“Hello!” he said loudly.
“Eh? Who’s there?”
The door opened and a fat man appeared. He had a large, round gut with thick arms and legs. His head was nearly bald but he grew a long, scraggly beard that was speckled with gray. His eyes were bright and he took in Quinn’s appearance and then smiled.
“How can I help you?” the man said.
“Are you Jorgyn the teamster?” Quinn asked.
“I am.”
“I’m looking for news from the south,” Quinn said. “My name is Quinn.”
He stuck out his hand. Jorgyn took it in a firm grasp and shook it briefly. Quinn could see the large draft horses in the barn and the heavy wagons with large wheels that Jorgyn used to haul goods through the mountains.
“Welcome Quinn, are you new to the Glen?”
“Just passing through,” Quinn said. “I have a friend in Falxis. He’s a young man, big through the chest and shoulders, a swordsman. His name is Mansel. I don’t suppose you’ve run into him?”
“I’m afraid I haven’t,” Jorgyn said. “I don’t usually visit much on my travels. I have to protect the cargo. I don’t even stay in the villages to the south.”
“That’s unfortunate,” Quinn said bitterly. “I’m not sure where to start looking for him.”
“You don’t know where your friend lives?”
“No, he was moving north, but with the rumors I was afraid he might have come to harm.”
“I don’t know about monsters,” Jorgyn said, “but something has the people in frenzy in Falxis. There’s a settlement of people not far from the mountains. It’s inland from the coast, perhaps a day’s ride from the pass. It could be your friend is there or someone there knows of him.”
“That is helpful,” Quinn said. “Thank you.”
“It’s no trouble,” Jorgyn said. “I hope you find your friend.”
“As do I. I won’t trouble you further.”
“Safe travels,” Jorgyn said, as Quinn walked back to his horse.
He rode out of the valley and found another small village where the pass opened up onto the gently rolling plains of Falxis. The sun was just going down when he stopped to rest his horses. He asked for news of the settlement Jorgyn had spoken of. The townspeople weren’t happy about the new gathering. They made signs to ward off evil as they spoke of the people there. Night fell and Quinn felt that he could travel safely enough with a half moon and the sky bright with stars, so he pushed on after his brief rest. He felt like he was close to the end of his journey, and he didn’t like the idea of stopping now.
The night was quiet, and he grew tired on the long ride. His head was drooping and the gait of his horse was slow as morning approached, but Quinn could smell the stench of the settlement and pushed himself to keep moving. Most permanent villages found ways to deal with trash, human waste, and the smell of animals. The refugee camp, which was clustered around a quickly flowing stream that ran out of the Walheta Mountains, stank worse than a tavern privy.
Quinn’s horse neighed in protest the closer they got to the settlement and just as the sun was rising behind Quinn, he could see fires being kindled and people setting about their morning chores in the light of dawn. He rode to the first of the small encampments. There were no buildings, just camps sites. People were either huddled around small fires or around wagons with their meager belongings. Quinn stopped at the first camp and asked about Mansel.
“My name is Quinn,” he said. “I’m looking for a friend who may be here. His name is Mansel. He’s a big man, carries a sword. Probably has a woman named Nycoll with him.”
“Sorry friend,” the man said. He looked thin and hungry, his wife and children, all looking terrified huddled behind him. “We don’t know many folk except those camped nearby.”
“I’ll keep looking then, thanks,” Quinn said.
He rode to the next group and repeated his questions, getting answers that were much the same from each group. The people in the settlement looked both scared and exhausted. Quinn wondered where they would go. He had gotten used to refugees in Felson, but at least there they had hopes of earning a meal. Here, at the foot of the mountains, unless they could hunt or gather food, there was very little to support such a large gathering, and the natural resources would soon be picked clean.
It took nearly three hours to make his way through the entire settlement, but none of the refugees had seen or knew Mansel. Quinn stopped to rest, frustration making his meal of stale bread and salted meat even more tasteless than usual.
He wasn’t sure where to go next. He could go south, but he wondered if he wouldn’t be better off to ride west to the coast first. He seemed to recall that Nycoll had lived on the coast of Falxis. Surely she would want to settle near the sea. Brianna had traveled inland without seeing Mansel, so Quinn decided to ride toward the coast. The mountain pass, which started near the coast on the Yelsian side of the mountains, wandered inland and he knew he was still a hard day’s ride from the meandering seashore.
He walked his horse through the afternoon and remounted a couple of hours before dark. He knew he would still have half a day’s journey once night fell, but he didn’t think traveling at night while searching for his friend would be a good idea. He was tired, too. So, just before nightfall, Quinn made camp.
He built a fire bigger than he needed, but the nights were growing cold and he didn’t want the fire to die completely, while he slept through the night. He had been asleep a few hours when a strange noise woke him up. At first he heard a deep thrumming sound, but he couldn’t make out what the noise was. Then, as he stood with his back to the fire, peering hard into the darkness, while trying to will his eyes to see in the gloom, his horse and mule began to panic. They were hobbled with rope, but they struggled to break free. Something was obviously terrifying them and as Quinn struggled to calm his animals down, fear began to run its icy claw down his back.
He’d heard rumors of monsters and heard Brianna’s account of the beasts that had come up out of the abyss in the Grand City. He buckled on his short sword, checked his throwing knives, and strapped his round shield securely to his arm. Then he waited. He decided that even though his mount was terrified and not particularly suited for combat, that he would rather face whatever was coming on horseback. He mounted up and waited to see what would appear.
* * *
Mansel and Nycoll had been on the move all night. At first it seemed that they had made a clean escape, but it wasn’t long before they heard the ominous thrum from the centaur-like creatures and Mansel knew they were being followed. They kept moving as night fell. They had yet to see their pursuers, but the sound of the terrifying beasts was growing louder and louder.
Finally, they decided to hide in a small grove of fir trees. They crawled in under the low branches. Nycoll was in a state of shock. Seeing her home destroyed once again, this time by nightmarish monsters added to the unrelenting pace Mansel set for them, had proven more than her fragile psyche could take. She lay curled in a fetal position behind Mansel, silent tears streaking down her face.
Mansel wanted to comfort her, but he had to keep her alive first. For his part, he felt both terror and exhilaration. He couldn’t believe what he had seen; monsters roaming the land, and yet he had seen monsters in the sea with Zollin and dragons, too. He had taken Nycoll from their new home with only the clothes on their backs. He hadn’t even stopped to pick up the scabbard he had slung from his sword when he fought the terrible centaur-like beasts. And yet, despite their grueling pace and lack of food, he wasn’t tired at all. He carried the sword Zollin had given him with the glistening black stone in its pommel, and he felt the same sense of strength and ability he had felt whenever he held the magical weapon. Mansel didn’t know what the sword did to him, but he was convinced that Zollin had imparted some type of magical ability to the weapon that somehow filled the wielder with supernatural strength.
Even though he wasn’t tired, he still had no desire to
fight the monsters. They were big and fast. He could kill them, but they had all the advantages. His sword filled him with an anxiousness to join in battle, but it didn’t overtake his senses. Mansel was smart enough to know when the odds weren’t in his favor. Perhaps it was his need to take care of Nycoll that kept him from rushing headlong into danger, but he remained cautious. He knew that if something happened to him that she wouldn’t be able to help. She would be helpless and alone if he were captured or killed, and he refused to let that happen.
It was scant minutes before the hideous beasts came into view. There were three of them, and they moved more slowly at night. Mansel’s heart felt like it would beat out of his chest, as he lay under the spreading branches of the firs, but the creatures moved passed without stopping. Mansel breathed a huge sigh of relief, and then more of the creatures appeared. Four more beasts came toward the group of trees that Mansel hid under; they circled around it once and then moved on.
Mansel decided then that his best bet was to keep moving. If more of the creatures appeared, they could get trapped under the fir trees. And despite his incredible stamina, he knew they needed food and water if they were going to keep up their strength. He decided to find a better hiding place, one that could offer fresh water, at least.
He set out following the group of three creatures. He stayed far enough behind them that they were never in sight, but he could hear them buzzing like giant bees. It was almost midnight when he saw the faint glow of a fire in the distance. Mansel knew instantly that the creatures would be drawn to the light. He increased his pace, never letting go of Nycoll’s hand. After a few moments he had closed the distance between himself and the flying beasts. He could see their shadowy forms not far ahead, but they were either oblivious to his presence or too intent on the light ahead to pay him any attention.
Then, to Mansel’s horror, he saw a familiar figure near the fire. It was nothing more than a shadow in front of the orange light, but it made his blood run cold. He saw the creatures moving toward the figure and then the man by the fire climbed into the saddle of a skittish looking horse.
“Quinn!” Mansel bellowed.
He saw the figure stand up in the stirrups, but it was obvious that the fire kept his old mentor from seeing what was approaching him in the darkness.
“Get away from the fire!” Mansel shouted again.
Then, he noticed that one of the three flying creatures had turned and was moving back toward him and Nycoll.
“Stay here,” he told her, sitting her down in a clump of tall grass. “Stay quiet and still. I’ll be back for you.”
Nycoll clutched at his hand for a moment, and then she curled up in the grass and lay still. Mansel brandished his sword as he moved away from Nycoll.
“I’m over here, you bastard!” he shouted.
He spared one glance at Quinn and saw his friend ride away from the fire, and then the beast was too close to ignore. Mansel bent his knees, not sure how the creature would attack him. It came forward quickly, the tail held back, ready to strike. Mansel dodged to the side, but the darkness made it difficult to judge distances. He moved too soon, and the creature side stepped out of reach of Mansel’s long sword. The tail, however, lashed forward and Mansel was forced to back pedal. He regained his balance, as the creature closed in on him again. The beast’s mouth was opening and closing, but no sound came out. The eyes seemed to glow red in the darkness. This time, Mansel waited just slightly too late to dodge the stinger and he was forced to throw his sword up between himself and the creature’s tail. The blade hit, but did little damage to the shell like the outer skin of the scorpion tail.
The creature turned in a tight circle, hoping to keep Mansel off guard, but Mansel kicked the beast in the chest, just below the section where the horse body morphed into human-like flesh. The kick did little damage, but it pushed the beast, who was still hovering a foot off the ground, away from him. The creature struck out with its tail again, but this time Mansel brought his sword up point first and impaled the tail, just behind the bulbous stinger.
The creature shrieked in pain and rage, reaching out its long arms, the claws on the end of each finger grasping for Mansel’s throat. He stepped back and swung his sword, but the short swing didn’t deliver enough force and the thick blade wedged in the beast’s arm, just below the elbow. The creature reacted to the pain, jerking its arm back and pulling the sword from Mansel’s hand.
Mansel felt like huge weights had suddenly been tied to his arms and legs. He staggered back, fear making his heart flutter in his chest. Fortunately, the creature’s reaction to his attack, jerking its arm away from Mansel, ended poorly for the hideous creature. By jerking its arm back, it drove the point of the sword straight into its own throat. It was a fortuitous moment for Mansel, who realized that if the creature hadn’t killed itself, it would have surely killed or captured him.
The beast crashed to the ground, almost at Mansel’s feet, driving him backward to avoid the flailing tail. He looked up but couldn’t see Quinn or the other creatures in the dark. He was panting, his stomach twisting, and his eyes burned with fatigue. He timed the movements of the creature’s writhing tail. He recognized the jerky movements, which were simply reflexes convulsing in death. It was like a chicken running hurly-burly around the yard after its head had been cut off.
Mansel darted in, grabbed the sword, and heaved with all his strength. The sword pulled free and as Mansel hurried backward away from the deadly carcass, he felt his own strength returning. He closed his eyes for a minute, letting his heart rate slow while he caught his breath. Then, he heard a scream that was part pain, part outrage, and he was running into the darkness to help his friend.
Chapter 14
It was a full day’s journey through the tunnels and caverns under the Northern Highlands to reach the Dome under the Mountain. Most of passageways were like long hallways, barely large enough for Zollin to pass through without stooping. He crossed two of the ancient Stepping Stone bridges he had repaired and came to another that was still in ruins, just after they had stopped to rest and shared a midday meal. The heat from the molten lava at the center of the cavern was so intense that Zollin’s thick winter clothes had to be removed and stored in his pack. He spent an hour rebuilding the bridge, and then they pushed on.
There was no sense of day and night inside the tunnels of the dwarves. The hearty folk that lived under the mountains could work for days without stopping for rest. They were masters of the forge, and miners by trade, carving great passages in solid rock as they searched for the elusive ores they coveted.
They reached the Dome and Zollin was shocked to find what seemed like a great void inside the mountain. The ceiling soared overhead, disappearing out of sight into the gloom above. The other dwarves, who had already arrived, had set up small camps, building fires and congregating in small groups. Zollin knew that not all the dwarves had arrived yet, so he wrapped himself in his cloak and lay down. When he awoke, he was shocked to see sunlight streaming into the huge cavern. Shafts of bright light shone down from long tunnels in the cavern’s roof. Zollin was dumbfounded.
“It’s a sight to see, isn’t it?” Bloc said.
“It’s unbelievable,” Zollin replied.
“This is the birthplace of dragons,” Bloc said calmly. “Fire Spirits melt the stone and use gold to form the hearts of the dragons. That’s why the beasts crave gold so much and why it acts almost like a medicine to them.”
“Gold can heal dragons?” Zollin asked.
“Yes, gold, sunlight, and pure fire. At least that is what the legends say. If your Brianna formed dragons, then there is a similar cavern to this somewhere in the mountains. My people will be anxious to find it. This is a sacred place, my friend.”
Zollin could see why. It was easily the largest space he had ever seen in their labyrinth of tunnels and caverns. He had seen crevasses so deep that even a burning torch was lost to sight before it reached the bottom, but very few places so ope
n and bright. The shafts of sunlight all angled down toward a large, round table carved from stone and inlaid with intricate designs of gold.
“It was once believed,” Bloc explained, “that in the light of the sun, a dwarf’s every thought and motive is exposed. So when our people found the dome they drilled shafts to the surface of the mountain, where sunlight could illuminate our leaders as they made decisions. Sitting at the round table under the dome, no deception or hidden agenda could be kept secret.”
“It’s a nice sentiment,” Zollin said, thinking of the powerful men he’d encountered and their almost constant manipulation.
“Yes, if only it were true,” Bloc said.
“You will lead the gathering?” Zollin asked.
“Facilitate is a better word,” Bloc said. “My family has led the dwarves for centuries, but only when they venture outside our caverns. Here, I have no power, no influence. I’m little more than a rule keeper.”
“But you will present our cause?”
“No, Zollin, Wizard of the World Walkers; that is your burden.”
Zollin looked around. He could see that some of the dwarves were watching him with their keen, curious eyes. Others ignored him completely. Avryl approached them and bowed slightly to Zollin.
“We have food and beer,” he said. “Better come and have a crack at it before the other dwarves eat it all.”
“Aye,” said Bloc. “I could use a good meal.”
They walked back to the small area where the dwarves from the Tradnook clan had made a small camp. They used coal to cook with, burning small amounts in tiny ovens to roast chickens or pigs, and to bake bread. Zollin never saw the animals, but he had enjoyed the dwarfish feasts before.
Dwarves didn’t drink ale, but rather, beer made from potatoes called Shochu. It was stronger than ale and Zollin only sipped at his, but the dwarves drank and ate as if it were their last meal. They sang songs and before long there were contests of strength between different clans. Zollin watched anxiously for the dwarves he knew. Hammert was the first to arrive. Zollin recognized the fat dwarf immediately.
Five Kingdoms: Book 06 - Evil Tide Page 13