Zylor was under no compunction to hide while something was afoot. Seeing that Olag was safe, he bounded ahead to see what all the fuss was about.
The convoy had stumbled upon a contingent of ogres who had been camping at the edge of the trail. Cooking fires still smoldered among the trees while the front running dwarves already clashed noisily with their foes.
The ogres were unprepared for the attack, and hastily regrouped to meet the assault. The confusion was short-lived and they retaliated just as the remainder of the dwarves joined in the fray.
Although outnumbered, the dwarves were more experienced fighters. They outmaneuvered the ogres and toppled their bigger adversaries by striking their legs out from under them. Once down, the ogres were helpless against the sharp dwarven axes.
But the dwarves began to lose on one front. A menacing ogre wielding an ice axe was swinging his weapon wildly, freezing several dwarves at a time and then shattering their frozen statues where they stood. Zylor saw this and knew he had to react. He made his way toward the offending ogre.
Meanwhile, Olag successfully snuck away from the civilian dwarves to scout around the enemy encampment. The ogres were too busy with the attacking dwarves to notice him in the background. Among the ogres’ belongings were a number of crates. Some of the lids were open, revealing gold and silver coins, probably stolen from a previous dwarven caravan. Bags of assorted belongings were scattered around the area, but Olag only scanned a few of them, finding the contents too raunchy and repulsive. As he walked, he stumbled over one bag and heard a metallic noise emanate from within. He stooped to pick it up and shook its contents to the ground. What he saw made the invisible fins on his head stand up. To be certain, he picked up the item to examine it more closely. There was no doubt in his mind it belonged to Harran. He looked around sharply in the hopes of catching sight of the dwarf, but he was nowhere to be seen. Olag’s spirit sagged. Where was Harran, and why was his chain mail here among the ogres? Was Harran still even alive?
Back in the battle, Zylor faced his opponent, all too aware that invisibility was no defense against an ice axe. He warily circled to the ogre’s side, drawing his weapon slowly and carefully. As expected, his weapon became visible to the ogre. The ogre was momentarily surprised, but was intelligent enough to bring his axe back to his shoulder in preparation for another swing.
Zylor, satisfied that the ogre was aware of his presence, knew it was now honourable to fight the monster. With a vicious swing, he brought the axe around in a high arc and mesmerized the ogre with the motion. It gaped at the oncoming axe and could do nothing to avoid the weapon as it sliced its head from its shoulders in one fluid motion. Greenish blood squirted from its neck as it collapsed to the ground in a heap, dropping the ice axe in the process.
At the same time, an earthquake struck again, similar to the last one that had happened when the companions were in the elven realm.
Some nearby dwarves were fascinated by the sight and took heart, charging into the fray with battle cries. To them, it was the gods who had intervened on their behalf.
A lizardman, who had been concealed behind some trees and was using magic to enhance the speed and strength of the ogres, had also seen the mysterious axe as it eliminated the ogre. He hadn’t expected to come across a magic wielder among the dwarves. He stepped from cover and sent a lightning bolt in Zylor’s direction.
“Zylor!” cried Olag loudly above the din. He had also seen Zylor’s accomplishment, and was situated in a spot where the lizardmage was visible to him.
The minotaur turned to where he heard Olag call to him, and out of the corner of his eye he saw the lightning bolt coming at him. He ducked to avoid being hit, and the bolt whizzed past his head and struck his axe. The weapon exploded into a thousand tiny fragments, slicing into his hand in the process. Oblivious to the pain, Zylor looked to where the bolt had originated to see the lizardman duck back behind the trees. His gaze would have been malevolent had he been visible.
Olag watched as the lizardman chanted a spell and disappeared from sight. He cursed inwardly. If he wasn’t restricted from using his weapon, he would have filled the lizardmage full of arrows before he could escape.
Zylor, being weaponless, instinctively looked around for a weapon. His eyes rested on the ice axe. Without hesitation, he picked it up and sheathed it so it disappeared from sight. There was no need to use it as the dwarves were now in control of the battle. The ogres were on the run. The sounds of battle lessened.
As quickly as it had begun, the battle was over.
The dwarves who were killed were buried with a short service, and the carcasses of the ogres were thrown into a ravine. The injured were tended to and readied for the trip home. The newly acquired boxes of gold were added to the chariots, and extra horses, which previously bore dwarves, now assisted in pulling the overloaded chariots. It would slow down the caravan, but there was no complaining. Dwarves loved their gold. It was worth the effort, even if that meant a delay in getting home.
Some dwarves speculated about the disembodied axe and the unexpected earthquake, but all were happy it was on their side. Some even attributed it to the intervention of the gods. The god of war must have intervened on their behalf. The motivation alone of the presence of the axe was enough to give them an edge in this battle. But the matter that was more of a concern was the disappearance of the ice axe. A thorough search of the general area turned up nothing. It was finally determined that a fleeing ogre must have picked it up and ran off with it, not aware of the value of its find. Either that, or the explosion that was seen shortly after the appearance of the other axe meant that the gods had taken the ice axe in payment. An act like that was something the dwarves could fully appreciate.
Zylor pulled Olag aside and obtained a bandage to wrap around his damaged hand. He chose to wrap the bandage himself and, as he did, it also became invisible, ensuring his identity remained hidden. As he worked, Olag led him to a spot a short distance away from the others. He opened a pack and told the invisible minotaur to peek inside. A soft groan indicated the minotaur had seen the artifact.
“Harran’s?” he rumbled softly.
Olag nodded. “I’m sure of it. But I don’t know where he is. I looked all over, but there were no dwarves present in the raiding party.”
“With all the crates of gold lying around, I’d say his party was ambushed,” said Zylor. “I’ll bet this ice axe was his too. I haven’t seen any of these around, even though Kazin thinks they were common in this era.”
“He wouldn’t have given up the axe without a fight,” said Olag, shaking his head sadly. “I can only surmise he is dead along with the convoy he was traveling with.”
Zylor growled, but it was a different sound than any Olag had heard before. It was more of a growl of sorrow, if that was possible. “Remember,” said the minotaur thoughtfully, “Harran was kidnapped. It stands to reason that his weapon and armour were taken away. We don’t know for sure that he is dead.”
“But if his caravan was robbed - and it appears that it was - the dwarves would have died trying to defend all of that gold,” objected Olag. “They would have fought to the death.”
“Maybe so,” growled Zylor, “but Harran knew the importance of our quest! He would not have sacrificed his life for gold - or anything else for that matter! If anything, he would have found a way to escape and come back to us.”
“Perhaps,” said Olag, “but whether he was killed, or managed to escape the fate of the other caravan, what are we supposed to do now? Do we continue to look for him or return to Kazin? And if we continue to look, where do we look?”
“I think we owe it to Harran to keep looking for him,” said Zylor, “at least for now. We can return to Kazin in an instant with the rings he gave us, so time is on our side. But if we go off on our own, we would have no more success than finding a needle in a haystack. If we stay among these dwarves
, we may gather clues to his whereabouts. Staying the course should yield the best results.”
Olag sighed. “Ok. But I think this is going to be a waste of time.”
“If you do not wish to help, I will simply go alone,” growled Zylor. “I will not abandon Harran!”
“I don’t want to abandon him either!” snapped Olag, “but the evidence points to him being dead!”
“I am not convinced,” growled Zylor. “If you do not believe he is -.”
“Hey! I miss him too!” snapped Olag. Aware of drawing undue attention, he quieted his voice. “We’ll continue to search for now. I hope you’re right and he is still alive. Like you said, we have time on our side. We can probably be more successful finding Harran than finding Kazin’s elusive strangler anyway. At least we know what our quarry looks like.”
Olag felt a giant reassuring hand on his shoulder. “Thank you,” mumbled the minotaur. “You’ll see that I’m right. Harran is still alive.”
The skink warrior heard the minotaur as he trudged off to be on his own. He felt the minotaur’s agony in that statement. It was more a statement of faith than one of fact. He could only guess what the minotaur and dwarf had been through in previous adventures. Some of the stories he had been told were amazing in their own right. But it was the untold ones that created the bond between the minotaur and dwarf. Those stories were not divulged. Those were the ones that bonded them as the best of friends. Once again, Olag felt privileged to be a part of these companions. What they saw in him - a mere skink warrior - was beyond him. He was supposed to be their mortal enemy, yet he was trusted as one of them. What’s more, he enjoyed their camaraderie. Once again, he felt the desire to help. He didn’t want to let them down; not now, not ever. Was this what it was like for them? Did they always feel like this? Was he becoming like them? Olag decided he liked the feeling. For the first time in his life he felt like he belonged. He decided right then and there that he would do everything in his power to preserve his friendship with these unlikely companions. They were worth fighting for. They were worth protecting. They were worth finding. He turned and strode confidently back to his horse. It was time to saddle up.
Chapter 20
The town of Trent was bustling with activity as Kazin, Sherman and Amelia entered via the eastern road. It was getting toward evening, but Kazin was determined to cover lost ground and didn’t want to stop for the night. He stopped at an inn to see if any travelers, particularly large groups of ten or so, had stopped in from the east. The innkeeper informed them there were no large groups, and her only occupants for the last few nights were tradesmen - mostly dwarves, military personnel, and traveling vendors. She urged them to check other inns as there were a few on this end of town.
Kazin thanked her and did as she suggested. It didn’t take long to find them, and those innkeepers all claimed to have the same kind of clientele. Amelia’s orb confirmed that their quarry had not set foot in those places.
As they left the last inn, Sherman spoke up. “What if they didn’t stay here? What if they went straight through?”
“It’s possible,” admitted Kazin.
“Then we should be checking the stables,” continued the big warrior. “When I used to travel as a caravan guard, and we were in a hurry, we would only stop at a town to trade in our horses for some fresh ones.”
“Wasn’t that costly?” asked Amelia.
Sherman nodded. “Sure, but with the time it saved in getting the goods delivered, it was often well worth it. A couple of days less to pay an entire crew wages meant more profit for the merchant.”
“Good point,” said Kazin. “It wouldn’t hurt to check out the stables in this end of town.”
The trio approached one stable and an old, grizzled stable master greeted them. “Come to trade in your horses?” A quick look behind him revealed a handful of tired looking horses.
“No, thank you,” said Kazin politely.
“Ah, well, my selection is a little limited right now,” said the man. “I expect a good dozen or so back in the next few days. If you’re still in the neighborhood, check with me this time tomorrow. I might have more to show ya.”
“Sure,” said Kazin. “But while we’re here, have you seen any large groups of travelers come into town to change out their horses? Say, ten or so people?”
The man shook his head. “Naw. But you can check with some of the other stables. There’s one on your left almost as soon as you enter town. He’s got a bigger supply than I do. He specializes in larger groups.” He put the back of his hand beside his mouth and added with a whisper, “but he’s a lot more expensive.”
“Thanks,” said Kazin. He looked at Amelia who had peeked into her pocket at her orb. She looked up and shook her head.
Kazin led them to the stables that the older man had suggested, and from a distance they could see some horses prancing about in the fenced grazing area beside the stables.
As they neared, Amelia gasped. “Kazin!” she whispered. “I recognize the brand markings on the sides of some of the horses! They look like the symbol that was on the gates of the estate where those bodies were found!”
Kazin squinted at the horses. “I believe you’re right.”
“Look,” said Amelia. She held up her orb. It glowed with a light pink.
“Let’s see what we can find out,” said Kazin.
They approached the gate of the stables where a middle-aged man with slick black hair came out to meet them. He smiled, revealing a couple of missing teeth. “What can I do for ya?” he drawled.
“We’re looking for a group of ten or so people that came from the east,” said Kazin.
“I get lots of groups coming and going all the time,” said the man. “Can you be more specific?”
“Um, one of them had a thick black mustache,” said Kazin.
The man’s grin widened. “Oh, yeah! I remember that one. He rode in yesterday afternoon with a bunch of others. Except for him, the rest of them looked kinda ill.” The man pointed over his shoulder at the horses in the yard. “He traded in some damned good horses for the ones that I had. Said he was in a hurry; didn’t have time to stop.” The man chuckled. “Not only did I get some better horses, I got top dollar for the ones I sold him! He said money was no object! Can you believe it?”
“Where were they headed?” asked Amelia.
The man scratched his head. “Now, that’s the funny part. They rode into town, but came ridin’ back out this way a few minutes later. I heard him mumbling about there being too many mages in town. They charged out on the east road and veered south. The fool didn’t even stop for supplies - I seen that they didn’t have much when they changed horses. He’ll regret it later on, especially with some of them being sick and all. There ain’t no supplies for miles down that way, unless he happens across some farmers kind enough to sell them something.”
“Why was he nervous about the mages?” asked Kazin.
The stable master shrugged. “I don’t know. There are lots of mages around because of the tower in the west. They often come here to replenish supplies.”
“I see,” said Kazin. He looked at Sherman. “It looks like we won’t be spending the night. Should we exchange our horses?”
Sherman nodded. “We rode them pretty hard. It would be a good idea to change them.”
The stable master grinned again. “I’ve got some excellent horses available. But they won’t go cheap.”
“Money is no object,” said Kazin. “Give us your best ones.”
Twenty minutes later, the stable master gleefully jiggled his pouch of coins as the companions rode off with three of the horses that had originally belonged to the estate in Velden. Taking the stable master’s advice, they rode into town to replenish supplies before heading south out of town.
“It’s too bad,” said Kazin. “I would have liked to have gone to see Sor
cerer’s Tower. I’m curious to see how much it’s changed.”
“It could still happen,” said Sherman.
The companions rode hard into the night and Sherman, with the aid of Kazin’s lit staff, followed the road skillfully, navigating around muddy areas and up and down sharp inclines with practiced ease. When the horses grew weary, Sherman guided them to a secluded spot away from the main road near a stream. The horses drank thirstily, as the steam from their breath emitted from their flaring nostrils. Amelia suggested they get a few hours of sleep before continuing on and elected to take the first watch. She awoke Sherman a few hours later and he in turn woke Kazin. Kazin was going to take the next watch, but Amelia woke up and said she didn’t want to sleep any more anyway. Sherman didn’t have a problem with that as he was not tired either, so it was decided they continue on their journey. After a quick bite, they mounted their horses and returned to the road leading south.
The sun was just preparing to make its debut to the east when the companions crested a small rise to glimpse a small farming village before them. It nestled among some rolling fields dotted with forested sections that followed hidden streams.
They paused to take in the beauty when an unusual sight caught their attention. An object appeared high in the sky above the village. The morning sun’s rays glinted off the side of the object with shiny, bronze flashes.
Amelia gasped. “A dragon!”
The dragon swooped down, but not at the village. It aimed for a spot just to the west. It swooped close to ground level and then rose back up into the air. It seemed to waver for a moment before plunging back to the ground. This time it did not return to the air. Some trees blocked the view, so the companions didn’t know what had happened.
Kazin shuddered.
“What is it?” asked Amelia, noticing his discomfort.
“There is a powerful magic at work here,” said Kazin. “I’ve never sensed anything so - disconcerting.”
Spirit Blade: Book III of the Dragon Mage Trilogy Page 24