after Arch, if he's got your woman? Why ain't you mad?"
Deeb thought fast. "I am. But the man's got some hard magic. So if the woman went off with him, is she worth my time? Lot of women in the world aren't so much trouble as that."
"I kinda see it that way myself," the Preacher said.
Silence fell on them all. The fire crackled, offering warmth, and the outlaws crowded around it. Deeb didn't move, hoping they would ignore him, dismiss him, forget about him. But these were violent people, brutal, and he would not forget that. If he tried to escape they would blast him with fireballs. That much was obvious.
#
A few hundred paces off, hunkered down near the knob of rock where they had agreed to meet, Mara saw the dawn in the sky and felt dread. Deeb had not followed. Why not? Surely he would be here if he could be, so she must assume he had been captured or hurt. There had been no sound of magic, no flash in the night, but that did not rule out arrows. Or knives. Would they capture him as a hostage to draw her in?
After a short search she located a spot between a large pine and an outcropping of rock where the energy of the land felt strong. She grounded the heel of her wand in the soft soil and spoke the phrase of enchantment her father had taught her. Re-empowering the wand would take some time, however.
Their stock cropped the grass. Galle woke, and moved. He was so much more silent these days, it worried her. He remained no more than a child, an impulsive little boy, despite whatever had happened out there with the Ruskiya to change him so.
"Hasn't he come back?" the boy asked.
"Not yet. He will soon." She tried to protect him.
But he was shaking his head in the dim light. "They caught him, I bet. We'll have to go back for him."
"He might be injured," she said. "Or captured."
"I can get down there without them spotting me," he said calmly, and suddenly somehow she believed him.
"I'll come with you."
He shook his head. "I still have some extra...something, Ma. Even without the whirligigs. An awareness. I don't know how to describe it, but I know where Lok is, always. I can sense their imp as well and avoid it. You can't do that."
"Let's give your father a little more time, first."
This bald knob of rock was where they had agreed to meet. He would come here if he could. But the woods were silent. They were alone. How long could they wait?
"This is what I need you to do," she said at last. "Go down and see if you can find him, but no side trips, and if you see those ruffians, avoid them. This is no childhood game. Your father and I are both depending on you. If he's not in the spot we stayed last night, return to me immediately."
"I'll do that, Ma."
He departed and it was a tiny comfort to her how silently he went. Almost as quiet as Arch himself. The boy was careful. He would be a good, worthy man when he grew up. But to her chagrin, after he went she noticed he had left Lok to look after her. When had he learned to give the imp such a complex command?
Her pride leaked away to fear as she considered their situation. No one else she knew, family or friends, was within a hundred days' journey of this alien land, with its uncouth, fierce people. Why had these ruffians chosen to pick on her family? They had done nothing to these strangers. It was simply random cruelty, and she hated it.
Her husband was missing, her child in danger. A fierceness rose in her against the ruffians. If she encountered them, she would fight.
She checked the wand. Enough energy had gathered from the soil around her, the power of magic that imbued their world, to fund a small fireball. She wanted more. She waited, within a quick grab of the wand, letting it continue to gather power. She would be ready, she did not intend to let fear rule her.
Who was it...Arch?...who said one can feel fear without letting it affect you. She WAS afraid, but she would do what she must. And what might come? Deeb might be murdered. If so, she must get herself and her son away and to the town of Plover. It was west of here -- she could use the caravan route as a guide, maybe join up with a caravan if one came along.
If the ruffians had captured Deeb, she must get him away from them. And if he were lying injured and helpless somewhere...she stifled the dread and sadness, forced herself to think coolly...if injured, then once they located him they must treat his injuries, while not allowing those people to find them.
The best method to avoid being tracked down was to leave no tracks: stay in one place, hidden. She would rely on Galle. His time in the Wilderlands had toughened him up -- the hard work built up his endurance and his time with Arch and the Ruskiya increased his canniness. He did have a chance of finding Deeb.
She searched for a spot that would give her a better view down into the valley, and found one with a view of the house, the tiny meadow where the horses were pastured and the place they had spent last night.
The sun rose in the sky, warming the area -- she thought over how she might care for Deeb if he were injured. They would need food and water most of all. And some sort of lean-to or other shelter -- well, she had gained experience making those over the last few months.
But her thoughts kept returning to her son out there, one small boy against half a dozen cruel, wily killers.
#
All Galle's sense were on alert. He had never felt so alive, so important, so serious. He was out to find his father and held no doubt those strangers were out here too, looking for his family and him. He would just have to outwit them. So he crept through the woods as quietly as he possibly could, watching in every direction for movement, straining for any sound, moving in a low crouch. He needed his whirligigs.
He reached out with his senses, searching, searching...but felt nothing. Were there literally none around? Were they utterly beyond reach? Why? He focused his
senses on the horizon to the south, searching for that smoothness, that almost-warmth he felt when they were around. Nothing.
Then he remembered the words of the Rus. He must not expect the whirligigs to understand him, he must understand them. So, what did they want that he could offer them, to bring them out of the Magic?
As he moved, he considered that question. He traveled all the way to the spot they had made their stand last night, confident he remained unseen.
#
But he had been seen. From a scrub of brush, the Owl studied the boy. The Owl was only concerned with Arch, and he hoped for a moment the boy might be going to Arch, then understood -- the child sought his father, that pilgrim they had captured. The youth moved reasonably well through the woods. The Owl thought a moment, then headed away, choosing to let the boy alone. He headed back on the path the boy had taken.
#
Rock Gul was a few dozen paces from the others. The big elven was in a foul mood, feeling harsh and cruel. Pack of idiots he was running around with, why did he bother with them? They just got in his way, talked twice as much as needed, decided nothing. That Preacher was a blowhard and a coward.
Rock looked back to where they crowded around the fire. Shef lay in his bedroll back in the shadows. Asleep maybe, but you never knew. That Shef was a sharp one. Any chance Shef got, Rock felt certain, he would use to kill Rock. An old story, some mortal trying to make a reputation by killing an elven. Such mortals didn't need any particular reason. Rock had seen his share of them. Flames to them all.
Rock picked up his saddle and tack. The Preacher made a move to join him, but Rock snarled.
"I'm going out alone. Stay out of it."
Hearing that, Deeb rolled onto his hands and knees, but Ulf stared at him and Deeb froze. Ulf had a look like that cougar the moment before it sprang. He would kill Deeb in an instant, and how would that help Mara or Galle? No, he had to wait.
"What's up with him?" Deeb asked.