Mordon started to step forward, but was held by Simper gripping his right arm.
“Better let it make up its own mind about staying, Mordon. Can you remember the names of the castle hounds?”
The king’s wolf hounds died and were replaced but the names kept circulating. There had been only one hound he had ever learned by name. Jasper had bared its teeth every time he had approached. “The only name I remember is of a dog that hated me. Jasper, I think its name was Jasper. This dog must be one of the others, maybe the one you said followed me around or its replacement
Simper let go of Mordon’s arm, “There was Jasper, Conner, Thebes, Cutter, and . . . .”
The dog wagged its tail at the sound of its name.
Mordon kneeled and put out his hand, “Looks as if we have Cutter as a guide.”
Simper pulled off his pack and opened the flap, “I am going to share a meal with Cutter, Mordon, and earn some trust. Let’s sit down right here and have ourselves a little picnic.”
The two men moved to the end of the burned station, and sat under a large oak tree. There was some damage done to the limbs from the long-ago fire, but most of the limbs held leaves. They sat with their backs to the rough trunk, and shared what food they ate with the dog.
The wolfhound never came close, but it did move to where the two men threw bits of meat. It ate everything they tossed its direction. The hound suddenly lifted its head with forward pointed ears, and emitted a low growl in the direction behind the gutted station. It came to stand with stiff legs, half the distance to the two men, still looking behind the station.
Mordon tried to see anything in amongst the trunks of the trees, but could not find the reason for the dog’s reaction. “I think we had better move from here.” Mordon picked up his pack, and started moving away from the station, continuing north.
The leather-clad figure in the woods watched the men pull the dog away from the charred remains of the way station. They moved off north down the gorge. The figure knew there was another in the woods across the open area where the station had once stood. They were too practiced as woodsmen to have been seen. Where were these two soldiers going? The one was massive, yet moved with grace, even under the weighted pack. Neither of them would allow these two men to approach their village. The only soldiers alive now days, the watcher believed, deserved to die.
CHAPTER 3
The roadway they were following led Simper and Mordon down through a gorge, straight to the rushing stream they both were expecting. They paused long enough to fill their containers with the clear water. Mordon stripped and bathed in the cold rushing stream. Simper followed suit. They hesitated leaving this picturesque bend in the river, but there were no places they felt were adequate for sleeping. The area was far too open to defend even a portion of the vicinity. They followed the long, unused roadway until the steep cliffs opened into a broad valley.
The stream continued, nearly through the center of the open valley. About ten miles away, where the valley opened to the plains of the savannah, the river turned to the west. Fingers of broad leaf trees ran out into the grassy meadows bordering the river. Pass the lower first ridge, they could see towering conifers covering the sides of the higher mountains.
As they walked, the men watched closely for danger, but saw nothing. The hound caused them concern, as it continually turned and growled at either side of the roadway. By the time the sun was setting, the wolfhound had moved so close to Mordon, it brushed his leg nearly constantly.
Mordon reached down and stroked the animal’s shoulder. His touch caused the dog to flinch, but it did not move away as Mordon expected. In fact, the dog moved closer still to Mordon’s leg. “Simp, we need to find a place to defend.”
“Defend against what? We haven’t seen anything, or anybody, since leaving Widley.”
“Well, you forgot about the bear, and the dog is definitely worried about something. I trust him.”
Simper pointed off to the right at a thick grove of oak trees, “We still have plenty of light to reach those trees, and check out the area, before stopping for the night.”
Both men left the roadway, making their way over the uneven ground, through the knee-high grass to the edge of the grove of oaks. The area inside was barren of grass. The trunks were close enough to each other they served nearly as well as solid walls. They could see out to the road in the direction in which they had come, and the lower valley was visible as well. It was as good a place as they could expect.
They shared what they ate with the wolfhound. The hound’s head now rested on Mordon’s thigh. Mordon had made certain the dog received as much food as it had wanted. The third mouth would deplete reserves more quickly, but to Mordon the hound’s presence was worth anything they could provide. Mordon’s big hand gently stroked the animal’s head.
Not wanting to repeat last night’s mistake, their weapons were close at hand, and free of their sheaths. Both men were leaning against large roots that had forced their way clear of the soil. Mordon faced the north, and Simper watched the roadway and valley in the direction they had come. They were as comfortable as the grove allowed.
“Simp, give me first watch, you fall asleep faster than I do. I’ll wake you after mid of night.” Mordon watched the older man nod, and curl up in the bowl formed by the roots of the tree he had selected. It was only seconds before the man began snoring softly; making Mordon shake his head in wonder. Mordon petted and stroked the head and neck of Cutter as he watched and listened to the evening sounds. It was quiet in the valley. Mordon accepted the friendship of the dog with surprising relish. He had tried in earnest in his early years to gain one of the beast’s affection, but here it was given freely. His memories of rejection and rebuff by the king’s wolfhounds were entirely erased by the weight of Cutter’s head on his thigh.
He thought of Raeah, and wondered if she had found mounts for them all. Mordon discovered he profoundly missed the woman. Raeah and he may never come together as lovers, like he wished was possible. But Mordon needed to hear her story. Both he and Simper were sacrificing their comfortable lives in Widley to further the princess’s ambitions. It was plain to him she was using them in different ways. She held her body and womanly ways in front of him like a piece of hardened brown sugar. Perhaps she had surmised his terrible guilt. For Simper, she was the princess, a person of royalty needing protecting; not much more complicated than that. The hearing of her tale may cause him great pain and frustration, but her story would explain much about the person they intend to destroy.
Wicliff had schooled him about living and life, as well as swordsmanship. But the old soldier wasn’t here to advise him, or help keep them from harm’s way now. Mordon needed to know as much as he could learn about Poltarc. Everything he could learn would come from Raeah. He was surprised to realize he was not afraid of what was to come. There had to be a way to reach the man. Maybe his assumption of Raeah’s free access to the man was faulty.
Within the quiet grove of oaks, Cutter’s head snapped up from Mordon’s thigh. The dog’s head pointed down the valley, its ears slanted forward to catch additional sound. Mordon heard the rustle of leaves, but there didn’t seem to be the slightest movement of air through the trees.
Mordon tried to see movement in the dim light provided by the stars, but could discern nothing. The dog started to rise, but Mordon pulled him back, “Stay.” He was surprised the big animal obeyed. They both listened and watched in the direction Cutter was indicating . . . nothing. But Cutter did not relax back to Mordon’s leg. The Wilson blade came to his hand as Mordon sensed the dog becoming tenser with each passing moment. Mordon’s other weapons were also close at hand if he felt the need for them.
Very little of the starlight found its way through the foliage of the oaks, as Mordon strained to hear or see what was beyond the grove of trees. Mordon heard the barest of sounds among the limbs of the tree over his head
.
His reaction was swift. In one leap, he was on his feet, looking up in the tree. The sword was in his right hand, and the pike balanced in his left. What he could see was the outline of a person’s body; black against the slightly lighter background. Cutter growled deep in its chest, but did not bark. “You are found out. Come down, or this pike may cause you harm.” A disbelieving snigger came from behind, beyond their small clearing. He dared not turn. “Captain Simper, your skill with a sword may be needed.” Mordon wasn’t surprised to hear the man’s voice come from where he had slept.
“What have we here, Sir Mordon? Are we set upon by thieves who prefer giggling before they attack? Maybe they mean us no harm, and look for a place to sleep as we did.”
Mordon did not relax his grip on either the sword or the pike, even though Cutter seemed no longer worried. “Come down from the trees and talk. We will not harm you.” The voice he heard caught him off balance. The voice was of a woman.
Another slight scoffing sound followed. “You will not harm either of us? Put down your weapons, and you will not be harmed.”
“I cannot do as you ask. This blade is too fine a weapon to lie in the dirt. I have told you, we will not harm you. I know not if you intend us harm, so laying aside our weapons is not likely to happen. Trust is something earned, and difficult to give freely to voices in the night.” The woman’s voice became less demanding.
“You move quickly for a man of your size. How do we know you do not lie to us as would the men of Raver’s army?”
Mordon did not wish to tell these voices what the two of them were about. But it was also true shunning these voices might lead to an unnecessary conflict. Mordon let down his guard long enough to ask, “Who is this Raver of which you speak? Is he the leader of the armies that sacked Widley? We have learned the man’s name is Poltarc. If you desire his death, as do we, then we are not enemies. My friend, Captain Simper of Widley’s guard, and I have lived in the wreckage of Widley for two years. Poltarc’s soldiers searched for us all the while, but we survived to see them all dead.” As silently as these voices had come upon them he could not truly say there was just the one in the limbs above them. The second voice had come beyond the trunks to the north. A leader of a group of men would be smart to confuse others using a woman to ask questions first. “Should we build a fire, so we can see the intentions on the other’s face?” The voice came from a slightly different location.
“No fires here in the valley . . . they can be seen for miles. If you know the name of the man who led that horde of stinking vicious animals to be Poltarc, then the Raver and he are one and the same.”
Mordon heard Simper move slightly closer to his left side.
“Then where can we go to find better, and more concealed, surroundings?”
The two men could hear sounds of someone descending the tree. It was so dark in the grove of oaks they could discern little, until the voice came from just beyond the trunk.
“Follow me up the slope. A proper camp is less than a mile and a half from here.”
The two men picked up their gear and cautiously followed the dark form at their front. They followed her out into the meadow, and then up the gentle rise of the eastern slope. Out in the open, they could see a little better. The four of them and the dog seemed to be the only ones about. Cutter followed closely at Mordon’s side.
The woman at their fore was tall. Her hair was either tucked into a headband or was short. Her feminine ears could be seen. She strode forward with purpose, as if she was used to hiking in these mountains. The woman behind them stayed several steps to their rear; not moving in any threatening manner, simply following. She was tall as well. They both wore clothing that clung to their shapes. Whatever they wore, it made no sound as the grass and shrubbery rubbed against their leggings.
The woman in the front led them into the trees higher on the slope. As soon as they stepped within the forest, a barely discernible trail led them still higher. The trail wove among the trunks, ever upward. The track suddenly dipped over an earthen lip, and led down into a swale. Across the small meadow, a cliff rose above their heads. At the base of the cliff, a black opening could be seen. The woman moved to the opening, and on through without hesitation. Both men paused. The woman behind them commented.
“Wait until my sister has struck light.”
Mordon wasn’t about to step into a cave without knowing what, and how many, were inside. Mordon watched the dog for any indication of a trap; the animal was quiescent. Within seconds, a dull glow came from the left within the mouth of the cave. Dully lighting a curving rock entrance. The light gained strength, and began sending flickering segments of brightness within the curved tunnel.
“She has started a cooking fire. Enter when you feel ready.”
Mordon turned to Simper, “What do you think?”
Simper had to shake his head, “You wanted to meet someone. Maybe they can give us the help you were looking for.”
Mordon shrugged, and turned to enter the mouth of the cave. About 10 steps later, they had turned a corner and could see the inside of the cave. It progressed another 30 feet into the solid rock, and ended abruptly. The sister who had started the fire was standing with feet set solidly upon the rock of the cave’s floor, staring at Mordon, and then switched her steady gaze to Simper. She wore a quiver of arrows at her hip. The bow was at her back with the string across her front. There was the pummel of a sword sticking up from a sheath at the opposite side of her shoulder and neck. She looked lithe, and ready to answer their actions with equal authority. The woman had a full head of dark hair, and was pleasant of features. There was a hint of a smile on her lips. Her soft leather clothing accentuated, rather than deterred, her feminine outline.
Mordon turned to locate the other woman. The one behind was almost a mirror image of the woman by the fire. He looked back to the woman who had first entered the cave, “You are twins, or seem to be.”
“My name is Tabatha . . . Tabby to my friends. You two may call me Tabatha until we know your intentions.”
Mordon heard the other walk forward, and circumvent, where Simper and he stood. The second woman walked to stand at Tabatha’s side. She was nearly identical to her sister. On the left side of her face was a birthmark covering most of her cheek that disappeared into her hairline behind her ear. Even with the light, rose-colored mark, she was as attractive as her sibling. She was equally decorated in weapons.
“My sister knows I speak for myself. My name will be forthcoming only if we know you can be trusted. Tell us how you came to the valley below, and why you travel this direction. Maybe then you will know my name.”
Mordon watched Simper pull the pack from his back, and step toward the fire. Simper sat on the nearest stone holding his hands out to gather the crackling fire’s warmth. Mordon didn’t like the idea of sitting, with his back to the entrance, while the two women stood. They would have the advantage. Simper was trying to show them they intended no harm. His words of trust came back to him as he stood there, undecided. The two women looked as competent as any soldier he had met.
Stepping forward, Mordon slipped his heavy pack from his shoulders and sat on a low stone ledge, a few feet from Simper. “I try to wait for a lady to sit before I do, but I don’t think being courteous will prove our motives for coming with you.” Cutter sat next to his left leg, and put its head on Mordon’s knee. “We met Cutter here in the mountains. We think he was one of the king’s wolfhounds. Somehow, he managed to survive, just as the four of us survived.” When the two women did not respond immediately, he dug into his pack and withdrew some of their salted beef. His intention was to share what they had. When he looked up, their eyes were staring at the crusted meat. “It’s salted beef. We have no pot for making soup.” The unnamed one stammered a comment.
“Salt . . . salt you have salt. We have been unable to find salt in the forest. There are salt lic
ks the animals use, but no trace of . . . .”
She fell silent as the two men looked on in surprise. Neither of them had been without salt. Mordon started to scrape the salt from the beef onto the ground, when the woman who had followed behind them stepped forward and knelt. Her hands held cupped together under the salted beef. Mordon carefully scraped the salt into her hands, and watched as she stood and touched the salt to her tongue. A broad smile covered her face. Her birthmark darkened slightly.
Mordon handed Simper the palm-sized piece of meat, and drew out another piece for himself. The woman knelt as before, waiting patiently for Mordon to scrape the salt into her hands. While she waited for the meat to be cleared of salt, she spoke.
“How much salt have you scraped to the ground since you have been eating the salted meat?”
Mordon spoke quietly, “We’ve had to find and eat what was available in Widley. Poltarc’s men were supplied barrels of salted pork and beef for the last two years. I was able to steal four barrels from their supplies. But to answer your question, I’ve been scraping salt onto the floor or ground for two years. It would probably fill a good-sized sack with salt.” The look she gave him, from only a foot or two away, would have curdled goat’s milk. “I take it you have been without salt since Poltarc’s army swept through Duratia.” The woman said nothing, but stood and carefully brushed the salt from her hands onto a piece of leather Tabatha held.
Maybe he could show them they were worth trusting, “Before we leave you behind, we will tell you where you can supply yourselves with as much salt as you need. There are storage rooms below the ruined city filled with salt, pepper, dried fruit, and enough ale to fill a pond for swimming . . . if you so choose to do so. Either Captain Simper or I will tell you where to find what I’ve mentioned.” Mordon noticed Simper squirming on his rock. “What’s the matter, Simp?”
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