Web of Deceit fl-3

by Richard S. Tuttle

  “It is large,” agreed Mistake. “Perhaps someone will know where to find the Sage.”

  “Perhaps,” replied Rejji, “but remember your pledge, Mistake. We will be thankful for whatever these villagers are willing to share, but we will take nothing they do not freely offer.”

  “I will remember,” scowled Mistake. “I do not need to be treated like a child.”

  “It is still just a village,” interrupted Bakhai. “Larger than most, but I see no inns or shops. It is just a large village.”

  “Let’s split up,” suggested Rejji. “Mistake can seek out information on the Sage, while I try to gain knowledge of the tribes. Bakhai, you can see if there is any need for labor so that we may earn what we need.”

  The three Fakarans split up as they entered the large village. Bakhai headed towards the huts that lined the edges of the fields. Mistake saw a large gathering of women husking corn and moved towards them, while Rejji headed straight for the well in the center of the village. Rejji knew that several elderly men would be there to entertain the children and these men would likely know the most about the tribes.

  Rejji received a few stares from the local villagers as he made his way down the main street and responded with a smile and friendly nod of his head. The villagers returned the gesture and went about their business. When he reached the well, there were half a dozen old men and a like number of children. Everyone’s attention was on a single old man who was telling a tale of a great dragon and the children reacted with a mixture of dread and excitement.

  Rejji went right up to the group and sat on the side so he could see both the men and the children who were facing each other. A few of the men nodded to Rejji and he smiled and returned the nod. He listened to the stories patiently for a while and a woman came over to the group with a basket of food and an urn of goat’s milk. The children squealed with delight as they grabbed pieces of bread and cheese from the basket. The woman produced a cup and filled it with milk and handed it to one of the children. When the little boy had drank the cup dry, he handed it back to the woman and she filled it for another child.

  The men waited until the children had grabbed what they wanted and then passed the basket of food to Rejji. Rejji looked inquiringly at the old man as if to ask if it was permissible for him to eat. The storyteller’s face broke into a wide toothless grin and he nodded his head.

  “Hunger has a face of it’s own,” he chuckled. “Eat your fill young man. There is more if you finish it.”

  “I am most grateful, Sir,” Rejji said. “I fear I have lost any means of repaying you though, unless you will accept my labor.”

  “Your offer is acknowledged,” grinned the man. “If you are passing through, then consider it our gift to you. If you wish to stay in the village, there will be time to talk of labors another day.”

  “You are most gracious and I thank you,” smiled Rejji. “I am just passing through. I am in search of the Sage of the Mountain and was wondering if there was a great deal of tribal activity in these parts. I am hesitant to be involved in their troubles.”

  “The tribes are in turmoil these days,” responded the storyteller. “Our local tribe has quit their fortress and have not been seen for some time. Some say the Jiadin are to take over all of the tribes. Others disagree. We do not get involved in their affairs and hope they meddle little with ours other than the annual tribute. Some Jiadin were here not long ago. They spoke of a demon that has come to our lands and they claim they shall remove him, but many have little belief in demons.”

  “Demon or no demon,” added another old man, “the Jiadin have amassed a great army to track him down. They have warned us not to allow the demon into our village or they will kill every single one of us.”

  “They may decide to do that one day anyway,” sighed the storyteller. “The tribes need no excuse for violence, and we have no means of defense. Such is life.”

  “I passed the site of a great battle on the other side of the mountains,” Rejji informed the storyteller. “The Jiadin destroyed the Chadang tribe. I do not wish to see more of that.”

  “Well if you are seeking the Sage of the Mountain,” smiled the storyteller, “you will see little of the Jiadin.”

  “You know of the Sage?” Rejji asked excitedly. “Where can he be found?”

  “Well I know of him,” nodded the man, “but not where he is. It is a quest of considerable effort to find him. Many speak of him as living high in the Bone Mountains, far to the northeast. Some have searched the mountains their entire life looking for the Sage and have died disappointed. There was a man, however, many years back. He claimed to have found the Sage. He wouldn’t say where though.”

  “He was a crazy fool,” interjected another man.

  “Of course he was,” nodded the storyteller. “The Sage speaks the truth that no man knows. Many want the answers to questions, but their minds are incapable of accepting those answers. There are many tales of men gone crazy after visiting the Sage. Sometimes the truth is better left unknown.”

  “What happened to him?” Rejji asked.

  “He was crazy,” sighed the storyteller. “He was searching for the lost city of Angragar. He claims the Sage told him where the ancient city was, but he would not tell anyone. Despite our pleas, one day he wandered into the Qubari Jungle. He was never heard from again.”

  “That must be the jungle we saw from the mountains,” surmised Rejji. “What is wrong with going there?”

  “Death is what’s wrong,” warned one of the men. “If your are lucky that is.”

  The storyteller looked at the man and shook his head. “The lad didn’t say he was going there,” the storyteller stated. “He just asked about it. The Qubari Jungle is a dread place, lad. Nobody has ever gone there and come back. Once you enter, you are just food for the jungle. Every creature in there will devour you. Some even say the plants will eat you alive in there. Whatever you do, stay clear of that jungle if you value your life.”

  “Tell him about the tyriks,” prompted one of the children.

  The woman with the urn of milk had worked her way down the line of children and handed Rejji a cup of milk. He smiled at her and thanked her.

  “The tyriks are a nasty creature,” nodded the storyteller. “As old as time itself, they say. The tyriks have infested the Qubari Jungle forever. Picture a huge nasty spider, lad. Now make it bigger and meaner. Then picture it as large as that hut over there. Can you picture a spider that big? That is a tyrik, lad. Their webs are so large they could capture wasooki or horses in them. Not a pleasant death, being caught in tyrik web and waiting to be chosen for dinner. You might be stuck there for days if the tyrik had eaten recently. Not the way I would choose to go.”

  When Rejji turned to look at the hut, he noticed that Bakhai and Mistake had arrived and were listening to the storyteller as well. They also had been offered the basket of food and were eating bread and cheese. Bakhai appeared to be trying to get Rejji’s attention, but Rejji could not figure out what his friend wanted and he refused to be rude to the villagers.

  “What is this lost city the stranger was looking for?” quizzed Rejji as he sipped the goat’s milk. “I have never heard of Fakara having any cities.”

  “Angragar,” nodded the storyteller. “Well I guess you would not consider it a Fakaran city. Angragar is ancient. It is older than the sacred temple at Vandegar, and both are older than Fakara, much older. Vandegar was a spiritual center, built in the waning days of the old empire. Angragar was the capital city and built much earlier. It was the seat of power for a civilization so ancient that none remember it. Were it not for Vandegar, nobody would believe that Angragar even existed. But it did. There are wall drawings in the Vandegar Temple that depict some of the grand buildings of Angragar.”

  “What happened to the ancient civilization?” queried Rejji. “Did it just die out?”

  “No,” answered the old storyteller. “Legend has it that an evil ruler came into power and he lust
ed for conquest. He turned his armies against his old allies and trading partners, the elves.”

  “Elves?” squealed one of the children. “I thought there were no elves?”

  “There may not be,” continued the storyteller with a smile, “but there was at one time. This ancient ruler was swayed into conflict by the dark forces he swore allegiance to. That is when Vandegar was built, to honor those evil forces. Eventually, the elves had to attack or watch the world be destroyed. The elves swarmed into what is now Fakara and beat back the forces of evil. They destroyed the ancient empire and hid the lost city of Angragar. Nobody has ever found it.”

  “You forgot about the caretakers,” nudged one on the old men. “Tell them about the guardians.”

  “Very well,” nodded the storyteller. “The elves were to destroy the ancient civilization completely, but they found just a few people who were so good, that the evil had not touched them. They chose these people to be guardians of Angragar. It is their job to make sure nobody ever does find the ancient city. Legend says these ancient dwellers still watch over Angragar and will until the end of time. Should anyone stumble upon the lost city, the guardians will destroy them.”

  Bakhai was still trying to get Rejji’s attention and Rejji finally thought he had figured out why. He sipped the last bit of goat’s milk out of the cup, realizing that there was only one cup and he had been holding it the whole time. The woman smiled at him and reached across the children to retrieve the cup. The distance was a bit too far and Rejji placed the cup in his palm and stretched his arm over the heads of the children. The woman took the cup from his hand.

  As Rejji watched, the woman screamed and dropped the urn of goat’s milk. The urn shattered spilling milk over the children. Everyone jumped to their feet to see what the trouble was. Bakhai was frantically waving now and Rejji’s attention was torn between Bakhai and the turmoil with the woman, when he heard someone shout, “Demon!”

  Everyone started running in every direction and Bakhai grabbed Rejji’s arm and started pulling him.

  “Come! Hurry!” shouted Bakhai. “We must run for our lives.”

  Rejji was still trying to figure out what was happening when the first rock struck his back.

  Chapter 16

  Brakas

  The sting of the rock propelled Rejji faster as he raced out of the village. Mistake appeared alongside him and started to pull one of her daggers out if its sheath.

  “No,” shouted Rejji. “Just keep running.”

  Eventually, the din of the crowd chasing them tapered off and Rejji stopped to catch his breath. He bent over with his hands braced on top of his knees and looked at his friends as he panted. Slowly, he caught his breath and turned to gaze back towards the village.

  “What was all that about?” he asked.

  “I tried to warn you,” Bakhai said. “The Jiadin were here this morning. They are searching for a demon.”

  “I know that,” interrupted Rejji, “but what does that have to do with the village turning violent all of a sudden. Do they think we are spies for the Jiadin?”

  Bakhai reached over and grabbed Rejji’s arm and twisted it so his palm faced upward. “The Jiadin told them that the demon carries a crescent on his palm,” explained Bakhai. “The old woman saw your mark. The Jiadin promised to kill them all if they harbored you.”

  Rejji’s mouth hung open as he stared at his palm and then looked back at the village. “They can’t possibly think I am a demon,” he said shaking his head. “Do I look like a demon?”

  “Actually, you do,” offered Bakhai. “They were told that the demon masqueraded as a young man, but the crescent palm would always give him away. One of the farmers made me show him my palms before he would talk to me. The villagers are scared, Rejji. The army that was here today was not a small raiding party like they are used to seeing. It was hundreds of riders. Don’t blame the villagers for wanting to live.”

  “I don’t,” sighed Rejji. “I just didn’t understand what was going on. They were very generous people. I do not want them harmed. We should leave this area now in case the Jiadin return.”

  “And go where?” questioned Mistake. “I found out nothing about the Sage. The women told me to go to the well and when I got there, you had the elders occupied with children’s tales.”

  “Only because I had already found out about the Sage,” grinned Rejji. “We are headed for the Bone Mountains, like Brakas said. The storyteller couldn’t be more precise, but at least we know where to start looking.”

  Mistake pulled out the map she had taken from the Chadang tent and spread it on the ground. “Here they are,” she said, pointing to the mountains in the northeast. “Just on the other side of this green area. It will be a long walk, but we can do it.”

  “That green area is the jungle,” frowned Rejji. “We are not going through that. The elders warned me about it and said not to enter it.”

  “I caught that part of the story,” nodded Bakhai. “Not the type of place you want to walk through, never mind sleeping in there.”

  “All right,” conceded Mistake, “then we go around it. Can’t take that much longer.”

  “The first thing we need to do is put some distance between us and that village,” Rejji stated. “They will tell the Jiadin which way we went if they return, so let them see us going east. When we can’t see the village any more, we will turn north. With any luck, the Jiadin will go into the jungle to look for us.”

  “Is that bad?” asked Mistake.

  “No,” chuckled Rejji. “It would be good. The elders said nobody has ever gone in there and returned.”

  They headed east for over an hour before turning north. After two hours on their northward trek, the sun sipped below the Giaming Mountains and Rejji selected a spot near a creek to camp. It was Rejji’s turn to prepare the meal, but they had nothing to prepare. Bakhai offered to go find something and disappeared into the trees. Mistake pulled out the map again as Rejji gathered some deadwood for the fire. By the time Rejji had a decent fire going, Bakhai returned with a quail.

  “It is not much,” Bakhai offered, “but it was the best I could do.”

  He handed the quail to Rejji and sat next to Mistake and stared at the map. “Show me where we are going,” he said.

  Bakhai’s face grew dark as Mistake traced the path they were to take.

  “We may not want to go that way,” he said.

  “Why not?” asked Mistake. “That is how we have to go.”

  “There are tracks on the other side of the creek,” explained Bakhai. “Lots of tracks. The army hunting for Rejji went up that way several hours ago.”

  “Well they are on horses,” Mistake pointed out. “We will never catch up to them, so why worry about it?”

  “Because they will not find Rejji up there,” Bakhai continued. “Sooner or later, they will turn around and come back down here. That is when we will run into them.”

  “We can’t really stay here either,” Rejji interjected. “In fact, it doesn’t matter much which way we go. They can cover much more ground than we can in a day. If they are determined to find us, I don’t see how we can escape.”

  “And the next time they come in the night, we may not hear them like last time,” added Bakhai.

  “I wish we had some wire,” Rejji murmured.

  “Why wire?” questioned Bakhai.

  Rejji explained the trick he had learned from Gunta about rigging a trap for people sneaking into a camp at night.

  “So that is what Sebastian had been doing,” surmised Mistake. “Very clever. If I had tried making a run for it, I would have fallen flat on my face.”

  “And he would have been there to pick you up,” nodded Rejji.

  “Speaking of intruders,” Bakhai said softly, “someone is coming.”

  Mistake dashed behind a tree in a blur, as Bakhai silently backpedaled behind another. Rejji stood and placed his hand on the hilt of his sword as the single rider approached.


  “Ah, Rejji,” grinned Brakas, “I was hoping it might be you. Where did your friends go? And your horse?”

  “Welcome, Brakas,” greeted Rejji. “I am glad it is you approaching and not the Jiadin.”

  Bakhai emerged from hiding and took Rejji’s position at the campfire. “I will try not to burn too much of this bird,” he said.

  “That is your dinner?” frowned Brakas as he dismounted. “I have food I can share.”

  “We were attacked several nights ago by Jiadin,” Rejji stated. “We lost our horses and gold. We are grateful for any provisions you can spare.”

  “Attacked by the Jiadin?” queried Brakas. “Is the girl…”

  “No,” said Mistake as she stepped out from behind the tree. “I didn’t die. They did.”

  “Impressive,” nodded Brakas. “The Jiadin are known as fierce warriors. Perhaps they were new recruits.”

  “We were lucky,” interjected Rejji. “One of the red scarves had gold trim on it. Do you know what that means?”

  Brakas’ eyes widened as he handed a sack to Bakhai. “There are only two people who can wear that scarf,” he frowned. “Grulak, the leader, and his son, Diakles, both wear one.”

  “This man was not old enough to be Grulak,” declared Rejji. “He was close to my age.”

  “Then you have killed Diakles,” Brakas surmised. “That will not sit well with the Jiadin. They will hunt you down and kill you. Hopefully, they won’t know who did it though.”

  “One of them escaped,” frowned Mistake. “Now there is a Jiadin army searching the area.”

  “Do you have a spare pair of gloves that I might have?” Rejji asked. “I lost mine a long time ago.”

  “I do,” Brakas said as he rummaged through another sack. “Letting one of them get away was a big mistake on your part. Now they will have a description of you. Perhaps you should split up. That would make it harder to identify you as a group.”

  “We stay together,” Rejji said as he took the pair of gloves handed to him by Brakas. “Maybe if you travel with us, it will solve the problem though. You know how the tribes think and can help us hide.”