“Shiri. Can you handle it?” Arwhon asked as the wall of dirt and soil rose to tower over them.
“I’ll try,” she cried as Arwhon turned back to watch as Krissi hurtled down on the dodging Q’Herindam Mage who was scurrying back and forth looking for a hiding place.
All Shiri could do was jump down from Rancid. With her feet on the ground she opened herself to Earthmagic and tried to wrest control of the earthwall away from the Q’Herindam Mage who was sending it. She allowed the Earthmagic to flow through her as she fought the wave of rocks and soil, using all of her abilities.
On the other side of the road, Krissi flared her wings at the last moment and hit the Mage with her outstretched talons, nearly tearing him in half and ripped his head off with her beak. Arwhon immediately turned his attention back to the other side of the road.
No one noticed Cringle, who had reined in and surreptitiously slipped from Vixen’s back to scurry off the side of the road. He used Merdon’s training and whatever cover he could find in the vegetation beside the road as he swung wide around the trembling earthwall. His goal was to locate the second evil Mage without being seen before the situation worsened. He was in luck and spotting the Q’Herindam, he worked his way around to come up behind the Mage, who was concentrating solely on overcoming Shiri’s hold on the towering wave of earth. They were locked in a struggle for mastery of it when Cringle cracked the Mage on the head with a rock. It wasn’t elegant but Cringle knew Arwhon would want to question this one.
The Q’Herindam Mage dropped like a sack of potatoes, allowing Shiri to disperse the earth wall without harm and Cringle quickly bound and gagged the cloaked figure.
Arwhon rode over to inspect Cringle’s work.
“Well done Servant. I see your training was well used. Search him and remove anything not clothing.”
All Cringle found was a mysterious object which Arwhon felt as evil so he incinerated it immediately. The Mage was coming around so Arwhon sheathed his sword and drew his Dagger, resting the point against the Mage’s throat. As the Mage opened his eyes, they grew wide as he realised the predicament he was in.
Arwhon pressed the point in a little so the Mage felt its bite and looked the Q’Herindam in the eye.
“One wrong move and you die Mage. Just nod or shake your head. Are there any more of you here?”
A shake of the head. To be believed?
“If I remove the dagger will you promise not to use magic.”
A nod.
“Don’t believe him Arwhon.” Shiri said in a flat voice. “They all lie.”
Arwhon moved the Dagger back a little.
“Talk Mage. How did you know we would be here?”
The Mage looked up with an evil smile on his face.
“We always know where you are now. We have informants everywhere and we can track the Ring. You cannot hide from us.”
Arwhon’s brow furrowed. This information meant they would have to be on their guard during every moment of their travels. Krissi could be useful for scouting ahead but what to do with this Mage. He could think of only one thing.
“Sorry,” was all Arwhon said as he plunged his Dagger into the Mage’s throat. Blood sprayed and the Mage gurgled his last breath as he bled out.
Both Shiri and Cringle were shocked to see Arwhon act in such a seemingly callous manner but when he looked up at them, they could see, written on his face, the emotional effort it had cost him.
“One of the first lessons Chalc gave me was not to leave an enemy behind me. This Mage could have summoned deadly magic at any time and would have killed us at the first opportunity. I could think of no other way to protect us.”
Shiri laid a hand on his shoulder and gave Arwhon a comforting squeeze. She understood the necessity of what he had just done but seeing death again, so close up, was still a difficult thing for her. Cringle had never seen the finality of anyone being killed before and the harsh actuality of what he had been trained to do wrote itself into his reality. He made an internal readjustment. He was Arwhon’s Servant and if necessary, he would do the same to protect his Master.
Arwhon linked with Krissi, now winging high above, mentally trying to forget the foul taste of the Mage she had just killed and asked her to fly low over Forbidden sending him pictures of what she saw beneath. He stood quietly for a while, sharing the view of the town but saw nothing untoward. They mounted up and rode in for a quick look around.
Clip clopping down the cobbled main street, Arwhon found himself back at ‘The Lonesome Gryffon’, the same inn he had met Reynaldo at, seemingly so long ago. There were a few midday patrons in the filthy taproom and the same large, blowsy barmaid sat on the same stool just as she had the last time he was here but now Arwhon was armed and armoured. Something like fear whispered across her features as Arwhon strode up to the bar and looked down on her.
“What do you know of the two Q’Herindam Mage’s we met a little while ago?”
The barmaid stood up and backed away but stopped when she felt the point of Cringle’s knife in her back. How had she not seen him come behind the bar?
“Nothing. They leaves me alone. Sometimes ‘as a drink ‘ere. This town is cursed. I’d leave it in a moment if I weren’t left this inn by my late ‘usband. Where is they Mages now?”
“Both dead.”
She gasped and wrung her hands.
“Oh no, what have you done? There’ll be more of em comin’ now. I’m leavin’. Too risky to stay. If’n you kilt em, there be nowhere you can hide from their wrath.”
“I’m not hiding, none of us are. Tell any who come through here that we intend to wipe the Q’Herindam evil from the face of the lands.”
At that precise moment, Krissi pushed through the door and stalked into the inn, the living reality of the sign above the door. The patrons ducked under the tables for cover and the barmaid’s eyes went as wide as saucers before she fainted dead away. Arwhon looked down over the bar at her comatose form and couldn’t resist.
“No chance of a drink then?” he asked the unconscious woman. Then he smiled and turned away. The barmaid had spoken True, his Ring had not contradicted one word. She could not help them and they still had a long way to travel.
They rode warily from then on, eyes peeled for a possible attack any time. Shiri glamoured them but a half decent Mage would be able to see through it. After a couple of days of camping out the small group eventually arrived in Penultimate, drawing up in front of its main inn where Arwhon had stayed once before when he first travelled down the Grand Valley from Cumbrisia’s End.
The ancient hostler sitting in front of the inn, his stool leaned back on two legs, regarded them silently for a moment or two.
“There was a Barsoomi like that one came down the hill about a year and a half or so ago, if’n I remember rightly. Was a young fella ridin’ it looked nuthin’ like you Sir. Was with an older fella from Tarkent who reckoned he was a servant but he was really a blacksmith.”
Arwhon smiled as he stepped down from Duran.
“If I remember rightly old timer, you looked after my horse really well. He’s glad to be back. Would you mind caring for this odd assortment and watch out for the pony. Its name is Vixen ‘cos it’s pretty foxy.”
“Thank ee for that young Sir. Leave em with me, I’ll take good care of em.”
The old stableman eased himself off his stool, stood and took the reins, waiting while Arwhon, Shiri and Cringle removed their saddlebags before leading the mounts away. As Arwhon strode into the inn he sent Krissi a thought and later that evening, after dark, the gryffon landed lightly on the stable roof and kept watch. Inside the inn Arwhon greeted the innkeeper and asked for the end room he’d stayed in previously. Fortunately it was unoccupied.
After organising hot water for a wash down and ordering a meal for them all, Arwhon chatted to the innkeeper, asking about the comings and goings of suspicious strangers. The innkeeper was not very forthcoming until Arwhon reminded him of the events occurrin
g around the time of his previous visit. The innkeeper peered at Arwhon for a moment, finally shaking his head.
“I thought you familiar Sir but I couldn’t be sure. Your eyes are different. Often wondered what happened to you two. Still with that blacksmith?”
“Actually, he’s the King of Tarkent’s Chief Advisor now.”
The innkeeper shook his head in disbelief then started to talk of recent strange comings and goings.
“There’s folk with weird eyes, beg your pardon but stranger than yours, comes past here, heading up the valley. Don’t often stay in this inn but when they do, the milk goes sour and there’s an odd smell about them. Don’t cause no trouble but look like they could do. Business has been poor since the new Myseline King decided to tax every bit o’ trade goin’ into Myseline. Greedy bastard. An he is too.”
“What?” Arwhon asked.
“A bastard. Some foreign doxy ol’ King Rickard tumbled got pregnant and it’s his only get. When the ol’ King got sick, the Prince, Jerome, just up and took over as King. Useless he is too. Ol’ Rickard is still abed but it looks as though he’ll never be any good again and Jerome is taxing everyone to the hilt to pay for his lavish life style.”
Arwhon looked up as Shiri came down the stairs, the glamour made her look like a normal woman but he could feel her presence.
“Cringle says it is your turn for a wash now.”
Arwhon nodded and as soon as he was upstairs he sent Cringle down to keep watch over Shiri. Was anywhere safe? Shortly he was back downstairs again and Cringle went to get cleaned up as Arwhon continued his conversation with the innkeeper. The bar was empty of patrons besides themselves and Arwhon discovered that King Jerome had ordered a small troop of soldiers to billet in the first village down from Durhain’s Pass on the Myseline side, to act as tax collectors on incoming goods. The days of making a decent profit trading with Myseline were rapidly disappearing.
This troubled Arwhon. Everything had been going well in the lands recently but now here was another niggling problem. He pondered the edict for a while but forgot about it when a sumptuous repast arrived just as Cringle descended the stairs to join them again.
They ate well and turned in early.
Next morning as they were leaving, Arwhon slipped the hostler a silver and the old man eyed him thoughtfully.
“I bin hearin’ stories of a Arwhon what freed the lands of Dominion. Wouldn’t know anything about that would yer?”
Arwhon tapped the side of his nose.
“I was never here. Okay?”
The old man understood immediately.
“You watch out for them buggers with weird eyes. They feels all wrong. Like bad horses do.”
Arwhon nodded, wheeled Duran around and mounted. They left, Shiri and Cringle close behind. After travelling most of the day they finally arrived at Cumbrisia’s End, their last stop before Myseline.
The blacksmiths shop was still unused so Arwhon wheeled into the courtyard in front of the shack. It hurt to see the remains of the barn, burnt all that time ago but he steeled himself and entered the small blacksmith quarters which still stood. It was a mess inside, the floor littered and unswept, cobwebs everywhere. Arwhon suggested Cringle clean it up a little while he went to see the innkeeper. Shiri stayed to help Cringle as Arwhon strode off up the rise.
Unglamoured, with a gryffon walking beside him.
The portly innkeeper hadn’t changed much since the last time Arwhon had seen him and neither had his apron, which was even more disgusting than before. When Arwhon stooped under the doorframe to enter the bar, he checked the nook to his right but it was empty. Krissi forced her way in behind him, squeezing through the doorframe. There were few patrons in the bar and they shrank away from this armed and armoured young man, pressing against the far wall when they caught sight of the gryffon. The innkeeper recognised Arwhon at last and offered him a drink which Arwhon refused.
“Evening. We’re staying in Chalc’s old place for the night. I just came to ask if you’ve had any strange people staying here lately.”
The innkeeper’s jowls wobbled as he shook his head.
“Can’t say as I recall any.”
However, what Arwhon heard, courtesy of the Truth Ring was, “I can’t tell you nothing or they’ll kill me.”
“Who will kill you?” Arwhon asked.
“No one. I didn’t say nuthin’ ‘bout bein’ killed.” The barman blustered.
Arwhon heard, “Who told him? If those uns with the weird eyes find out. I’m dead.”
The innkeeper was virtually trembling in his boots and as there was no point in continuing, Arwhon thanked the innkeeper for his help, turned and left. Krissi swept the bar with her eagle gaze before following Arwhon out. Back at the hut, he helped set to right the living space and used his magic to light the fire as he told Shiri and Cringle of the conversation.
“We’ll have to be doubly careful from now on. It seems the Q’Herindam are travelling into Myseline now and tomorrow so shall we.”
For Shiri and Cringle, passing through Durhain’s Pass was their first view of Myseline, the birthplace of Arwhon. The day was clear and the early autumn morning quite crisp as they reined in to take in the view. Arwhon still remembered the feel of the crossbow bolt thumping into his side but it didn’t affect his joy at seeing his homeland.
The road dropped away down the mountainside, zigzagging ever down until it straightened out on the foothills far, far below. The first village they would come to seemed not too far away, a small patch on the landscape with barely discernable smoke rising from its fireplaces but Arwhon knew it would take nearly two days travel to get there. Much further away, Arwhon could just make out the smudge of Bentwood on the crossroads but only because he knew where to look for it. It would be three to four days before they reached the fine hotel there. Way off in the far distance, almost merging with the blue of the sky, they could just glimpse the ocean.
There lay Trugor.
Nudging Duran, Arwhon led off on the long descent.
Making good time, overnighting in one of the stone huts on the way down from the pass and coming into the first village later the next day, the trio were hailed by soldiers dressed in the uniform of Encarill Regulars. Their sergeant stepped forward and demanded to know who they were and if they had any Trade goods. They were all glamoured, Arwhon and Shiri also riding with a Darkwood cloak over their armour. It was Arwhon who answered for them.
“Arwhon nari Tsalk, his betrothed and Servant, Sergeant. I’m returning to Trugor, where I was brought up, to show my betrothed where I hail from. We’ve journeyed from Belvedere and have no Trade goods with us.”
The Sergeant seemed considerably less interested with the whole affair once he was told there were no taxes to collect and he waved them on through. They rode out quietly continuing on downhill and set a good pace. After camping in the woods beside the road that night the three of them arrived in Bentwood the following day as the sun was setting. Duran went straight to the inn where Arwhon had stayed on his previous visit; the place where he’d first met Duran, who was at that time being ridden by the now dead Ripley. They took their saddlebags and handed the animals over to the care of the stableman after warning him about Vixen.
The inside of the inn was exactly as Arwhon remembered it and he paid for two rooms, a double for him and Shiri and a single for Cringle. Golds didn’t matter so much any more; Arwhon had Cristal and the Darkwood behind him now, so money was always available. Besides, after roughing it for a while, it would be pleasant to have a bath and a decent meal. The pleasurable evening went without a hitch and rested, they set out fresh again in the morning. Without having to look , Arwhon knew Krissi was flying high above them, as she’d taken to roosting somewhere close but concealed when they stopped for the night and knew when they rode out.
Arwhon felt he should call in on Artur Stimson on the way to Trugor, to thank him again for his help the night Ripley was hunting him but felt a greater urge to
arrive in his hometown as quickly as possible. Eight days later, in the afternoon, they pushed over the last rise and he beheld the town of his birth once again.
It was also the town of his father’s death.
Trugor was a picture beside the light blue of the shallower waters which darkened toward the end of Dome Rock. Arwhon’s gaze went straight to the obelisk jutting up from the promontory. The setting sun, silhouetting the spire, emphasised its blackness. He would have to go there soon but first…. Raleen had spoken of a new house but didn’t describe its location very well. They would just have to ride down the street and ask someone.
It didn’t work out that way. Oddly, no one would talk to them and the only direction they got was to the Trader warehouse at the rear of the docks. They rode down and stopped in front of the door, Arwhon expecting to see Staril coming out to greet them but no one came. He dismounted and went in to find a stranger, standing bent over the counter in deep thought, chewing on the end of his pen as he stared at the paper before him. The man raised his head as Arwhon entered.
“Good day Sir. I’m Arwhon nari Tsalk. Where may I find my brother Staril?”
The man straightened immediately, his face looking pale and worn. He wrung his hands nervously as he formed a reply.
“I’m Trader Brandel, in the employ of your Grandmother and sent here to assist Staril with building his business. The King heard of the rebuilding of the Warehouse and wanted to know where the money came from to build it. Staril had written a number of letters stating that it was saved by his dead father from money that had already been taxed but the King was not satisfied and three days ago, soldiers came and seized Staril. They took him off to Encarill.”
Arwhon’s heart sank. Staril imprisoned by the new King he’d been hearing a lot about, and none of it good. Trader Brandel continued.
The Q'Herindam Page 15