“What do you think happened to him?” asked Baram.
“Who knows?” I shrugged, “Maybe he took a different route. Or maybe he spotted us somehow and even now watches us as we wait for him.” Baram’s eyes scanned outwards to the land upon my last remark.
“But we cannot just leave it like this,” he protested.
“What choice do we have?” I returned. “He will make his move sooner or later, and when he does, we will just have to be ready for him,” Baram still did not look too pleased with the answer he got, but it was the only one I could offer at present. I felt the need to say something further as he was obviously having some difficulty accepting the fact that we were being followed. I reached out a hand and placed it upon my fur-cloaked friend’s shoulder.
“Baram, remember that time when we thought we were being followed by bandits near to Ashcorn in the south?” Baram beamed a huge grin to show that he did.
“And what did it turn out to be?” I asked.
“You know very well it was that girl. The one who sold us that rope if I remember rightly,” Baram’s grin turned quickly into a scowl.
“Even to this day I still do not see why you had to bring her with us. It was only half a day’s ride back to her old village, but you kept her with us for a full five days!” he pointed accusingly.
“Well, how was I supposed to know that she would be so taken with my charms? We had only spent the one night together, and besides I did not fancy escorting her back to Shrippel. We were heading for Nashmere if you remember rightly, and she wanted to go.”
“Only because of you!” added Baram “I doubt that she had ever envisioned visiting the place before you happened along, and you left her there!”
“Well, I could have hardly kept her with me forever now could I? I mean what kind of a man do you take me for?” Baram’s eyebrows almost hit his helmet in surprised disbelief as Jaramel turned his head and bade us silence.
“When you two have quite finished, someone approaches.”
Baram and I had inadvertently moved to a sitting position during our conversation, but now we lay as flat as leaves on the ground as we cautiously peered over the edge of the rock.
Below us were two bedraggled looking people, one man, one woman, both middle-aged and as far as I could tell, farmers by appearance. The man was holding onto one end of a thick threadbare rope, the other end of which was tied loosely around the neck of a heavily burdened and fatigued looking donkey where the woman sat. We all watched silently as the peasant farmers shuffled slowly around the bend and disappeared from view.
“Well,” said Baram, “I don’t think they were the ones that were following us.”
“Nor I”, I sighed in reply.
“Should we make a move then?” suggested Baram.
“Let’s wait just a few more moments,” I answered back. “The last thing those two looked like they could do with, is three armed men suddenly appearing out from the trees.”
After taking several moments to collect our horses, we soon left our uneventful ambush position behind us as we continued northwards along the road.
It was not long before we drew near the couple we had spied from our positions upon the rock. As we approached, the two moved from the road and stood in the muddy earth with heads bowed low as they waited for our passing. As we passed, I could see them clearly for who they were, a poverty-stricken man and woman not much older than I but with bodies aged far beyond their years. I could only imagine what hardships they had endured as I left them to their own ends and continued with ours.
Our path continued to snake its way through the trees until after turning one particular bend, a clearing came into view at the far end of the road. We had journeyed about half way towards this clearing when a group of northern warriors on horseback suddenly rode into view on the straight of the path directly ahead of us!
I cursed our luck as I continued to watch the line increasing its length as more and more horsemen joined the rear of the column that was approaching us.
“Taragon?” It was Baram’s uneasy voice from behind that came to question my intentions. The road was far too narrow to just ride past the approaching threat, and if we were to suddenly turn back or disappear into the trees it might arouse their suspicions enough for a for pursuit
It was then that I remembered the actions of the two peasant people we had passed. “Quick! Onto the mud at the side of the road,” I urged, “and as they pass, lower your gaze!”
Jaramel and Baram quickly responded to my will by following my lead and moving Anvil and Udos on to the muddy banks at the side of the road to hopefully await the swift passing of the northerners. We did not have to wait long...
The thud of a hundred horsemen shook the earth beneath us as Jaramel, Baram, and myself lowered our heads at the approach of our enemies.
But with curiosity winning me over, I could not help but look towards the lone rider at the forefront of the line. Sitting astride a great white charger, this impressive looking man wore a magnificent cloak of fur that rivalled Baram’s in its splendour; the only difference being that the one he wore almost matched his horse in colour and was as red as blood. I only managed to catch a glimpse of the black studded leather armour he wore under the cloak, but I did take particular notice of the huge double battle-axe that was strapped to the flanks of his horse. The man himself must have been as tall as I, but looked much stronger and more powerfully built. He had hard chiselled features set about his square-jawed face, and he wore his long blonde hair freely so that it flowed backwards over his cloak. But by far his most noteworthy feature had to be the way he had decorated the top half of his head with some kind of black paint as if he was wearing half a dark mask. A quick glance behind him showed the faces of the line of warriors that followed mirroring a similar patterning. The man had now ridden level to where I waited, and his cold hard stare was upon me. I thought that now would be a good time not to test my luck any further and I cast my eyes to the ground in almost a bowing motion to appease him. This seemed to suffice, as I held my breath the line did not stop but continued to pass and pass. If I had been counting, I would have totalled the procession of warriors to number in their hundreds before the last of them finally cantered by.
“Phew… I thought they were going to stop for sure,” puffed Baram in relief as he watched the last of the line disappear along the road.
“And why would they?” I asked with a beaming grin as I turned to my friend. “I mean who would believe that the south would send an invasion force of three to assault the North all by themselves?” Baram frowned and then scratched his head in the usual place just under his fur-trimmed helmet before grinning back and slowly nodding in understanding.
“Then if we are lucky,” Baram implied, “then we might never even have to draw our weapons again in our search.”
“If we are that lucky my good friend,” I smiled, “then the Gods will surely be riding with us. What do you think young Jaramel? Do you know of any Gods that owe you any favours?” I turned to see our apprentice wizard staring back along the road in the direction of the departing warriors.
“Jaramel?” I questioned again. The brown robed mage turned his unreadable face complete with fiery stare back in our direction
“Those men,” he began, “do you think they ride to Vorgannon’s side?”
“You can count on it!” answered Baram sternly with a nod.
“Then perhaps the invasion of the South is near to hand,” Jaramel’s voice was edged with a sudden apprehension that I had not heard before.
“If it hasn’t begun already,” added Baram glumly as some far off thought lowered his head.
“Then what are we doing standing around talking like old maids in the sun for?” I complained, “There are at least several places near to Ranak-Lore that I want to still be there upon my return. Come, let’s ride!”
Leaving the army behind us, we cantered ahead into the very next clearing, and I suddenly wished that we
had not, as it was full of armed warriors! The area turned out to be the first defensive line for a large fortified town that sat at its centre. Jantar’s markings had never shown this. With fifty pairs of eyes already upon us, we had little option but to proceed.
“Everyone keep calm,” I whispered quietly.
Through slow progress, we made our start across the clearing. Groups of hardened men were spread about the glade like puddles in a rainstorm. Together they looked like some kind of rear guard. As lined along one section of the area was a convoy of about thirty cloth covered wagons, and most of the activity seemed to be centred around these. As we continued our uneasy crossing of the glade, I watched as rows of poorly dressed people queued in shabby coloured lines to place what food they held into the back of the wagons. Some placed chickens in straw bound baskets, whilst others carried grain sacks, one even led a cow into line, but every man woman and even child were being herded, and coerced by more of the black-faced warriors who circled around them like Wolvern.
Halfway across the clearing and we came upon the town, although not much could be seen beyond the wall that encompassed it, although it still gave the impression that it was large enough and sturdy enough to support a large number of warriors over an extended period of time. Not that they should be worried about any attack from the south, after all, they were the ones who were planning an invasion. No, this wooden fortified wall was probably built without even the south in mind. A more likely explanation for its construction would be to keep various warring neighbours and Wolvern away from their door. Apart from this, no other defences could be seen, except of course for the few guards who watched with lazy interest from their positions above us.
I looked ahead and spied the road that would lead us from this place. How it beckoned like food to the starving, and even more unbelievably it seemed we were going to make it.
A sudden realisation of the predicament we were in dawned upon me like the rising of a new sun. Here we were, three Southerners on a quest to take back an artefact from the north, surrounded by warriors who would probably tear us limb from limb if knowledge of our true identities were revealed to them, and here we were walking amongst them and with hardly a second glance in our direction! To my surprise, we had even received one or two nods of acknowledgement from some of the warriors, mainly aimed in Baram’s direction.
Looking at some of the faces of the men. I would have been hard pressed to tell what clan they belonged to if it was not for their facial markings. Most wore leather armour adorned here and there with the occasional fur cloak for warmth, but others had all assortments of mismatched armour and weapons, some of which were probably taken from past encounters. If it was not for the fact that our own faces were not half coloured black we could have probably sat amongst them and drunk of their ale. For now, I would be just content to leave this clearing unchallenged.
And then as if some demon of bad luck had been listening in on my thoughts, I heard the shouted call directed at us from behind.
“YOU THREE!” Turning to face the challenge, I was greeted with the sight of four northern horsemen riding towards us. One of the men, a short, balding man whose evil expression would have made a Wolvern turn and run spoke aloud.
“Where do you think you're going?” demanded the man as he cast his eyes over our group one by one before glaring back to me. I offered my reply.
“We are men of coin, and need to journey along this road to meet up with our master.” I thought it was as good a time as any to try out my mercenary theory, I just hoped Jaramel remembered his tongue.
“Oh, and who is this man you refer too?” The warrior’s voice was full of scepticism and his two companions who were just as ugly appeared a little too eager to act, as restless hands moved dangerously close to their weapons.
“His name is Olaf Ironfist,” I replied, “a giant of a man who wears a spiked gauntlet upon one fist.” The balding warrior immediately spat on the ground upon hearing Olaf’s name.
“I have heard of this man,” he exclaimed aloud with eyes blazing, “a bastard of a man who steals everything he can in Vorgannon’s name!”
“Aye that would be him,” nodded Baram in a voice much rougher sounding than usual.
The northern warrior nodded his head and grinned an evil grin to complement the rest of his features. “You are his men then?” The disbelief was still there but not as much as before.
“We are,” I stated.
“Him too,” the jerk of his head was directed towards Jaramel, I then immediately replied for fear of Jaramel’s intervention but then wished that I had slowed my quick response.
“He is,” I said hastily, then followed up with a more casual reply, “His name is Yorvak, a mute I’m afraid. A wizard of minor reputation who has a liking for burning things.” From the corner of my eye, I saw Jaramel raise his lowered head to meet the man’s stare. The following reaction was almost instantaneous from the hardened warrior, as he sat bolt upright in his saddle whilst trying to hold Jaramel’s fiery stare.
I could see the man’s discomfort written upon his face, as I remembered my own when I had first beheld Luka’s gaze.
“The last thing he reduced to ashes were two of the south’s border guards as they tried to halt our progress while fleeing into the north,” I warned. The man thought on this then turned his gaze from Jaramel back to me.
“You’re southerners then?” accused the warrior.
I shook my head at his accusation. “We are both outcasts and criminals, and those who cannot wait to see the bastard south crushed under the heel of the north,” I spoke with such emotion that I almost convinced myself over my words.
The warrior’s spokesperson grinned another evil grin.
“My kind of people,” he replied, “Be on your way then, but tell that bastard dog of a boss of yours that his welcome in the north will only last as long as Vorgannon’s word holds.”
“I’ll be sure he gets the message,” I replied.
The four warriors left us as quickly as they appeared and headed back towards the caravan’s rear, leaving us free to turn our steeds onto the northern road.
“Minor reputation?” questioned Jaramel as we stepped onto the road.
Chapter Twelve:
Night once again passed with uneasy sleep, but this time within the familiar comforts of surrounding trees, although the noisy nocturnal beasts of the forest did their best to make it plainly obvious that we were not welcome guests within their domain. Nevertheless, I had awoken to the new day with a more positive attitude. I think walking through an encampment of northern warriors with hardly a challenge had something to do with it! Even Baram seemed more confident and had started humming a cheery early morning tune as he rolled up his bed.
After a scant breakfast we set off again, our pace was comfortable as we journeyed through a vast forest that was marked by many tree symbols on Jantar’s map. As I studied the map for what seemed like the fiftieth time, I estimated that we would be clear of the forest by the end of this day’s journey. Then would then take us before a great open plain which led straight into the Dead Lands themselves, and hopefully to the Soul Crystal.
I had just put Jantar’s map away whilst my mind contemplated the problem of how low our food supplies were getting when I was totally taken aback by my arm suddenly and violently thrusting upwards by its own accord! The instant this happened I heard a resounding clang on the outside of my buckler shield. Sometimes I almost forgot it was there, with its comforting glow of radiating magical energy, it almost felt like second nature as I slid it on my arm every morning. I stopped Storm and began turning the shield over to inspect it further. The last thing I wanted was a defective magical buckler to suddenly erupt in green flames upon my arm! What was it that Jaramel had said about the extraordinary shield…air something or other?
Unexpectedly, once again my arm found a will of its own, and thrust itself upwards towards my head just as another metallic clang rang out! This time my sense
s recovered from the dull sleep that still fogged my head as I recalled Jaramel’s words.
“Master Luka would tell you more of its origins. But basically, it should provide you with some protection against air harm. I believe it to mean things that fly through the air.”
I quickly searched the ground beneath me, and immediately located objects of my search; two thin long shafted black arrows lay in the dirt just behind Storm, one a short distance from the other.
“AMBUSH!” I cried aloud, as I looked ahead I saw Baram fall painfully from his horse to the ground. Fear for Baram, frustration for not realising it sooner, and anger at whoever it was attacking us, washed over me like water in a fast flowing stream. Kicking hard at the flanks of Storm I galloped forwards to go to my fallen friend’s aid. But Jaramel was already at his side by the time I swung down from my horse, the young apprentice was holding up his cloak like a shield in front of the weaponsmith. I noticed it rigid and unmoving in the breeze. My eyes first darted swiftly towards the heavy foliage by the side of the road before turning to my friend.
“I’m ok Taragon, the bastard shot me in the leg.” Baram’s face grimaced in pain, and his voice was strained as I looked down to inspect the long black arrow shaft that had embedded itself deep into his left thigh.
“It’s in deep…it will need to be cut out, but not here.” My eyes again scanned the menacing darkness beyond the greenery of the roadside. Nothing…nothing betrayed any sign of where our attacker might be hiding.
“Do you think he’s gone?” enquired Jaramel with some difficulty through gritted teeth. Another arrow almost immediately flew from the bushes, this time I saw the position it came from, a place just to the right of our own. It flew like lightning towards Jaramel! I dived forwards with shield arm fully outstretched in the hope of deflecting the arrows flight, but I need not have worried as the arrow almost snapped in two as it hit the now rock-like surface of Jaramel’s raised cloak.
Pulling myself quickly from the ground, I returned to a squatting position next to Baram’s side.
Taragon Stein: The Search For The Soul Crystal Page 28