After receiving a gift of a horse one evening, an old, silver haired M’Herindar had started off a song. A long song. It told of sadness at being unable to communicate with his horse and how such a noble beast should share its life with its rider. As the song progressed it grew in strength and a ghostly light started to limn the grass of the plains, picking out each standing stalk. Every horse within sight was also limned with the same light, standing alert with ears pricked, watching and listening. As the song came to an end, the old man spat on the grass at his feet and smoke rose from where the spittle hit. He sat back with a satisfied smile on his face.
“From this time forth, all the horses you can see around you will be sentient and able to bond with their rider, joining thoughts. They will only breed true when they eat the grass of the Barsoom Plains. You may be of Man but you, who I now name the Barsoomi, are an honest and inherently good people. As long as you stay that way these horses will breed true for you. That is my Gift to the Barsoomi before the M’Herindar retire from these lands, which were once ours, to live under the spread of Ch’ron’s trees. Change comes and not all for the good. I will leave now and take my horse with me. Thank you kind people.”
With that, the old silver haired M’Herindar rose and took his leave into the dawn, his horse trailing along behind him. It was only then the Tribe realized the song he had sung had lasted most of the night. Since that time, the magic has remained in the lands of Barsoom.
Chalc shook himself and drew in a deep breath as Darla’s explanation came to an end. What a wonder the world was, along with most of the things occurring in it.
It was good to be alive.
“Thank you for the explanation Darla. I’m so happy the old M’Herindar made great magic. Without it, I’d never have met you and I already value your companionship dearly.”
If horses could blush, Darla did at that moment and Chalc catching the backlash through the link blushed also.
For the remainder of the night, until they found a concealed campsite early the next morning, Chalc conversed with Arwhon, filling in some more gaps in his education and relating facets of Reynaldo’s life to the lad. He found his fingers wandering to the amulet of invisibility in his belt pouch, not sure where its use lay. It was part of yet another story, still to come.
They were lucky with the campsite they found around dawn. In the centre of the now broad valley, the fast running river, grown considerably from the rill it was when they’d first started out, cascaded over a ledge, dropping unimpeded and glassy, twelve feet down into a crystal clear pool. Both sides of the pool were flat and open, covered with lush green grass and screening trees grew thickly further downstream. It was a natural little amphitheatre they had discovered by following the sound of tumbling water. In the early light Chalc could just make out a rough game trail leading down the far side to the water’s edge.
The horses and mule loved the place, wading to stand in the water and drink deeply before having their saddles and packs removed so they could roll on their backs in the long grass. Later, the steady munching of grazing horses was all the sound they made, an audible backdrop to the music of the falls. Chalc longed for some hot herbal tea so he picked a spot under overhanging leafy branches and showed Arwhon how to build a small, smokeless fire with thin dry twigs. Even if there was a little smoke produced, it would soon dissipate in the leaves above. A hot meal was a bonus for them both and it was followed by a cleansing bath in the waterfall pool before turning in. They slept well throughout the day and woke refreshed as the sun waned, ready once more to eat and resume their travels.
The night again passed without incident but the valley floor was levelling out and more farmhouses punctuated the countryside they travelled through. Chalc became more uneasy as the night progressed and used his skills to keep them all hidden from view whenever possible as they moved quietly along the tracks and farm roads. Concealment was becoming more difficult, as there were fewer trees among the fields the further they advanced down along the valley.
While they rode, Chalc asked Darla about the amulet Reynaldo made him take, curious as to its use. She told him it would only work to hide him from strangers while it was around his neck. Arwhon, the horses and the mule would have little difficulty in seeing Chalc if he were wearing it because they were not strangers. As to where the amulet came from, Darla could not say. Only that the Black River Tribe’s seeress had presented it to Reynaldo along with the instructions for its use. It was quite possible Reynaldo knew this was to be a one-way mission but Darla was not sure on that point either. If it were so, then Arwhon was extremely important in the scheme of things and it was up to Chalc to make sure that nothing fatal befell the lad.
As the morning’s first light started to grey the eastern horizon, Chalc looked around for a place to camp. They’d been riding most of the night and made good progress but their luck seemed to have deserted them. There were no thickets of trees within sight, just mile after mile of cultivated fields with waving stalks of oats and barley and the odd tree poking up from the low hedging. If they didn’t find some sort of shelter soon they would be very exposed out here. Chalc looked around them once again, studying the landscape closely. Off to his left was a collection of farm buildings, a barn, a sty and an old farmhouse. As it grew lighter he could make out someone at the well and making a decision, he turned Darla up the farm track towards the buildings, riding slowly so as not to arouse suspicion. Arwhon followed behind, his curiosity rising.
Chalc hailed the figure at the well in the dim light and dismounted to lead his horse closer, less threatening than riding right up to the person would be. As he drew nearer he saw it was a man of moderate build in well-worn working clothes who regarded them suspiciously. Chalc greeted him politely.
“Good morning kind sir, we’ve been travelling throughout the night and are looking for a place to stay. I wonder if we could hire your barn for the day?”
The farmer was wary. Two men on warhorses, armed, with a pack mule behind. In the middle of farmland?
“Don’t often get folk travelling at night ‘ceptin those what don’t want to be seen but you don’t look like criminals.”
“We aren’t good sir. I’m a Smith and have been hired to protect my young Master who is travelling to meet his Grandmother. We were set upon in Forbidden by a gang of thugs who may be following us. We travel at night to avoid them. They may be angling for a kidnap and ransom.”
The farmer still looked dubious but sizing them up, he made a decision.
“Forbidden you say. I heard o’ that place, none of it good. One day only mind and I want you gone when the sun goes down. You can stay in the barn with your horses, hay included. One piece of silver or if you are a smith as you say, you can work for it. I have a couple of horses need their shoes done. If you want a hot breakfast and dinner that will be another piece of silver.”
Chalc felt in his purse and drew out two pieces of silver which he handed over to the farmer.
“I will shoe your horses for you after we’ve eaten. The extra silver is to thank you for trusting us,” he said.
The farmer looked pleased and took them to the barn where he showed them a couple of empty stalls for their horses and mule. The hay was fresh and sweet smelling and Arwhon felt pleasure from Duran as the horse tucked into it.
“Them’s the two what need shoeing,” the farmer said, pointing to two of the largest horses Arwhon had ever seen. “I got some spare shoes somewheres but I think they just need the ones they’re wearing reset.”
Chalc entered one of the stalls and moving to stand beside the horse’s front end, gazed up, catching the eye of the huge beast.
“You can help me or hinder me but I’m doing this job for you,” he muttered quietly as he stroked the horse’s neck before running his hand down the back of the ponderous great front leg. The horse lifted its foot up obligingly to allow the inspection and after Chalc had picked out the foot he placed it back on the ground before turning to the far
mer.
“If they’re all like that, they just need reset.”
The farmer looked dazed for a moment, then shook himself and addressed Chalc.
“You must be a good smith; Prancer has never picked his foot up for anyone before. Normally takes a couple of hours to do his feet.”
He smiled a cheery gap-toothed smile.
“You better come over to the house and meet the wife and young uns. You’ll need plenty to eat to keep your strength up for shoein’ those two.” He led the way out of the barn and across to the farmhouse where Chalc and Arwhon partook of a most excellent breakfast.
The two large horses were now standing much more comfortably with their feet trimmed and reshod and the farmer was very grateful for the job Chalc had done. Demonstrating his gratitude, the evening meal the farmer’s wife served after their daytime rest had been plentiful and wholesome and the farmer generously gave them grain for their horses before they left. He also invited them to call again, should they ever be in the area.
It was well after dark when Chalc, Arwhon and the horses finally left the farm. They travelled throughout the night, stopping briefly at midnight for a snack and more training for Arwhon. When they resumed their travels, all the roads seemed to be bending toward the southeast.
“We’re being pushed toward the main road which is the only route into Crossroads. I don’t like this at all but we have no choice.”
Chalc struggled to hide his growing concern.
“Kroy may have some magics available to him if he has purchased any items in Forbidden. They’ll make him even more dangerous. Keep extra guard about you young Arwhon.”
Toward morning, just as day was breaking, it happened. Kroy had indeed purchased some old Q’Herindam magical artefacts in Forbidden, some of which were in the possession of his men and one which he had about his person. Chalc, riding ahead on guard with Arwhon close behind, passed under some trees as the main road wound through a small wooded section of countryside. Suddenly, from a branch above the road, a body dropped onto Arwhon, grasping him firmly by the right arm and collar. Duran reared in surprise tipping both of them back onto the ground. The attacker landed on top, knocking the wind out of Arwhon who struggled to regain his breath and fight with his free left hand. Chalc had wheeled Darla around at Duran’s enraged scream but before he could do anything, six to eight men stepped out from under the trees on both sides of the road. Most wielded loaded crossbows and pointed them at Chalc. He had difficulty in seeing them properly or counting them accurately as the air about the men had a smeared, greasy look to it and tasted bitterly of Old magic. It was a spell carrying concealment in it. A strong one to partially conceal so many.
A voice came from their midst.
“Stay right where you are old timer. You don’t look much to me but Kroy says you is dangerous, so if’n you move I’ll shoot you.”
Chalc was cursing his stupidity. He had an amulet in his belt pouch which would conceal him totally. Why hadn’t he put it on at the first hint of trouble?
The fight on the ground in front of them was getting desperate. Chalc could see his training coming into play as Arwhon fought the black clad attacker. It was Kroy, trying to subdue the youth and wrest the Ring from his finger. Fixed fast, it was bonded there.
Arwhon would have none of it and managed to struggle to his feet with Kroy still hanging onto him. Kroy let go of Arwhon’s neck to draw a dagger so Arwhon head-butted him in the face, breaking Kroy’s nose before cracking an accurate blow to just the right spot on the wrist of Kroy’s knife hand. Kroy, reeling from the head butt did not see the blow coming in time and his dagger went flying into the long grass beside the road. He growled and punched Arwhon savagely in the face. Arwhon partially blocked the blow and grabbed Kroy again, intent on knocking his attacker down. Duran nervously danced around them, calling to Arwhon but the worried horse could not safely intervene. The two fighters were now rolling on the ground again and Kroy’s men were finding the action entertaining.
Taking advantage of their inattention, Chalc communicated his intention to Darla and she reared. Chalc rolled backward out of the saddle, landing upright on his feet behind her. Pulling the amulet out of his belt pouch, he thrust it over his head before drawing his sword. Darla shot under the trees out of the way of any flying crossbow bolts as Chalc advanced speedily toward the men nearest to him.
A discharging crossbow twanged and Chalc’s sword flickered, chopping the bolt out of the air. Surprise registered on some of the dirty faces as he approached but from behind him another bolt was released and Chalc felt it tear into the back of his thigh.
“Nice move old timer but our magic cancels yours. We see you as a shadow. One more move and the next shot will be in the guts.”
Chalc could think of nothing else to do. Kroy now had Arwhon pinned beneath him, the soldier’s experience at rough and tumble fighting giving him a narrow advantage. He was gloating at his victory as he took Arwhon’s own strangely patterned knife from its sheath at Arwhon’s belt and raised it in the air.
“Let’s see how you like your own steel, Sonny,” he crowed.
Chalc leapt sideways, determined to get to the men spread around him. If only he could get within sword range of an attacker. Another bolt, one he could not see well enough to counter, took him in the side, buried to its fletching. Darla screamed and raced toward Chalc. Crossbows swivelled in her direction.
At that instant, the patterned Dagger in Kroy’s hand thrust down, disappearing into Arwhon’s chest through the chainmail, right up to the hilt. Arwhon never made a sound but immediately went limp. Chalc sank to his knees in agony as Kroy looked over toward his men triumphantly.
His eyes widened as he saw what his men hadn’t yet. A very large and silent man shape shot out from between the trunks of the small wood, spinning what looked to be a sapling. In that first rush, three of his men lay dead or dying and crossbows were flying out of other hands before they could be brought to bear. The big grey Barsoomi stallion, prancing up and down in front of Kroy, was rearing and aiming blows at his head with its large front feet.
Kroy bent to remove the ring he coveted from Arwhon’s finger and was sent flying by one of those flailing Barsoomi hooves. His men were nearly all down by now, a couple of them running away, fast. The giant of a man had turned into a whirlwind, with a spinning, metal tipped sapling in the midst of it. Kroy noted the accuracy of the giant as his men fell prey to the staff one after the other.
It was too much for him to handle at the moment. At least he had killed the bearer of the ring and looking at the feathered shafts sticking out of the old man, he would not be around for much longer either. The game was not yet lost.
Merely postponed for now.
The ring would be his yet. As Kroy ran into the cover of the trees towards his horse, he saw the giant head toward the old man.
Time to go.
Chalc was on his knees when the dancing giant charged out of the trees. Chalc was familiar with the use of the staff but had never seen it employed with such grace, speed and dexterity. The size of the man and his ability to move so quickly was Chalc’s last thought as he pitched forward onto his face and blackness called him.
The giant surveyed the scene around him before walking over to where Arwhon lay. Duran eyed him nervously, unsure whether to allow contact or not but the giant stopped and bowed to the horse and asked permission to proceed. Duran backed up a little way and the giant knelt beside Arwhon to feel for a pulse. There was none. He bowed to the horse again and made his way back to where Chalc lay in the road, a slowly widening pool of blood spreading around him. Darla was standing over Chalk and the big man went through the same process of bowing to her and asking permission. She backed away.
The stranger knelt beside Chalc and rolled him onto his back, feeling for a pulse, a slight smile flitting across his face when he found a faint one. He then fumbled at a spot just above his own right bicep and suddenly there was an armband in his hand. It
was his mother’s gift of her magic belt. This he placed against Chalc’s chest under the Servant’s shirt, in contact with the skin. The giant then grasped the crossbow bolt in Chalc’s thigh and drew it out quickly and easily, the barbs tearing through the flesh, gobbets hanging from them as he threw the quarrel away. Next he went to the one in the side of Chalc’s chest, grasping the fletching tightly. This he drew out more gently but still it had bits of flesh and lung hanging from the barbs as he discarded it. Chalc, unconscious, never stirred as the giant searched his body, laying the man’s iron bladed dagger to one side. As Darla and the giant man looked on, the wounds in Chalc’s thigh and abdomen started to close over and in a matter of minutes, apart from a couple of fresh, small puckered scars, only the rents and bloodstains in his clothing marked where those wounds had been.
The giant smiled approvingly at the result; Mother had powerful magic at her disposal. Working at Chalc’s chest, he removed his mother’s belt before lacing up the man’s shirt. He tied the pearl embroidered belt back on above his mighty right bicep, where once again it disappeared from sight.
Looking around at the bodies lying where he had scattered them, he felt sorry for the men he had killed but they were evil and evil had no rights. The horses had settled somewhat although the big grey was clearly anxious. Rancid still remained tied to Darla’s saddle on his long lead rope and cropped the grass at the edge of the road while Darla bent her head to nuzzle Chalc. The Servant groaned and opened his eyes, feeling toward his side for the fatal bolt, his hand exploring in vain, probing now but still it could find no pain. He sat up, looking from his abdomen to the young giant.
“Did you do this, heal me I mean.”
“Yes. Sir,” the younger man replied.
“I am Chalc, what do they call you?”
The man’s speech sounded clumsy to Chalc’s ears but the reply was made in the common tongue.
The Ring Of Truth Page 18