Mark of Fire (The Endarian Prophecy Book 1)

by Richard Phillips

  It took a little over an hour to find their spot under an overhanging ledge on the ridge south of Far Castle. Alan volunteered to hunt, while Carol gathered firewood.

  When Alan later emerged from the arroyo immediately to the west, holding a rabbit in each hand, she could hardly believe their good fortune. She had almost forgotten what it was like to eat. She had started a fire among twigs and branches. After packing the precious tinderbox and flint back into Alan’s pack, she sat back.

  When the rabbits had reached a golden brown over the fire, Carol reached out to grab the spit nearest to her. As she did, Alan’s foot kicked it out of her hand and into the dirt, followed closely by the other rabbit.

  “Vorgs!” Alan quietly exclaimed as he kicked dirt over the fire.

  Carol quickly rose. Rounding the bend in the valley about a tenth of a league away, four vorgs approached on horseback. The leader pulled his horse to a stop and pointed up the hill toward Alan and Carol.

  She grabbed Alan’s shoulder. “Come on! They see us already!”

  “No use running. Just wait on them.”

  Alan lifted his ax from its place against the rock wall. Carol glanced at her empty quiver and useless bow and drew her hunting knife instead.

  The vorgs spread out and began trotting their horses up the hill toward the duo. As they reached a point about two hundred paces away, the leader suddenly yelled, wheeled his horse, and galloped across the valley, followed closely by the other vorgs.

  Carol pointed along the ridgeline to their east. “Look.”

  Six of Rafel’s rangers trotted down the slope toward them. Leading the group was Derek Scot, a young sergeant who was rapidly developing a reputation in the elite company.

  “Mighty glad to see you, Derek,” Alan said as the ranger dismounted.

  “Lorness Carol. Lord Alan. I’m surprised at you two,” Derek said. “You know better than to make a fire in country like this. You could have attracted a lot worse than those four.”

  “Looks like we did,” said Alan, reaching over to slap Derek on the back.

  “Hop up behind us, and we’ll get you back to the caravan. It’s a half-day’s ride back to the east. Take some jerky and water.”

  Carol ate as she rode, her left arm wrapped firmly around Derek’s waist. She found that she could not eat as much as she thought. Still, the jerky tasted better than a venison steak. The group moved off across the valley with the rangers spreading out before them as scouts, way out to each side and to the front.

  She caught sight of Rafel’s camp just before dusk. Never had a group of dusty wagons looked so good. As the group rode in, the high lord met them, clasping hands with Alan and then turning to sweep Carol up in his arms.

  “Gaar,” Rafel said, “go roust that lazy old cook, Maxwell, and get these two something to eat. I won’t have my only son and daughter looking like inadequately stuffed scarecrows.”

  The thought of the two lost outriders dampened the joy Carol felt at her return. “I’m sorry we couldn’t save Dale and Griffith,” she said. “The vorgs cut them down right in front of me.”

  Rafel placed a hand on her shoulder. “They were fine warriors. They will be missed.”

  Carol and Alan shared a meal and a long discussion with their father, then Carol bid good night to the others and flopped into the back of her wagon for a much-needed sleep.

  She awoke the next morning to the clanging of pots and pans. The cooks were busily readying breakfast in the darkness before the dawn. The smells of bacon and hot coffee filled Carol’s nostrils as she inhaled. She shivered, as much from the pleasure of being back with friends and family as from the morning air.

  Feeling around in her wagon, she found the pouch containing her prized toiletries. She made her way to the small stream that ran through the camp and set about cleaning up. The water left her gasping as she splashed it over her face and neck, seeming far too cold not to be frozen. Still, she attacked the task of washing with vigor. By the time she was satisfied, her hands ached with a dull throb that made it painful to close her fingers.

  By now, most of the camp was awake and moving about. The last guard shift made its way back, the scouts having already ridden out in preparation for the caravan moving out. Carol made her way to Hawthorne’s wagon.

  “Why don’t you ride on the seat beside me today, and you can tell me all about your adventures while we travel,” he suggested to her. “Tonight, we’ll begin to focus on some of the more advanced lessons. That was my intention before you and your brother got yourselves lost.”

  “I need to pack my wagon, Hawthorne, and then I’ll return.”

  With that, Carol walked back and packed her things away for the day’s travel. After pulling out her notebook, along with her quill and ink, she headed to Hawthorne’s wagon.

  As the day passed, the column began moving down out of the hills. The trees changed from pines to juniper, and then these gave way to scrub. As they crested a small rise, Carol could see a river running along the base of the hills. On the far side a vast desert stretched away to the west.

  “The Mogev Desert,” Hawthorne said.

  “I’ve never heard you mention it. How are we going to get across?” she asked.

  “There are watering holes for those who know where to find them,” said Hawthorne.

  “Have you been here before?”

  “No, but I have something that will help.”

  Hawthorne handed her the reins and leaned back, fishing under the canvas until he found his large bag. He began digging around inside, whistling softly under his breath.

  “Ah-hah. Here it is.”

  He pulled out a small wooden box, opening it to reveal a forked twig just larger than his thumb. He filled a cup with water and floated the twig on its surface. The pointed end swung around until it pointed directly ahead, toward the river.

  “A water scryer,” Hawthorne said. “It points to the closest water source.”

  “This is excellent. How does it work?”

  “The creators of magical devices spend an extraordinary amount of time perfecting their craft and guard their secrets jealously. Most wielders never take the time to try to discover new methods, instead relying on their regular spells. That is also why magical devices are so rare and costly. They are said to be some things in this world of great power.

  “To create a device with a powerful spell would mean casting the spell again and again as you searched for the right nuance, the correct permutation. As you know, the more advanced the spell, the harder it is to control an elemental. Trying to create too great a magic device would most likely end with the wielder making a mistake that allowed the elemental to possess him. Or her.”

  “Incredible,” Carol said. “I had no idea that such arts even existed.”

  “They exist. Put them out of your mind for now. You must first master casting before being able to think about trying to make even the simplest magical item. What level of magic have you reached at this point? Two spells?”

  “Okay. I get your point.”

  Although Carol had been meaning to ask Hawthorne about the growing sense of fatigue she felt, she decided against it. Her mentor was under enough pressure, repairing wards as Blalock damaged them, to be bothered with trivialities. Yet her tiredness was making the practice of spell-casting more difficult.

  Toward dusk, the line of wagons pulled up alongside the river. As his people made camp, Rafel sent word that the caravan would celebrate tomorrow’s coming of spring and the start of the new year with a few days of rest by the river. Meanwhile the rangers would scout for watering holes. One group would be given Hawthorne’s water scryer.

  Carol made her way over to the row of fires and was rewarded with steaming-hot coffee. Avoiding the handle, Carol cupped both hands around the iron cup, letting the warmth steal through her palms and up her arms. She brought the cup to her lips and sipped as Alan strode up to the fire.

  “Father’s called a meeting in his tent,” said Al
an. “He sent me to get you.”

  “What about?”

  “He didn’t say.”

  Carol refilled her cup and followed Alan around the campfires, dodging the scurrying cooks, to where Rafel’s tent stood. Inside, Jason, Broderick, and Hawthorne sat on the tarp spread across the ground, while Gaar remained standing to Rafel’s left.

  Rafel motioned for Alan and Carol to sit, then began speaking.

  “Jaradin Scot is missing. Four days ago, he led his ranger team on a deep reconnaissance mission to the north. They should have been back yesterday.”

  “I don’t like it,” Broderick said. “Jaradin’s too damned good to be late like this. I sent an entire squad north to see what happened. They’re due back tomorrow. In the meantime, I’m having a tough time trying to keep Derek in line. He’s mad as a snake that I didn’t send him out after his brother. But if I had sent him, he wouldn’t come back until he found Jaradin.”

  “You did the right thing,” Rafel responded. “We can’t afford to lose both of the Scot boys. As good as Jaradin is, Derek’s better. We’re going to need him in the weeks ahead.”

  “I’ve put him in charge of one of the desert reconnaissance teams,” said Broderick. “I assigned Alan to his team to keep an eye on him. They leave first thing in the morning.”

  “Why haven’t you used Hawthorne to locate Jaradin?” Carol asked.

  The wielder spoke. “I’m working so hard maintaining the block against Blalock that I haven’t got the strength to cast another spell. The only reason I’ve been able to hang on for this long is by occasionally borrowing some of your strength. I established our mental link for this cause.”

  “You haven’t slept since we started the journey?” asked Carol.

  “I’m able to doze some and still maintain my concentration. When I’m too tired, I siphon some of your energy.”

  “So that’s why I’ve felt so tired,” Carol said, feeling anger that the wielder hadn’t explained what he was doing earlier. Her permission should have been asked.

  “It’s also why I was surprised that you were able to cast your spells at all,” Hawthorne continued.

  The look on Rafel’s face showed that he did not like the current conversation. Carol knew that he didn’t understand or fully trust magic and was greatly worried that she could be destroyed by forces beyond her control.

  Carol made her way back to her tent and crawled into her blankets without bothering to remove her clothes. As her head sank to the ground, sleep wrapped her in its arms.

  12

  Central Borderland Range

  YOR 413, Early Spring

  Morning found Arn riding up the steep side of a narrow, rocky canyon. During the night, he had traveled into country that grew rougher by the hour but that had received far less snow than the canyon where he had encountered the vorgs.

  Ax continued to move with power, seeming to have an infinite reservoir of stamina. The horse needed little guidance from his rider. Arn found that once Ax understood the general direction Arn wanted to go, he would continue that way, selecting the best route as they traveled. This left Arn free to listen and watch for danger.

  Dawn came, and as the day passed, the ground over which Arn traveled grew rockier. Juniper trees beat back the pines. The sounds of Arn’s passage startled several deer, sending them bounding away.

  The day was the warmest in several weeks, and the snow was disappearing rapidly. Small streams rushed along canyon bottoms that would have been dry without the recent snow.

  Across the way, Arn saw a herd of bighorn sheep browsing, apparently not disturbed by his presence. The large ram with the sheep watched him with sharp eyes, looking for any sign of dangerous intent. A lone eagle passed overhead, swooping down onto the opposite hillside to snatch up a rabbit in its claws.

  Arn thought about the problem at hand. Charna was persistent. That meant that the vorgs were probably back on his trail. He was confident that he could lose them once the ground dried sufficiently to make tracking difficult, but that would not happen for another couple of days.

  Another option was to let the horse go and lose them on foot in extremely rough terrain. Arn did not like either of these ideas. He wanted to get to Horse Head Rock as quickly as possible, so he did not have time to wait for the ground to dry. He had also grown fond of the horse he rode. Ax was the most tireless animal he had ever known.

  Arn had a better plan. He surveyed the steep cliffs higher up on the hillside. Layer upon layer of rocky outcroppings jutted toward the rim.

  He nudged Ax with his heels, guiding the horse up between the cliffs. There was no real trail here, and loose shale covered the ground. Ax paused to select the best footing, then plunged ahead to the next section of firm ground. Here, the cliffs closed onto a two-foot-wide ledge.

  Arn guided the horse along the ledge and around a bend. To his right, a two-hundred-foot drop plunged toward the bottom of the canyon. He leaned back in the saddle and looked up. Above him the cliffs rose several hundred feet, separated one from the other by slides of loose shale. Mountain-goat country.

  The path widened, climbing more steeply. Arn came to a place where the cliffs above him split into a narrow chute, extremely steep but possible to climb. He dismounted, grabbed the reins, and began scrambling up the rocky chute, pulling Ax behind him. The trail was even more treacherous than it had appeared from below.

  He looked down the chute that he and Ax had just climbed. Arn smiled. This would do perfectly.

  He hobbled Ax in a lush meadow atop the rim. Then, after a quick glance around to mark the spot, he returned to the gorge, making his way back to the top of the chute. Arn positioned himself on the uphill side of a loose boulder.

  The vorgs came into sight just as the sun rose high enough to illuminate the bottom of the canyon. An even dozen, they rode toward him along the path that Arn had taken. Charna rode in front, bending low over the side of her bay horse, studying the ground. The vorgs followed single file up the narrow trail, their eyes nervously scanning the canyon walls.

  Arn ducked back from the ledge, focusing his attention down the chute to the spot where the trail widened. The sound of horses’ hooves on the stones reached his ears long before any of the vorgs came into view on the path. Charna appeared first, followed closely by three others. More horses crowded close to hers as she paused to study the ground at the base of the chute. With a look of sudden understanding, she looked up.

  Arn stepped out of his hiding place and hoisted the head-shaped rock high, sending it flying into the tree branch that held a boulder in place. As the branch splintered, the rock began to roll, followed by a cascade of stones in a bounding torrent.

  Charna spun her horse, knocking two other vorgs off the trail and over the cliff. She plunged back down the narrow path right into a line of her warriors. Pulling her battle-ax from its place on her saddle, she beheaded the first vorg, knocking its rearing horse over the cliff.

  The rockslide hit the group of five vorgs who had crowded behind her on the wide part of the trail, sweeping them away.

  Arn began running along the path back toward the rim of the canyon. As he feared, the vibrations from the landslide had dislodged other rocks higher on the canyon walls, sending them plunging down toward him. Wandering preachers gathering their congregations, they charged into the canyon. Arn feared that some of these secondary slides would overtake him, but he soon realized he was out of danger.

  At the rim, he paused to survey the scene below. Except for the occasional boulder still bounding down the rock walls, most of the slide had ceased. A pall of dust hung in the air. Just then, three riders emerged at the bottom of the canyon heading, their horses galloping back to the east. Arn could not see who had survived. As badly as he wanted to make sure that Charna was dead, his exhaustion prevented him from pursuing the fleeing vorgs. It was time to return to his companions.

  Arriving at the meadow where he had tied Ax, he soon had the horse saddled and his pack fastened.
Mounting up, he turned back to the west. Here, the traveling proved easier. The rim of the canyon transformed into a large, flat tableland that gave way to tree-covered hills and gentle valleys.

  He camped that night beside a stream that ran through a mountain meadow.

  The next morning passed as Horse Head Rock grew from a distant object to tower over Arn. The base of the rock was a forested hill. An adjoining river ran to the west. He headed toward this and soon spied a camp. Ty stepped into the trail ahead.

  “Arn! Is that you? Hey, John. Come look at what the dog drug home. Whew! Don’t get too close, though, or the smell will knock you over.”

  John emerged from behind a tree and lowered his bow. Arn dismounted and led his horse to where Ty stood. His extended hand was met by a forearm grip that belied the Kanjari’s scornful words.

  “You weren’t kidding, were you, Ty,” John said, waving his hand in front of his face to shoo away the flies that circled Arn.

  “I tell you what,” Ty said. “We allow Arn to go off alone for a couple of days, looking fine and riding one of my good horses, and he comes back riding a damned werebeast and smelling bad enough to make a vorg gag.”

  “To tell you the truth,” said Arn, “I forgot that you had the princess with you. I wanted to make you feel like you were still back home with your families.”

  A broad grin spread across Ty’s bronzed face. He whacked Arn on the back with a welcoming slap that made John cough from the cloud of dust that puffed into his face.

  Arn felt a wash of relief over no longer being alone.

  “Where in the world did you get that coat?” John asked. “Why don’t you let me take it out and shoot it?”

  “No need for that, John,” Ty said. “It’s been dead for a long time. Just burn it.”

  “Okay,” said Arn, “I’ll go down to the river and wash, but only on the condition that you both shut up long enough to prepare something to eat. I’m starved.”

  “Deal,” said John.

  Arn left the others and walked down toward the water. Dipping in a hand he discovered that it was as icy as he had expected. He shed all his clothes and plunged in, dragging the garments in as well. He forced himself to stay submerged long enough to clean himself and his clothes thoroughly. By the end of his bath, his feet ached from the chill.