Earwig cackled at the sight from the charred rubble of her tower’s wall.
“In no time, he’ll be ready to play his part in this battle with the house of Calimon de Chatronier.”
* * *
The candles burned low in the predawn hours as Socockensmek and Tournak caught up on the situations troubling each of them. The decanter sat empty on the broad table, anchoring the general’s reception chamber. Both men were alert and worried.
“I think wraiths again infest the deep mountains,” the old general said.
“Wraiths, you’re sure?”
“They’re searching for something. Their appearance at the same time as you escaped with Prince Saxthor may well be more than a coincidence. We must be vigilant as we travel and stay hidden at night when wraiths are strongest and free to move about.”
Tournak’s head shook. “Wraith’s.”
Cautious, the general scrutinized the room. “Something attacked this house not a month ago.”
“Attacked the house or you?”
“It was something large and heavily clawed with a deep, guttural, growl fiercer than a lion. The thing came in the night, prowled around the walls, and tore a board from a window frame. My aide hurled a spear as it rounded a corner. The thing leaped onto the roof.”
“Did he hit the creature?”
“I don’t think so. We found no blood - if it had blood. My man said it was black. All he could make out were large, yellow front-facing eyes, those of a true predator. The monster is a nocturnal creature, judging from the way the disproportionate eyes caught the faint moonlight. It bounded onto the roof as if it were a bench. I threw a burning torch up where I heard scratching. Claws ripped off a dozen slate shingles before the beast disappeared.”
“We must be careful, General, but Saxthor needs to search for something in the mountains. Memlatec was most insistent. I hoped you would be aware of the reason. He suggested the objective might be in the northern Highback Mountains.”
Socockensmek rose, went into the adjoining room, and motioned for Tournak to follow. He lit a two-flame lamp on the large desk dominating the wood-paneled study. The light illuminated the diamond-pattern wall shelves housing the general’s collection of scrolls and maps. As Tournak approached, the general was already studying his tattered map of Tixos that lay open on the desk.
“This room is a war room command post,” Tournak said.
“Think of it as the forward observatory.” The old man perused the map circling Tixos with his finger, “The drawing has negligible detail except on the southern coastal region.”
“Where are we on the map?”
“We’re here.” Socockensmek pointed to the location of his house. “A short distance beyond is the only pass into the interior, I’ve reconnoitered that far.”
“There’s not much out there.”
Unfortunately, we know almost nothing about even the next valley. I’ve heard tales of the strange things living farther out, but no substantiated evidence. All we can do is hike into the hinterland and discover hidden secrets. Since neither of us can tell what we’re looking for, Prince Saxthor must lead. Hopefully, he’ll recognize what he searches for.”
“I suppose so,” Tournak said. “The boy is unaware of this whole matter. Saxthor’s concept of exile is limited. He’s certainly bright but very frustrated. He knows we’re all expecting a lot from him. However, he has no clue as to his role in this. Bodrin seems more wary and alert to the dangers.”
“True strength arises when called upon,” the old general said. “Many a Neuyokkasinian foot soldier rose to the occasion in wars. We must rely on Memlatec’s judgment and give free rein to the boy. No offense, but the primal wizard has the insight to perceive things we can’t. If the prince is the one to wield this power, he’ll rise to claim it.”
-
Socockensmek led Tournak and the boys up the road the next morning and stopped at the pass that would take them over into the next, last known valley of the Tixosian interior. From a rock ledge at the top, his old eyes surveyed the route below. He felt his untamed, bushy eyebrows crinkle at what he observed.
“The road, such as it is, is in poor condition, but still the best way to travel so long as a path lasts. The lane passes a few small huts and scratched-out fields in this last inhabited valley. These people are distrustful of strangers. Most have criminal backgrounds. Keep your voices low and feet on the trail.”
With eyes following every step, the inhabitants watched the general’s party go by. Socockensmek nodded to each observer along the way. The local people nodded back at best or stood firm with arms crossed, but none challenged the hikers who accompanied the trusted general through the valley.
They hiked a steady pace and kept on course. The scrub brush grew bolder as if begrudging their invasion beside small, broken fields with spindly crops. Nature was intent on reclaiming the cultivated areas, having established the fiercest briars and poisonous plants at the roadside’s edge to reach out and snatch passersby. Once the group passed beyond the valley and headed up into the Tixosian Range in earnest, no sign of cultivation or habitation remained.
“We should stop for the night,” Tournak said.
Bodrin perked up, “About time.”
“We’ll camp tonight on the mountain’s southern slope ahead. Up above is the pass into the heart of Tixos,” the general said. “Don’t get too close to the peak. Our outlines would be visible to anyone or anything monitoring the pass.”
“Something is waiting for us?” Saxthor asked.
The general smiled, yet said nothing and glanced at Tournak.
The boys fumbled around and collected firewood in silence before dusk. Their uncertainty and the long journey’s toll reflected in their dazed expressions and listless activity. As expected, Socockensmek selected a strategic location well down from the pass in a small clearing by a stream. From above, thick undergrowth hid the site.
“Tournak, we’ll take turns watching through the night. The youngsters have seldom joked or kidded around since we left my house. Edginess grows, as confidence erodes.”
Saxthor joined the men as they finished fixing dinner. “What’s on the other side of the pass, General?” His voice was high-pitched. “If there’re no maps and no road, how am I to tell where we’re supposed to go?”
Tournak and Socockensmek regarded each other. As the expedition’s initial leader, Socockensmek responded.
“We have no answers to your question, Saxthor. We’ll have to evaluate what happens as we proceed. You lads come over here and enjoy the fire –our last for a while. Let’s eat this hot meal, clean up, and put out the flames before dark, so we don’t alert anything to our presence. Tomorrow, Saxthor, you’ll lead as best you can.”
Saxthor stared Socockensmek in the eye. “With all due respect, General, how am I to tell where we’re going?”
Socockensmek jerked upright. “How should I know? I’m used to facts provided by intelligence reports to make decisions. You’ll have to rely on intuition, I suppose. We’ll um ---“
“Go where you feel so inclined,” Tournak said. “Head north northwest sighting by the sun. We’ll trust your instincts.”
Socockensmek crinkled his brows and pursed his lips. “Yes, that’s the order for the day, my boy.”
“Great!” Saxthor shook his head and rolled his eyes. He went to sit with Bodrin on a log at the fire’s far side. Bodrin was looking down as he tapped a stick in the dust. “Tournak seldom talks unless he’s giving us the history of something. He’s been directing where we go. Now we’re in the middle of nowhere, and he has no idea. I’m expected to tell where we’re going.” The two sat watching the stick bob up and down in silence.
Only muffled chewing sounded around the fire. The general cast a worried glance at Saxthor from time to time. He turned to Tournak.
“Wraiths hunt beyond the pass. I have horrible memories of those bodiless souls damned to serve the evil masters who summoned them from the grav
e.” A chill ran down his spine. He glanced at Saxthor, immersed in his thoughts and fidgeting in the flickering firelight.
“No one is certain what else inhabits these mountains. Tomorrow we go in search of something unknown. We’re going purposely lost to find it. I hope Memlatec is right about the boy. I’ll not sleep well tonight.”
With the fire extinguished, they rolled in blankets and tried to rest in the shadows at the clearing’s edge.
Alerted by a noise late in the night, Saxthor sat up. “What was that?” Asleep next to him, Bodrin woke up.
“Shush!” Socockensmek hissed in the dark.
Frozen and instantly alert, the boys’ eyes locked on darkness.
Heavy clicking came from the trees higher up on the ridge. Scratching sounds followed moments later. Closer to their camp, leaves rustled. Both sources moved toward them.
Alert with adrenaline, Socockensmek was hypersensitive to every sound.
Something searches among the bushes to flush out prey close by, he thought. Good thing we camped downwind.
Bodrin poked Saxthor and pointed to the summit as he peeked through the bracken fern.
“What is it?” Saxthor whispered in Bodrin’s ear.
From the underbrush near the pass, all watched the profile of a huge hybrid animal above the ridgeline. The head of a bird-of-prey, larger than a man’s, stood out in the moonlight. The thing’s eyes glowed like two orange disks as if lit from within. The enormous hooked beak constantly snapped, making the clicking sound that first alerted them to the creature’s presence. It kicked at the leaf litter, and the silhouette of a horrific clawed bird’s foot shot up.
“Can you believe those long scaly legs, and wings with a man’s chest and arms,” Bodrin whispered in Saxthor’s ear.
“Yeah, the monster claws and giant beak must tear up anything the beast scares up.”
The general kicked at the boys, who shut up.
The brute’s head jerked up and scanned the hillside above the campsite. Cringing and holding their breaths, the campers froze.
The creature lifted each foot in turn; toes pinched in like an umbrella. The foot descended with silent precision as the creature crept down the slope toward them. Only Bodrin’s measured drawing of his knife disturbed the men’s otherwise motionless presence in the shadows.
“Caw!”
Something jerked and twitched, rustling the leaves above them. A single grunt suggested alarm. Socockensmek crouched with sword drawn.
The raptor-man leaped up, its massive wings shot out and held it suspended over the undergrowth. The general drew back, ready for the air attack.
The fluffy, owl-like feathers made no sound as the bird-beast hovered in the air. It stared and locked onto something in the brush.
The general saw both boys scrunch down in leaves behind him. His heart pounded when the creature dove down little more than a man’s height above him.
A wild boar squealed. The bird-man kicked his razor-sharp claws into the screaming hog with sickening thuds. Thrashing and snorting shattered the peaceful night amid the fatal struggle. More thuds sounded as the bird-man’s toenails ripped into the pig’s gut. The flailing boar’s gaping squealing snout slashed the undergrowth with arcing tusks. Its head raked side to side, trying to gouge the predator’s huge legs. The bushes shook; limbs snapped and flew up in the air in a whirlwind of bracken fronds.
Blood splattered on Socockensmek’s forehead. After the shrieking stopped, the thuds of stabbing feet continued for a fleeting moment before silence again descended. No one moved or breathed. Amid rustling twigs, the raptor-man stood up, the bloody, slumped meal dangled in his arms.
One of the boys moved. The predator’s head jerked to stare at their hiding place. The old general poised to jump up and skewer the monster should it drop the boar and leap at them. In suspense, the creature searched left and right to get a fix on the sound’s source. As eternal minutes crawled by, the travelers remained frozen.
Finally, the beast hopped up and flew over the ridge with the lifeless boar. The men kept silent until dawn when sunrise exposed the raw evidence of the night’s struggle. The black blood shocked the boys.
“I’ve hunted wild boar in the mountains closer to the coast, but I’ve never seen anything like what we witnessed last night,” the general said. “As big as a bear, the beast’s massive clawed feet could disembowel a man with one swipe.”
“I thought the thing was going to get us for sure,” Saxthor said.
They ate a cold breakfast and packed with a renewed sense of urgency.
“Lucky for us, the boar was sniffing out our camp,” Bodrin said. Glad the hog was here or that bird thing, whatever it was, would’ve gotten one of us.”
Bodrin noted Saxthor hung back, downcast, staring at a piece of gut on the ground. He went over to him and put his arm around Saxthor’s shoulder.
“Don’t let this get you down.”
“Whatever I’m supposed to do is serious. I feel so helpless and stupid. They’re depending on me, but I’ve no idea where to go.”
“That ends the campfires,” Tournak said as he buried the ash-shrouded coals.
“We’ll finish packing and head over the pass.” The general poked Tournak, watching Saxthor’s slumped stance.
At the mountaintop, the men scanned the scene below.
“An endless series of high ridges and low gullies stretch out to the horizon like massive ripples on a sandbar,” Tournak said.
“I make out three towering peaks in the haze at the horizon,” sharp-eyed Bodrin said.
“I can’t see the cursed things.” Socockensmek squinted towards the mountains, then turned and stared at Bodrin, or rather his youthful eyes. Frustrated, he pulled on his mustache ends. “They must be the Highback Mountains. They’d seem to be our objective. We’ll head that way. You take the lead, boys. At least you can tell where we’re going.” He glanced at Tournak, who was grinning. “What?”
“Nothing, General,” Tournak said. He looked away and followed the boys.
They hiked for hours over endless ridges three to four times the height of a man and descended into gullies preceding each ridge. The landscape appeared the same behind them as in front. Days were hot on the open terrain, the night’s cold. On occasion, a stream trickled down a gully, the only relief in the endless ripples crowning the heartland of Tixos. Due to more reliable rain, the western coast had forests, but that wasn’t where Saxthor led them.
“I’m tired from days of climbing up and down hills,” Tournak said one day.
“I’m not,” Bodrin chimed in.
His zeal ruffled both older men, who flashed him envious glances.
Saxthor didn’t join the grumbling or enthusiasm for adventure. He stumbled on ahead, hunched over. At times, he’d stop and search the horizon as if looking for a sign of some sort.
“What if I fail to find the way? What if I fail?” he said under his breath.
Socockensmek noted Saxthor’s introspective frustration.
“I wish I hadn’t complained,” Tournak said.
“The short thorny bushes on these sunbaked peaks tear my clothes and bake me inside,” Socockensmek said. He adjusted his hat, wiped his brow, and replaced his handkerchief. “In the troughs, those sparse tufts of grass and sedges clinging to the gravel offer no relief from the sun. Nothing survives here that can’t make do with the dew before dawn. Only hyrax and rats seem to tolerate these desolate waves of hills.”
“Uh-huh,” Saxthor said.
Shortening footprints recorded their slowing progress over time. One night, while camped by a stream in one of the endless ravines, they settled in their blankets for sleep. More sensitive to sound and movement since the bird-man incident, all scanned the horizon before drifting off.
A slight noise up on the hillside jolted Bodrin’s awareness. As he turned to poke Saxthor, the general put a firm hand on Bodrin’s shoulder. All alert, the four studied an orc’s outline trudging along the hill’s crest,
a silhouette on the rising moon’s face.
“Do you think it spotted us?” Saxthor asked.
“What was the thing? A short, ugly, stocky, hairy man – or something I don’t want to know about?” Bodrin asked.
“An orc, a creature of Dreaddrac’s sorcerer-king, the Dark Lord,” Socockensmek said. He held his stare on the horizon as his voice trailed off. “No one’s seen one outside of Dreaddrac since the Wizard Wars. From his steady, unbroken pace, I doubt he was aware of us. Nonetheless, Tournak and I’ll take turns on guard tonight in case the orc returns. Try to get some sleep, boys.”
“Yeah, like that’s going to happen,” Bodrin said.
The next morning the deep lines in Tournak’s brow and his agitation revealed his worried state. Likewise, the general gathered the others in a huddle, and he shared his concerns.
“It’s too dangerous to continue wandering through these exposed hills when we’re not even certain we’re headed in the right direction. Saxthor, are you confident about where we’re going and our progress?”
“I’m not sure, but I feel we’re headed the right way. I can’t tell you why. What else can I say?”
Though restrained, consternation scrunched Tournak’s face. “I’m sure the general believes intelligence reports and not intuition determine survival.”
“Yeah, well, I don’t have those.”
“A campaign based on ‘I feel pretty sure’ leaves something to be desired,” Socockensmek said. “You feel pretty sure, do you? Humph. Tournak, you ‘feel pretty sure’ about Saxthor’s level of confidence, do you?”
Tournak shrugged with a weak smile. “His intuition is all we have to go on.”
No one said anything else. Socockensmek turned to each member of the troupe and got no other response, so the party rose and walked on in silence. Shaking his head, the general brought up the rear.
Later in the afternoon, as they walked along beside a stream, Twit was aflutter about something crushing dried leaves behind them. The sound caught everyone’s attention.
“What now?” Tournak said.
“As usual, we’ve no cover, and whatever is coming is in a hurry,” the general said. He scanned behind them. “I hope the orc from last night hasn’t returned.”
The Neuyokkasinian Arc of Empire Series: Books 1-3 Box Set High, Epic Fantasy on a Grand Dragon Scale! Kindle Edition Page 14