Emperor of Ansalon v-3

by Douglas Niles

  His attention returned to the matter before him. His eyes scanned the dry, brittle grass around his camp, and he pondered evidence that the thief was a very capable individual. At first glance he could see no sign of the intruder. His own bootprints from the day before stood out clearly, showing his course through the narrow val shy;ley below, following the pattern of switchbacks up to this high ledge.

  Perhaps that's how he followed me, Ariakas mused. The trail was little-used, and the previous week's rain had ensured that his tracks were the only marks in the mud.

  But why would the thief have scrambled up to such a height, and then only stolen the locket? Sure, it was the most valuable item he possessed, but his purse of coins held several valuable steel pieces, and no self-respecting cutpurse would have left them behind. Perhaps the fel shy;low was shrewd, and only went for the easily trans shy;portable item of high value.

  Too, the intruder must be a person of remarkable stealth. He had passed within a few feet of Ariakas, and the mercenary captain was a very light sleeper. The thief had opened the pack, taken a drink from the flask of lavarum, and removed the locket-all without attracting the man's attention.

  Then the final question-why had the pilferer left him alive and armed? Above all things, Ariakas was a practi shy;cal man. He disdained thievery-it was the desperate act of a weakling, he believed with conviction. And, too, it was impractical. A thief could not help but make ene shy;mies, and odds indicated that sooner or later one of those enemies would catch up with him and exact vengeance. Therefore, in his life Ariakas had only taken those things he earned, or whose owners stood no chance of ambushing him at some unknown moment in the future.

  Yet in stealing this locket and leaving Ariakas alive, this thief seemed to be asking for trouble! Perhaps the fel shy;low had supposed the theft would not be noticed for a day or two, but that seemed a farfetched explanation. Certainly Ariakas never would have taken such a risk.

  As he continued to search for signs of a spoor, he began to seriously question his prospects for success. For long minutes he scrutinized the ground, circling his camp in an ever-widening spiral, without success. Surely the culprit hadn't flown from the scene of his crime!

  Again the curl of fury twisted his lip, unnoticed by the warrior as he grunted and muttered his frustration. He was no woodsman, but neither was he a novice in the ways of the wild. Certainly the wet ground would yield some clue as to his thief's route of departure!

  He considered the possibility of a blind pursuit-sim shy;ply making a guess as to which way the fellow had gone. His chances of success were slim, but without a spoor it seemed the best he could do.

  A tiny rock, flipped so that its muddy side faced the sky, caught his eye. Freezing in place, Ariakas studied the slope rising away from the stone. The snarl disap shy;peared from his lips, replaced by a thin, taut-lipped smile. The footprint was so faint as to be almost invis shy;ible-merely a place where toes had pressed into the mountainside in an effort to gain secure purchase. Only the dislodged stone, streaked with mud where all the other stones had been washed clean by constant drizzle, told him that this was the place. Squinting, he looked upward, and found another obscure print a dozen paces away.

  The trail! Without hesitation he secured the pack to his shoulders and made sure that his sword rested lightly in its scabbard. His own boots gouged deep, muddy wounds in the soil as he followed the faint track, long strides carrying him quickly up the hillside.

  Throughout the day he followed the spoor across the tumbled landscape of the Khalkists. The rocky soil yielded precious few clues, but each time the path threat shy;ened to peter out before him, another subtle indication appeared.

  Gradually he became aware that his quarry made no particular efforts to disguise his route. Ariakas followed a winding series of valleys away from the shoreline, but not once did the thief attempt to double back, or select a surprising turn in his path. Instead, he followed the course of the valleys, generally working his way toward a high pass that Ariakas could see above and before him.

  By late afternoon the warrior had entered the flat val shy;ley before that pass, growing increasingly certain that the mountainous gap must have been his quarry's desti shy;nation. For one thing, the vale he now traversed was a steep-sided gorge, with sheer rock walls climbing to the right and left. The only points of access seemed to be the slope he had climbed, which led from the coast of the Newsea to the narrow gash in the stony ridge before him.

  Here, in this narrow valley, Ariakas found solid confir shy;mation that he was on the right trail-and that the thief took no precautions to avoid pursuit. The left wall of the gorge, which the trail had followed below, suddenly veered inward, jutting to the very shore of the narrow stream that trickled along the valley floor. Low, muddy banks bracketed the tiny flowage, and the rock wall before him forced Ariakas to cross.

  There in the mud he found his proof: a pair of foot shy;prints, where the thief had tiptoed through the muck and then either forded the stream or skipped across on the tops of several slick rocks rising from the placid water. Ariakas waded quickly through-the water didn't even reach the top of his boots-and on the other side, as he looked for confirmation, he received a surprise.

  Two sets of prints led away from the stream, turning, as he had guessed, toward the looming pass in the high ridge. The information momentarily puzzled him, throwing a number of his assumptions into doubt. Could it be that a pair of intruders had slipped through his camp without awakening him? The odds of that stretched credulity to the snapping point. And, too, why had they let him live, and not even tried to take his sword!

  The prints in the mud were small and indistinct, for the soft earth had already settled back to erase much of the detail. In any event, Ariakas took less note of the size of the footprints than in the quantity. It was with renewed vigilance that he moved away from the stream, angling up a long, grassy slope toward the narrow notch above.

  As he climbed, another thought occurred to him. He had suspected all day that he followed a thief of remark shy;able, but innate, stealth. Judging from the lack of trail sign, the fellow had moved with an almost uncanny abil shy;ity to leave the ground undisturbed. Now, with the knowledge that the scant spoor had been left by two thieves, Ariakas further revised his estimate of his quarry's stealth.

  Yet at the same time, the two thieves had trekked through the mud of the streambank and left a plain spoor, when a little bit of wet-walking up the creek would have allowed them to emerge onto a cluster of boulders, leaving no footprints at all! It was clear they didn't care whether they were followed or not.

  The latter suspicion heightened the warrior's sense of readiness. Was he walking into an ambush? It seemed like more than a faint possibility.

  All these concerns focused in his brain as he approached the narrow gap. A tiny path cut back and forth across the steep slope, and every once in a while he saw the telltale smudges of footprints in the loose dirt.

  He lacked the tracking skill to guess how long ago his quarry had passed, so he made the cautious assumption that they were close before him. Perhaps they'd even watched his long traverse up the bare mountainside.

  At last the trail veered into the notch. A quick glance at the approach showed Ariakas that cover for himself was nonexistent, while any number of splintered cracks yawned within the pass, offering ample concealment to anyone who awaited him. Drawing his sword, he quickly scrambled up the last twenty feet of the trail and found himself standing between two weather-beaten shoulders of rock.

  Every sense tingled alertly. He looked to the right and the left, trying to penetrate the shadows with his eyes. Nothing moved there. No sound disturbed him except for the growing howl of the wind. Indeed, the light breeze had risen into a steady gust as he crested the ridge, and it now blew his long hair back from his face, chilling his clean-shaven cheeks and chin. When he tried to stare into the distance, the biting force of the wind brought tears to his eyes.

  Yet he was finall
y certain that no ambush awaited him within the narrow gap. As he stared into the distance, he tried to shrug off the eerie feeling that no other life existed in these rugged mountains-no life beyond the warm pulse of his own blood, his own rasping breath and growling determination.

  He turned his back to the wind, giving respite to his eyes. His back-trail fell away below him. In the distance, between barren humps of low mountains, the gray waters of the Newsea surged relentlessly against the rocky shore. Far to the right, along the mist-screened coast, he saw a low-hanging bank of dark cloud-Sanc shy;tion.

  There the volcanic Lords of Doom spumed their smoke and ash into the air. The pall of darkness remained a constant fixture over that racked city, he knew. Though he had never been to Sanction, many of his mercenaries had seen that gods-bereft place, and had described it in excruciating detail. He unconsciously marked distance and direction for his future march. But then he turned back into the wind, back to the trail and the quarry before him. He would not travel to Sanction without the locket, and he would not regain the locket without con shy;fronting the thieves.

  Only now did he begin to feel his weariness. The ten shy;sion of the pursuit, the determination of the long climb, had sapped his energy more than he had realized. The trail before him led down an equally steep expanse of grassy shale. Before continuing, he slumped to the ground, placed his back against a flat rock, and tried to catch his breath.

  His gaze swept across the vista before him, as his mind carefully appraised each challenge, each difficulty facing him.

  First, the geographical: he now faced the most tortu shy;ous terrain he had ever seen. Sheer pinnacles of rock rose upward in a dozen locations, each of them culminating in a soaring peak that had surely never felt the footfall of a landbound creature. Rock-walled gorges plummeted out of sight between these heights, and if any trail scraped along those cliffs, he saw no sign of it from here.

  Neither did he see sign of water, though dirty patches of snow clung to several shaded gullies on the southern faces of the peaks. A series of twisting ridges snaked their way around the gorges, skirting the greatest heights, but it seemed that every mile of forward progress would require an equal amount of ascent and descent. By con shy;trast, the steep climb to reach this pass had been an ami shy;able stroll.

  Next, the quarry. Where had the two thieves gone? He noticed with growing frustration that the ground below him was rocky and dry. The moisture-laden clouds had expended their rain on the sea side of this soaring ridge, retaining no water for the barren heights before him. Here he would find no tracks in the mud. Too, the slope was primarily bare stone, with very small patches of hardy grass tufting upward here and there. Anyone who traveled with the stealth of those thieves would surely leave no sign of their path.

  And finally, he saw nothing that looked like a logical trail. Wherever his quarry had gone, they had followed an improbable and dangerous route-and a dozen such possible paths currently presented themselves.

  His fingers clenched into fists as he wrestled with the quandary. Did he dare to make a guess from so many possibilities, each of which offered inherent threats to his life just by making the attempt to follow? Or should he waste precious daylight-his best estimate placed sunset less than two hours away-by searching for signs that might not even exist?

  The two courses of action wrestled in his mind as he caught his breath. Within a few minutes he was physi shy;cally ready to move again, but he had not decided how to proceed, and he knew that he had to do something. Ari-akas rose to his feet, hoisted his pack to his back and, knowing that he'd need both hands on the steep moun shy;tainside, slid his sword back into the scabbard. Stepping to the edge of the pass, he began to look for the best way down-but once more he allowed his eyes to drift across the barren, rugged terrain.

  He froze, his breath quickening in tension. Something had caught his eye, near the summit of a neighboring ridge. There!

  Ariakas couldn't believe his luck. Two figures, tiny in the distance, came into view. Slowly the pair worked across a steep slope, carefully grasping for handholds as they traversed a jagged ledge of rock.

  Instinctively he dropped behind the blocking boulders of the pass. He could see the two clearly now, and there was no doubt in his mind that these were the thieves.

  They moved with precision and care, but also with sur shy;prising speed. He calculated the course that had taken them from this pass to that ridge, and imagined the dizzying descent, followed by an exhausting climb, which had brought the culprits high onto the next moun shy;tain. Unconsciously Ariakas acknowledged that the thieves were at home in these mountains, and utterly fearless.

  He could discern few details about the two figures. They wore earth-colored clothes-it was only their movement that had drawn his attention-and they climbed with careful grace. Within a few minutes they disappeared from his view, but now at least he knew which way to go.

  Renewed energy surged through his veins, and he started down the slope with almost reckless enthusiasm. A small rockslide of loose scree tumbled around him as his long strides sought purchase on the slope. In this fashion he half ran, half slid all the way to the bottom of the pass. His heart pounded with excitement, and he felt steady endurance solidify his muscles as he splashed through the narrow stream and started up the opposite incline.

  The place where the thieves had disappeared was chiseled in his mind, and he wasted no effort looking upward. Instead, his reaching steps carried him along the rising slope of the rocky massif. Gradually he gained altitude, but only when he arrived at the foot of the rocky column did he begin to work his way straight upward.

  Now sweat beaded across his forehead. His pulse pounded in his temples, and he drew lungfuls of air in deep, rejuvenating breaths. Ever upward he moved, instinctively seeking handholds and secure footing, pulling himself through a steady ascent.

  Finally he reached the place where he had seen the two thieves. During his rapid pursuit, the sun had slipped behind the western peaks, and a shroud of dark shy;ness had begun to draw across the sky. Ariakas ceased his climb and began a careful, sideways traverse. Stars twinkled in the east as he came around the shoulder, moving with extreme care. A single misstep would send him sliding hundreds, perhaps thousands, of feet down the rocky slope, yet he felt the image of the lady calling him on. Focused on his objective, Ariakas sensed only a vague awareness of the dizzying height.

  Soon he reached a gentler slope, and he started for shy;ward without pausing for rest. Yet even here he couldn't spare a hand to draw his sword-he could only hope that the thieves remained as blithely oblivious to pursuit as they had appeared throughout the day.

  Finally he felt dirt below his feet, and with a measure of gratitude he left the rocky promontory behind. Dark shy;ness closed about him now, but he could discern a low valley before him, and an even darker patch that could only be a grove of hardy cedars-the first trees he had seen all day.

  Fierce triumph surged through his veins; full proof of his quarry rose before him. Who would believe the thieves could be so arrogant, so careless, as to build for themselves a fire?

  Chapter 2

  A Fight Without Fear

  Ariakas crouched behind thc shelter of a densely needled cedar and studied the layout of the thieves' camp. He saw one slender figure working over the fire, puttering with a pan. The unmistakable scent of frying bacon reached his nostrils, drawing an involuntary growl from his stomach.

  He ignored the discomfort, pleased with the fact that the night vision of at least one of his enemies would be destroyed by looking into the bright coals. Ariakas shrugged out of his pack, looked around, and picked an approach route that led between several small, stunted pines.

  Taking pains to keep the thief between himself and the fire, Ariakas ensured that his own eyes remained sensitive to the subtleties of darkness. The warrior could not see the cook's companion, but knew from snatches of conversation drifting on the breeze that the fellow remained near the fire. As yet he
could not identify any words, though the voices struck him as cheerful and chatty-certainly not the sounds made by someone expecting trouble.

  Carefully he crept closer, moving with stealth and patience, making sure that not a twig cracked under his heavy boots. It took him some time just to reach the next tree, but he felt certain that his quarry had no plans to move any farther tonight. As if in confirmation, the sec shy;ond thief emerged into view and tossed several dry cedar branches onto the fire.

  Ariakas ducked away, covering his eyes before the bright flames crackled upward to wash the entire grove in cheery illumination. The blaze sizzled and popped, giving him an idea. He reached out and touched several brittle branches of a dead cedar, snapping them off while the noise of the fire camouflaged the sound of his own activity.

  Again he moved forward, worming his way on his hands and knees, carefully feeling for obstacles before him. Within a few minutes he reached the ring of trees closest to the fire. Here he settled down to spy.

  The cook still poked at the fire. As the second thief turned from rummaging in a pack, Ariakas got a look at his face and body. With a jolt of surprise he realized that he had been robbed by a kender, and the knowledge brought a grimace of disgust to his face. The fellow wore the supple traveling clothes of the diminutive folk, with his long hair in the characteristic pony tail hanging over his left shoulder. His walk was almost a skip, and Ariakas was reminded of the inherent grace he had seen as the pair had moved across the mountainside that afternoon.

  A quick glance showed him that the cook was also a kender, with even longer hair than the first. With a wry shake of his head Ariakas ducked back to consider his course of action.

  Naturally, this explained a lot. The stealthy movement and faint trail coupled with the childlike clumsiness of the footprints by the stream. the locket stolen, the swig of lavarum, all while he had slumbered a few feet away … and the decision to leave him alive. No decision at all, really-surely it had never occurred to the kender to do anything else. None of this changed the central fact, of course: they had stolen his treasure, and he had caught them.