Mitchell Graham - [Fifth Ring 01] - The Fifth Ring (v1.0)

by Mitchell Graham

  Lara watched him. Next to the letters S.T. were two more letters, E.T.

  "Who does the other set belong to?" she asked quietly.

  "They belonged to my sister, Enia," he said.

  Father Thomas became quiet for a moment, watching a single leaf slowly fall from the tree to the ground, looking into some distant memory. The use of the word "be­longed" was not lost on Lara, but she said nothing, wait­ing for him to continue.

  "She's buried just over here," he said, indicating a wil­low tree about fifty feet away, sitting by itself in a small hollow near the path.

  They walked together down a little grade toward the tree. Lara didn't see the other graves until she was almost on them. She stood staring at the headstones, uncertain what to say, or how to act, as Father Thomas bent down and brushed away some of the leaves and vines from the headstones. The grave on the left was larger that the other two and bore the name "Orlan Thomas." The one next to it read "Irene Thomas," and the last indicated that Enia Thomas lay there. All three graves had the same date of death carved into them.

  "May I introduce you to my parents? Mother and Fa­ther, I have the honor of presenting Mistress Lara Palmer, late of Devondale Township. And this is my sister," Fa­ther Thomas said, turning to the other grave. "Enia. . . Mistress Palmer."

  Lara stepped close to the priest and hugged him. "Oh, Father, I'm so sorry," she whispered, starting to cry.

  "It's all right," he soothed, stroking her hair. "It's been a very long time, and they are at peace now."

  "I don't understand, Father. What happened?"

  As soon as she spoke the words, she wanted to take them back, realizing that she might be overstepping her­self.

  Father Thomas's eyes took on a faraway look. "There was once a town very close to here called Weyburn, per-

  haps no more than a fifteen-minute walk along the road. It was never very large, I'm afraid, and like Elberton fur­ther to the south, much of the traffic on the Roeselar stopped here to trade.

  "My mother made dresses and sold them to the ladies who visited Weyburn on the rivercraft. That was her spin­ning wheel you saw in the house. My father was a stone­mason, as his father was before him. He was the one who built the wall and chimney.

  "We were at war with the Sibuyan then. Thinking to cut the supply lines to Tyraine and Barcora, Duren at­tacked both at Elberton and here first. The men of Wey­burn fought for two days in the open fields, from behind trees and houses, and in the end, on the docks by the river, before they were wiped out. General Geary and the Southern Army arrived from the southwest in time to drive the enemy from Elberton, but they were too late to save Weyburn. Duren burned the town to the ground and left the women and children to the Orlocks, while he fled north to mountains in Alor Satar.

  "When the news reached General Pandar three days later, he sent me home with messages for General Geary. I always felt what he did was a kindness," Father Thomas said. "Bran Lewin and Askel Miller came with me, and we laid my parents and sister to rest here. Askel and I carved the headstones ourselves. Bran had no talent for that," he added, smiling at the memory.

  Lara nodded at him, wiping the tears from her eyes but no longer regretting the question she asked.

  "The memory of what I found when I returned was burned into my mind forever. I have prayed the Lord to take it from me, because I sometimes wake at night still seeing the same picture in my mind. But I suppose mat God has His reasons for the things He does or does not do."

  "Oh, Father .. ." Lara said, shaking her head with re­gret. "This is so sad."

  The distant look slowly faded from Father Thomas's eyes and he looked down at Lara with a warm smile on his face. "I know that you are a brave girl, and would stay if given the choice, but you see why I cannot let you do so."

  Lara hugged Father Thomas again, and buried her face in his chest.

  "Come, it's almost dark now and we must get back," he said softly.

  They had only walked a few steps along the path when Lara turned and walked back to the graves. Father Thomas watched while she closed her eyes, thinking that she was saying a prayer.

  When she rejoined him, he said quietly, "Thank you, my child. That was very kind. A prayer?"

  "I wanted to make sure I would remember their names."

  17

  Elgaria, 250 Miles south of Devondale

  Mathew and Daniel had finished stuffing the blankets and arranging them by the time Lara and Father Thomas returned. High above them the stars were already beginning to appear in the sky, and crickets called to each other in the woods. They had positioned the blankets be­tween the wall and the house, preventing any direct line of sight from the road. Collin was down on one knee try­ing to get a fire started and muttering to himself about wasting good matches. On the third try he finally suc­ceeded in getting the kindling to catch, and he bent his head low to the ground, blowing gently, until a small or­ange flame appeared. In moments the flame grew larger, spreading rapidly to the dry wood. When a gray ash be­gan to form, he added thicker branches, then slowly began placing the green wood on top. In just a short time a thin haze of smoke began to rise from the fire and hung over the camp like a cloud.

  Akin stood close by, pretending to watch the fire, but Mathew could tell his attention was fixed at the bend in the road. The light was already getting low, and he guessed the Orlocks would wait until they were settled in for the night before they came. At least, he hoped they would wait. Father Thomas quickly surveyed the campsite and gave a satisfied nod. Mathew absently touched the hilt of his sword and silently thanked Collin once again for re­membering to bring it when they left Devondale.

  the treetops to the west disappeared. One by one, at a sig­nal from Father Thomas, they dropped down behind the wall. Akin made a show of stretching, and yawned a bit too loudly, Mathew thought. By this time there was enough smoke from the fire to make visibility difficult. Anyone watching from the road should have thought they were turning in for the night.

  Lara and Akin were on Mathew's right, about fifty feet from him, near the well. Mathew crawled cautiously over to them. Akin saw him and flashed a quick smile. Before either could say anything, a low snap of Father Thomas's fingers caught their attention. Using hand signals, the priest pointed at them, then in the direction of the horses. Akin nodded and immediately started to move, but Lara hung back. In the flickering glow of the fire Mathew could just make out her face. What started as a kiss turned into an embrace, and they clung to one another before Mathew finally whispered, "Go . . . I'll see you in Elberton."

  "You see that you do, Mathew Lewin," she whispered back, holding him by the front of his vest. Lara finished the kiss she had begun, reached up and brushed the lock of hair off his forehead, and began to crawl silently after Akin. In less than twenty yards they both disappeared from his sight in the smoke and the darkness. Mathew closed his eyes tightly for a moment. God, let them be all right.

  Three minutes later another snap and a hand signal from Father Thomas sent Daniel and Collin off to the left of the house and into the trees. Only Mathew and Father Thomas remained now. Mathew realized his hands were shaking, and he took a deep breath to calm himself. The plan was for them to hide and use the trees for cover, un­til the Orlocks made their initial attack, then catch them in cross fire. An involuntary shudder went up his spine at the memory of his first encounter with the creatures. Whatever they were, there was no question in his mind about their intelligence. That much was obvious from their tactics and planning. Through the smoke and flickering light of the fire,

  Mathew could see Father Thomas's eyes sweeping back and forth across the road. The priest glanced toward the trees that Daniel and Collin had disappeared into mo­ments before. Apparently satisfied they were safely away, he turned back to Mathew and mouthed the word "now," pointing to the opposite side of the house.

  Mathew unbuckled his scabbard and dropped to his stomach. With his sword in one hand and his bow and quiver in the other, he an
d Father Thomas began to crawl across the yard. When they got to the old well, Mathew realized that his mouth had gone dry so he picked up a pebble from the ground and stuck it under his tongue to restore some moisture. At the perimeter of the yard, he rose to a low crouch and ran quickly for the trees. Father Thomas was there ahead of him, already down on one knee, his bow ready. Mathew was able to catch a glimpse of the priest's face. It was cold and hard—an expression he hadn't seen before.

  Though his heart was thumping in his chest, he tried emulating Father Thomas, hoping a calm outward ap­pearance would translate itself to how he felt on the in­side. Morosely, he thought that Collin probably wouldn't have to work at it at all.

  The green wood continued to produce a cloud of smoke covering the camp, but Mathew realized that while it provided excellent cover, it also prevented them from seeing the Orlocks. It was hard enough to hit any­thing with a bow at night under normal conditions, but it would be doubly hard now that the targets were obscured. He peered at the entrance in the stone wall, then looked down the road, concentrating as hard as he could for the first signs of any approach. Mathew knew he was a rea­sonable shot with a bow—nothing like Askel Miller, of course, but reasonable. He bit his lip and waited, fer­vently wishing he could see more clearly.

  Then something odd happened to his vision. It was the only way he could describe it later.

  Abruptly, the entire campsite and all its surroundings became bathed in an eerie green light. It happened so quickly, he nearly fell over backward in shock. Mathew rubbed his eyes, but when he opened them again, the strange light was still there, illuminating everything. He looked to Father Thomas, whose attention was still fixed at the entrance in the wall. Wanting to say something, but not daring to risk the noise, Mathew blinked several times, trying to clear his eyesight. It was frightening. He hadn't the slightest idea what was wrong, but the impor­tant thing was that he could still see. In fact, he realized with a shock, he was able to see quite well—better than before. The smoke from the campfire was still there, only now it was no impediment at all. Tentatively, he looked around, trying to determine what his capabilities were. What struck him was the fact that he was now seeing things in far greater detail than he thought possible. The bark on a tree thirty yards away, shrouded by smoke only a moment ago, appeared sharp and distinct. He could even see the rust on the iron cross bar over the well. Good Lord, what's happening to me? he thought. A movement, perhaps two hundred yards down the road in the dark, caught his attention. Deep in the shad­ows among the trees he saw them advancing slowly, cau­tiously. There was no mistaking the white faces or the long yellowish hair. Unbelievably, they looked close enough to touch.

  This is impossible. Nobody can see things that far away. It's like. .. looking through those pieces of glass and the tube Daniel showed me.

  Whatever the cause, he decided he would have to deal with it later. Living through the night was his main con­cern at the moment. Mathew gazed back toward the trees again and caught his breath. There were not five or six Orlocks, but twelve, converging on the house. They were no more than one hundred yards away now. He desper­ately needed to get Father Thomas's attention, but the priest was still watching the wall, trying to peer through the smoke. The answer came to him in the form of the tiny pebble he placed under his tongue a few minutes ear­lier. He took it out and flicked it at Father Thomas, hitting

  him on the leg. When the priest looked up, Mathew held up ten fingers, followed by two more. Puzzled, Father Thomas tilted his head to the side. Mathew repeated the signal and pointed in the direction the Orlocks were com­ing from. Father Thomas finally understood, nodded, and moved silently over to him.

  "How do you know?" he whispered.

  "I just do, that's all," Mathew whispered back. "There are twelve, Father—I counted."

  "Twelve?" the priest said, looking back at the road.

  "I swear it."

  Mathew could almost hear Father Thomas thinking.

  "All right," he finally whispered. "Wait until they're all inside the wall—fire, then change your position. We must make every shot count. I've told Collin and Daniel to hold their fire until they see us shoot first. Can you see how far the Orlocks are now?"

  Mathew checked again. "No more than fifty yards, but they're starting to spread out," he whispered.

  The corners of Father Thomas's mouth turned down and he looked at the road again. It was apparent all he could see was darkness and smoke.

  "Are you ready?"

  Mathew nodded.

  "Let's go," Father Thomas whispered.

  Mathew inched closer to the edge of the trees and saw the first Orlock climb over the wall, followed by another. Two more were coming in through the broken gate at the entrance, while still others were near the far end of the wall, close to where Collin and Daniel were hiding.

  He watched as an Orlock hefted a spear in his arm and threw it directly into one of the blankets. More spears fol­lowed, striking the other blankets.

  To his right, Father Thomas slowly got to his feet and took aim. The twang of the bowstring seemed entirely too loud in the night air. The Orlock closest to them let out a hissing sound and fell forward, trying to reach behind him to grab the arrow that was sticking out of his back. Mathew rose, willing his arms and legs to move, and fired his own arrow, dropping another Orlock. Surprised and confused at first, the Orlocks reacted much more quickly than he thought they would, immediately moving apart.

  Remembering Father Thomas's instructions, he dropped to the ground and crawled rapidly to his right. From the corner of his eye he saw two more Orlocks go down, clutching their chests, thanks to Daniel and Collin. The Orlocks began calling to each other in the peculiar language Mathew had heard before at Thad Layton's farm. Nearby, one of them yelled to his companions and pointed directly at him. A second later the creature clutched his throat, making a gurgling sound, when Collin's next shot found its target. There were five of them in the yard. The one who pointed at him rushed for­ward, with the rest following.

  Father Thomas stepped out from behind a tree, well to Mathew's left, his bow fully drawn, and called out, "Over here, you sacrilegious sons of goats."

  The Orlocks halted momentarily, and three of them broke off, running directly at Father Thomas.

  Both he and Mathew fired at the same time, dropping two more. Mathew darted to his left to try and help Father Thomas but was suddenly confronted by an Orlock crash­ing toward him wielding a double-bladed axe, its face twisted in rage. He drew his sword and braced himself as the creature raised its arms to strike. The timing would have to be perfect.

  What is the best time to attack? his father had asked him several years ago, just before a competition.

  A split second before your opponent does.

  Mathew lunged, piercing the creature through the chest. He immediately recovered and jumped to the side, pulling his weapon clear. The Orlock screamed in pain as the axe whistled past Mathew's head, missing him by just inches. It stumbled forward two more steps, collapsing to its knees, before it fell forward. Mathew turned to look for Father Thomas, but the moment he took a step, he felt something grab his ankle. He began to fall and instinc­tively threw out his hand. He hit the ground hard and

  twisted back around. The Orlock had a hold of him with one hand and was trying to pull a dagger out of its belt with the other. The same sick stench that he remembered so well filled his nostrils, making him want to gag. Un­able to break its grip, Mathew struck down with his blade as hard as he could, severing the Orlock's hand from its arm. The creature let out a horrible scream but, incredi­bly, started to climb to its feet with blood gushing from its wrist. Mathew scrambled to his knees and threw him­self forward, ramming his blade into the Orlock's chest, driving it backward. A pair of dead black eyes looked back up at him, filled with hate and pain. Saliva dripped from one corner of its mouth, and even in the last throes of death it raised its head, attempting to bite him. Then it let out a rattling breath a
nd stopped moving.

  Mathew got up, backing away from it, fighting to hold down his panic. His feet felt unsteady under him and he was breathing heavily. He searched the area again for Fa­ther Thomas, and with a shock realized that the strange green light was gone. There was no need for it just then because the sound of fighting to his right told him exactly where the priest was. Father Thomas was holding his own, but the two Orlocks had separated and were closing on him from opposite sides.

  Mathew dashed forward, covering the distance quickly. One of the Orlocks, hearing him, spun around. For a moment Mathew had the distinct impression it said, "There he is," but he had little time to consider it.

  The brief distraction was all Father Thomas needed. With a quick feint of his weapon, he smoothly shifted to the opposite line and lunged, killing the Orlock in front of him. Mathew skidded to a halt, coming to an on guard position, readying himself. A smile appeared on the Or-lock's white face. Its head almost seemed to be floating above its dark clothing. Some part of Mathew's mind reg­istered the difference in their dress from the last time he had encountered them; the other part was concerned with staying alive for the next few minutes.

  The point of the Orlock's sword moved from side to side in a slow, almost lazy motion as it came closer. The creature kept his eyes fixed on Mathew's chest as op­posed to his blade, completely undistracted by any of the small feints Mathew was making. It just kept moving to­ward him.

  A dull thud preceded shock on the Orlock's face as it looked down to see a blade protruding from its chest. It was dead before it hit the ground. Father Thomas placed his foot on the creature's back and pulled his weapon free.

  "Are you all right?" he asked, bending over to catch his breath.

  "Yes. What about you?"

  "I'm getting too old for this," he said, straightening up and wiping the sweat from his face. "Let's find the others."