Mark of Fire (The Endarian Prophecy Book 1)

by Richard Phillips

  “I would never stay with you in any capacity!” Kimber flashed.

  “Quiet, girl! This is a conversation between men.”

  “I think our discussion is over, Narush. We will be going now,” said Arn, rising to his feet.

  “I think not.”

  The two guards pulled their swords.

  Arn moved, his left hand lashing out, seizing the thumb on the sultan’s right hand, twisting it up and back. The sultan bellowed and dropped to his knees. The point of Arn’s blade pressed against Narush’s throat, causing him to tilt his head up. Other guards burst into the tent to face Ty’s ax, along with John’s and Kim’s upraised bows.

  “Tell them to back off.” Arn’s voice was a low growl, a prod from Slaken’s tip emphasizing his point.

  The small voice in Arn’s head screamed. Something was out of place. But what? He had control of the sultan. These people would not risk their leader for a slave. Still, his intuition told him something else.

  The guards backed slowly out of the tent. Still Arn’s inner sense cried out. He scanned his surroundings rapidly but could not identify what was wrong. As the last guard backed out through the entry flap, Arn forced the fat sultan to his feet, simultaneously moving behind him so that his knife hand encircled the man’s throat. Forcing Narush slowly toward the door, he felt the others move in close, their weapons ready.

  Then the tent collapsed.

  Arn hammered Slaken’s haft into the sultan’s skull, knocking him unconscious. Driving the knife upward through the tent, he discovered that the canvas was interwoven with thick cords that formed a stout net. As Slaken hung in the cords, the tent was pulled down from the outside, collapsing atop the ensnared group. Over and over they were rolled, the net-tent wrapping around Arn and his companions until they could barely move. Arn realized he was not going to be able to cut his way out in time.

  “Hey!” Arn yelled. “I have your sultan. Release us right now, or he is dead.”

  “Imbeciles,” a nearby voice sounded. “Do you really think we would bring armed strangers into our sultan’s tent? The man you have is merely one of the sultan’s men.”

  “Ah, crap,” Ty said. “If that doesn’t ruin a perfectly good meal.”

  “I can’t move,” John said.

  “None of us can,” said Ty.

  Arn considered killing the man that lay beneath him, but that would serve no purpose except to ensure his execution.

  Many rough hands seized the net and began methodically unrolling it, slapping chains on the wrists of those inside as they rolled free. A bald guard with a shaggy mustache began frisking the companions for weapons.

  As his hand moved toward Slaken, the former assassin’s voice interrupted him. “I wouldn’t do that. No one holds that knife but me.”

  “The deep, you say.”

  The guard slapped Arn roughly across the face as he jerked Slaken from his hand. As the man pulled away, his body went rigid, a cold black shadow sliding up his arm past the elbow. The guard stumbled backward, grabbing the knife handle with his other hand in a vain attempt to toss the weapon away. The shadow now engulfed both arms in an inky film. As obsidian spread across his chest and down his torso, the guard shrieked, a sound cut short by the disappearance of his head. Slaken landed on the ground with a thunk. The guard was gone.

  The onlookers stared in stunned silence, then reacted en masse, kicking and beating Arn, Ty, and John. The travelers were bound securely and dragged into the presence of a young man seated on a high-backed chair inside another lavishly furnished tent. The man sported an arrogant visage. Wearing turquoise-colored robes and a white turban, he leaned back in his ornately carved chair, one leg crossed over the other.

  With Arn’s wrists tied to his ankles behind his back, he lay on the floor beside John and Ty. Kim was nowhere to be seen.

  John cursed profusely, resulting in another beating until he quieted down.

  “I am Sultan Mallock,” the young man began.

  “Sure you are,” said John, who received several more kicks.

  “You will learn to watch your tongue,” said the sultan. “Then again, after tomorrow, it will not matter. You see, we are a sporting people. Rarely are we granted an opportunity for such sport as you will provide on your way from this world to the next.”

  Arn, Ty, and John remained silent.

  “It is really quite boring to have people killed without a contest, and since there is no reason for those involved to do their best unless they have a chance to escape with their lives, tomorrow I will host one such contest. You three will pick one champion to represent all. If your champion kills mine, then you three shall go free. If my champion kills yours, the other two shall be tortured slowly to death.”

  “What about the girl?” asked Arn.

  “In any case, she stays. Do not worry. She will be treated well, as are all my concubines.”

  “You vile pig!” shouted John.

  A kick to the head rendered John unconscious.

  “I think that one will not be in any condition to be chosen as your champion.” The sultan walked to where Ty lay. “But you certainly look strong. I gather that you will be the choice.”

  Ty started to speak, but Arn cut him off. “I’ll do the fighting.”

  Anger flashed across Ty’s face but faded almost instantly.

  The sultan looked surprised. “Now why would you not pick your strongest? Is it because you have seen Kaleb and realize even this man’s strength will be no match? Or do you think that maybe you can duck through his legs?” He erupted into laughter. “Take them out!”

  Guards dragged the three men out of the tent by their feet, tossing them into an iron cage mounted on the back of one of the wagons. With the clank of a heavy key turning the tumblers within a lock, the guards departed.

  Arn shifted so that he could see the other two. Blood flowed from John’s nose and mouth. He remained unconscious.

  “I’m getting sick and tired of you acting like you’re the only one who can fight,” said Ty. “I’d like to take my own chances against that big brute.”

  “Strength isn’t going to win this fight.”

  “And you will?”

  The eyes of the two men locked as they lay on the floor of the wagon. Arn’s reluctance to trust anyone but himself in a critical situation had come to the fore. The night passed slowly. Sleep came and went, hindered by the chained men’s cramping muscles.

  John awoke and groaned, his face swollen. “I’m going to kill these bastards if it’s the last thing I do.”

  Arn glanced over at him.

  “What in the deep is going on around here?” John asked.

  “Killer over there has volunteered to fight Kaleb,” Ty answered. “If he wins, we go free. If he loses, we die.”

  “Now I remember. The scum said he was going to keep Kim captive regardless. I won’t stand for it.”

  “Calm down,” said Arn. “We’ll have our chance.”

  “How do you figure?” asked Ty.

  “There’s always a moment when you have a chance to act. We just have to choose that time. Even a bad plan executed with shock can work.”

  “Well, I don’t see any plan, good or bad,” said Ty. “They’re going to have their little carnival today. Kaleb will kill you, and that’s that.”

  “If your scenario happens, then you’re right. But if I’m victorious, then at that instant there will be shock. That’s the moment when you have to act if we are to rescue Kim and escape.”

  John shook his head. “I don’t see what we can do in these chains.”

  “Quiet,” said Ty. “They’re coming.”

  A group of eight guards walked toward the wagon, stopping just behind it. One of these produced a key ring and unlocked the cage. Two others reached inside and dragged Arn out, letting him fall to the ground.

  “How about unchaining my feet so I can walk to the arena?” said Arn.

  “We intend to,” said the guard who had just dropped
him. “We want to give you a good chance to stretch out so you’ll give Kaleb a fight.”

  One of the guards took out a length of rope, tied a noose, and placed it around Arn’s throat. The one with the keys removed Arn’s wrist and ankle chains before putting the keys back in a pants pocket and tossing the chains aside.

  Arn struggled to his feet, stumbling backward against the guard as he rose. The guard slapped him across the face, the force of the blow knocking Arn against the cage.

  “Watch what you’re doing, clumsy fool.”

  Arn felt himself being grabbed by two other guards and hauled off between the rows of tents as the rest of the group trailed along.

  Ty watched as Arn disappeared behind the nearest tent. Beside him, John rolled away from the edge of the cage and grinned.

  “He did it!”

  Under John’s legs lay the guard’s key ring.

  Arn found himself pulled between the rows of colorful tents into a large, roped-off swale that formed a corral. He had passed this same enclosure upon entering the camp. Now it was empty, and a crowd of men, women, and children had seated themselves on surrounding sloped benches.

  Meat and other foods were roasting on spits around the outside of the arena, and the spectators were drinking heavily of wine. The crowd yelled loudly, and boos rained down as the guards dragged Arn into the arena. One of his guards removed the noose from his neck and then handed him a foot-long, bone-handled knife before leaving the arena to join the spectators.

  Arn looked around. Masses of armed men cut off all routes of escape. Just then, a loud cheer went up from the crowd. Into the far end of the arena strode the giant, Kaleb, holding a short sword in his right hand.

  Kaleb was bare-chested, wearing just a breechcloth around his waist. His skin gave way to a thick coat of black hair across his chest, shoulders, and back. He walked to within five feet of Arn and then halted, raising his sword in salute to the sultan. Arn did not follow his example.

  “To the death!” the sultan yelled.

  Another cheer rose from the crowd. The giant wheeled with incredible speed for a man his size, bringing the sword crashing down into the spot where Arn had just stood. He leapt backward just in time to avoid the blow.

  Kaleb continued his assault, driving the weapon toward Arn’s stomach. Arn pivoted, just avoiding the tip of the sword that would have impaled him as he lunged in with his knife. The giant parried upward with his bare arm, taking the cut but knocking Arn off his feet.

  Kaleb spun, lunging to the spot where Arn had fallen, driving the sword downward with such force that the air whooshed around the double-edged blade. Arn rolled to his right, regaining his feet as Kaleb’s sword struck the ground, the blade nicking his right shoulder. Sensing his advantage, Kaleb pressed his attack.

  Arn stumbled, seeming to lose his balance as he backpedaled. Kaleb lunged in for the kill. Arn changed direction, driving his body forward, his knife cutting an arc on its upward path into the fleshy part of Kaleb’s palm, passing all the way through the giant’s sword hand. The sword spun away into the dirt.

  Arn jerked down on the blade, turning his back to the giant with the intent of pulling the knife from Kaleb’s hand and back into his stomach. However, the knife had lodged between bones, causing the weapon to hang momentarily. Arn jerked again and the knife came free, but the delay had been too long.

  The giant’s left hand seized him around the arm and waist. As Arn pulled the knife free, Kaleb grabbed Arn’s wrist with his injured hand. Arn felt himself lifted off his feet while facing forward and crushed against the behemoth’s body. Kaleb gripped Arn’s extended right hand.

  A yell of victory issued from the giant’s mouth as he slowly began driving Arn’s knife hand back toward his own body. Unable to drop the knife, Arn called upon every ounce of his strength. Muscles in his arms and shoulders knotted, stretching his skin. Beads of sweat rolled down his forehead and into his eyes. Arn hammered his head backward into the giant behind him, only to have it bounce harmlessly off the massive chest.

  Arn tried to kick a knee or groin, but could not damage the first or reach the latter. The knife slowly advanced. The tip of the blade touched his stomach. As it did, Arn twisted. Pulling with all his strength, Arn forced the blade through his own side and into Kaleb’s stomach.

  With a yell of surprise and pain, the giant relaxed his grip, trying to push the knife out and away. As the grip loosened, Arn’s body dropped, causing the blade to rip downward. Agony exploded through his brain as impact with the ground twisted the knife that impaled him. The giant fell across Arn’s body.

  Kaleb was dying but not yet dead. His huge hand reached out, grabbed Arn’s throat, and squeezed. Arn’s eyes bulged as his windpipe threatened to collapse. Pulling the blade from his own body, Arn ripped upward, driving the blade into the left eye socket of the huge man. With a final shudder, Kaleb went limp.

  Arn pushed the heavy body off his own and staggered to his feet. A hush fell over the crowd, stunned by what they had just witnessed. Arn glanced down. A thick redness poured from the hole in his side. He felt dizzy, taking a step forward only to stumble to his knees.

  A wild commotion broke out. A herd of camels and horses stampeded into the crowd, trampling people beneath their hooves and raising a dust cloud. A stallion emerged from the melee; on its back, Ty. A guard with a spear jumped in front of the Kanjari, only to be trampled beneath the hooves of the running stallion.

  Through a reddish haze, Arn saw arrows sprout from the chests and backs of armed men as a distant minstrel strummed his bow. As Arn tumbled forward, he felt himself seized by a strong hand and lifted upward into an enfolding blanket of darkness. Around him, screams faded to silence.

  Ty supported Arn’s limp body with his left arm. Nudging the stallion with his right knee, he sent it spinning hard left, barely breaking stride as it raced back into the confused crowd.

  Five men fronted the sultan, long spears anchored against the ground, sharp tips pointing out toward the rapidly approaching horse. Behind them, Mallock struggled to maintain his grip on Kim as she bit, clawed, and kicked in an effort to free herself.

  As the stallion reached the soldiers, Ty leaned forward over the horse’s neck, somehow managing the feat despite holding Arn’s limp body in his left arm. Swinging his great ax out in front of the animal’s head, he cleanly severed spear tips from shafts. Without effective pikes to bar his progress, the palomino stallion struck the middle three soldiers with his mighty chest, sending their broken bodies cartwheeling away.

  Letting go of Kim, the sultan scrambled backward. With a simultaneous touch of both heels, Ty brought the stallion to a skidding halt, rearing high in the air. A flying hoof caved in the side of the sultan’s head, eliminating the man’s interest in the Endarian for all time.

  As Kim leapt up behind Ty, the two remaining guards rushed forward. One stumbled to his knees and then fell facedown, an arrow’s shaft jutting from his back. Ty’s ax met the charge of the other.

  The stallion bolted forward again as Ty guided him back into the midst of the panicked nomads. A group of men with bows had formed behind him, but now held their fire for fear of hitting their own people. Ty burst out of the crowd and rounded the first line of tents, weaving through them as he rode, using the structures to cover his retreat to the river. Ahead, he could see that John had crossed the river, leading two horses behind his.

  The palomino stallion galloped into the water, pounding across the shallow ford and up the far bank. Ty glanced back over his shoulder to see a large group of riders rushing past the tents. Returning his attention to the front, Ty pulled up beside John just long enough to let Kim transfer to one of the other horses. Then they were off again at full speed, Ty supporting Arn’s body and John pulling Arn’s horse along behind him.

  They entered the trees and immediately hit the steep, shale-covered slope that ran to the top of the ridge. Ty led the way up at a full run. The others fanned out to avoid the tumbling rocks
and shale that cascaded down behind him. The horses were now beginning to labor, white sweat foaming where the riders sat. The Kanjari turned between two cliffs and emerged atop the first ridge.

  This turned out to be a finger of land that jutted outward along a header canyon. He turned right, following the ridgeline up to the south. The horses were blowing hard but seemed happy to stretch out into a run along the gently sloping terrain they now traversed.

  The group entered a thick grove of juniper trees and turned left, thundering down into the wooded canyon. Ty pulled to a halt under an overhanging cliff and jumped from the big horse, carrying Arn with him. He put his hand over the stallion’s muzzle, signaling the others to do the same with their mounts. The horse’s heavy breathing seemed exceedingly loud, but the noise of horses running over the rocks above drowned out the sound. Chunks of stone clattered down the hill, landing in the canyon bottom close to where Ty and the others waited. The rumbling faded into the distance as the riders raced on up the ridge.

  Ty bent down to examine the wound in Arn’s side. Blood still ran from the puncture on both sides, leaving Arn as pale as death. Ty tore the assassin’s shirt into two pieces, wadding them into both sides of the puncture and binding them in place with a long strip from Arn’s leggings. The measure was crude but would have to do.

  Leaping astride his stallion, Ty reached down as John lifted Arn’s unconscious body up to him. When John and Kim had mounted their own horses, he wheeled and followed the canyon down toward the river, paralleling the ridge they had just climbed. They soon found themselves in the thick trees at the bottom of the hills. Ty turned north, staying in the dense brush until he turned up a streambed, climbing back toward the mountains to their east.

  Though it was just after noon, long shadows shrouded the canyon floor. Except for the splashing of the horses in the stream and the clip-clop of hooves on wet rocks, only the changing call of a mockingbird broke the silence. Ty stopped in a small glade and handed Arn down to John.