As Fire is to Gold (Chronicles of the Ilaroi Book 1)

by Mark McCabe

  Anxious to get on with it now that he was ready, Golkar made his way down from his tower to the living chambers below. He decided he would have Ruz bring the girl to him once he had washed the smell of slig from his limbs and he’d changed into fresh clothes. Idly he noted that once he had done with his meddlesome colleagues one of his first acts should be to find bigger quarters . . . and more suitable staff. Tu-atha was adequate for the moment, but soon he would require something more aptly befitting his station. Perhaps Elissa’s palace would be more appropriate, or something altogether new, something grand and imposing.

  Ambling down the staircase with his head filled with visions of grand mansions and delegations that prostrated themselves at his feet, he was surprised to meet Tug, on his way up to him. Golkar instantly sensed that something was wrong, very wrong. The moment he saw the bloodied bandage that was wrapped around the draghar’s scalp he sensed his plans had gone awry. The bandage on Tug’s right hand only heightened his foreboding.

  “Tell me she’s not dead, Tug, tell me she’s not dead,” he roared as his face darkened. If the draghar gave the wrong answer he would die right where he stood.

  Tug’s reply was almost a whisper. “She got away, Master.” As he spoke he slowly backed down the staircase away from Golkar, his feet groping blindly for the stairs behind him. He dared not take his eyes off the wizard. “Ruz is badly wounded,” he mumbled. “He may die.”

  “I don’t care about Ruz,” screeched the wizard, reaching up to his full height and glaring down at the pathetic creature cowering on the steps below him. “Find her, and quickly. Get some of those scum you deal with from the village and find her. And if you want to live to see another moon, bring her back here, unharmed, and untouched, you filthy scum.”

  “Y-yes, Sir.” Tug scrambled back down the stairs and out of sight without a moment’s further hesitation.

  Golkar grasped the railing to steady himself as Tug disappeared from sight round the bend in the staircase. A few moments later he heard the front door slam shut. Tu-atha lay silent. The only noise Golkar could hear was his own laboured breathing. His plans lay in ruins and he cursed himself for staying away so long.

  Grartok had invited him to meet with his hunt leaders and he had thought it a necessary though distasteful chore to comply with the barbarian’s request. As far as he was concerned the sligs were foul-smelling, bloodthirsty and treacherous, and those were some of their more acceptable traits. Not that any of that mattered to Golkar, of course. They were pliable and they treated him with the respect and the awe he deserved. He would let them rape, pillage and plunder till they held all of Tenamos in their sway. Liricor would fall to them quickly enough after that. Then, while they ruled Ilythia, he would rule them.

  His plans for the sligs didn’t end there. At the moment they saw him as a benefactor. Their leader Grartok was no fool, though. He would use Golkar to get what he wanted and then try to throw off the yoke. They would then find, however, that they had got more than they bargained for. While Kell and Tarak were distracted by the slig threat, Golkar would be able to deal with his colleagues at his leisure.

  Enhancing his own power, through Sara at first, and then through others of her kind, he intended to destroy each of them, Kell first, and then Tarak. Then he’d bring Grartok to heel. The slig leader and his bloodthirsty rabble had no idea what they were dealing with. Grartok was too engrossed in his own power plays to see that he was playing with fire. Once he saw Golkar’s full power revealed, he would have no choice but to grovel at the wizard’s feet along with the rest of the sligs. Why, thought Golkar, they might even make him a god.

  But now, with only the first steps of his plans put into action, he had miscued. Those fool draghar had failed him. At least, he reassured himself, the girl couldn’t have gotten far. Although he had been gone most of the day, he knew she wouldn’t be able to get far in the forest on foot.

  Continuing quickly down the stairs to his living quarters, Golkar crossed the room and opened a cabinet. Picking up a slender porcelain jug, he slowly filled a small goblet with wine, spilling a little as his thoughts raced. He needed to calm himself, to think. All was not lost. The girl couldn’t have gone far and he’d put enough of a scare into Tug to ensure he’d slit his mother’s throat if he thought it would secure her return.

  Where could she go, anyway? Tu-atha was far from the major towns, way out on the western edge of the wilderness. She wouldn’t find help easily anywhere nearby. Tug’s cronies, though ruffians, were competent enough and they knew how to hunt down prey. They’d proven that to Golkar before. He was sure it wouldn’t take them long to find her.

  Golkar breathed easier. Sipping his wine, he realised that what had seemed a disaster might be only a setback, perhaps just an annoying delay. Of course, he realised, the concern mounting within him once more, there was one possibility that could have appalling consequences. If the girl should somehow come to the attention of Tarak or Kell, as unlikely as that was, then the tables might be turned. He couldn’t allow that to happen. He’d rather kill the girl himself than let a weapon like her fall into their hands.

  Golkar took another sip of wine before he rose from his chair. He would need Grartok’s help to ensure she didn’t get that far. He would have to move now, and quickly.

  ~~~

  Sunlight filtered through the trees and onto the trail in front of Rayne as his horse carefully picked its way through the rotting branches and twigs that littered the path. It was clear no animal had used the track for some time. While this in itself wasn’t unusual, Rayne felt the hairs on the back of his neck rising. He hadn’t seen a single living creature in the valley since he’d entered it that morning. Turning his head, he looked over his shoulder for the umpteenth time. In direct contradiction to the apparent solitude, Rayne had the constant feeling he was being watched. With a shiver and a shake, he urged his horse forward. “Let’s go, girl,” he whispered in encouragement, leaning forward to duck under an overhanging branch as he did so.

  Rayne was certain he’d turned the wrong way when he’d entered the valley. It was that fork in the little stream that led him here that had thrown him. He’d been following the watercourse for some time and hadn’t expected it to branch. Although he and his father had worked much of the broader wilderness extensively over the years, this particular area wasn’t one they’d often frequented.

  Rayne was following directions he’d got from the blacksmith in the small settlement he’d passed through two days previously. The smith had given him very specific advice of a trail he claimed to know of from both personal and recent experience. Either Rayne hadn’t listened closely enough or the man had erred. No matter, he thought, he could easily cut back to the right and get himself back on course once he crossed the next ridge.

  His thoughts drifted back over the past few weeks. Yet again he wondered if he was doing the right thing. He could have stayed on after his father’s accident; the Southern Marches was a vast area and had plenty to offer a young man with enterprise. Their trapping business was still a going concern and he could have managed it easily enough on his own, his father had done so for years before Rayne had been old enough to join him. There was also still more than enough game if you knew where to look, and plenty that would pay for the pelts.

  It wasn’t a matter of the coin then; it simply wasn’t very interesting. Nor were any of the other jobs he could have picked up on the Marches. Rayne wanted something more. He wanted a life of adventure, as his father had had when he was young. The Marches couldn’t offer that.

  Rayne doubted if there was a single story his father had told him of his earlier life that wasn’t etched in his memory. For many years he had led what seemed to Rayne about as exciting and adventurous a life as one could hope for as a mercenary in the eastern realms of Tenamos, travelling extensively through Kardonia and Algaria and right up to the edge of the Northern Wastes. Then he’d given it all up for the life of a trapper on the southern fringes of the W
estern Wilderness, as far away as he could get from his earlier life.

  He’d had two cherished mementos of that life, Rayne knew. One was his sword, the very one that Rayne had taken as his own after his father’s death. His father took great care of it and taught Rayne to do the same for with own weapons.

  He told Rayne not to be fooled by the sword’s appearance. Though there was nothing fancy about it to look at, it was incredibly well-balanced. He said that it was as fine a sword as you could ask for. He and it had shared many adventures and he wouldn’t swap it for another no matter how much anyone offered him to do so.

  He took the view that if you were going to bear arms, then you needed to know how to use them. To reinforce that, he and Rayne practiced dueling together almost every day. He also taught Rayne how to use a bow, how to care for it and the arrows, how to hold the bow right, how to judge the distance to a target and whether there was any wind that had to be allowed for, and a myriad of other seemingly small but important things you needed to know if you were going to use a bow with accuracy. As a result, although, like his father, the sword was his preferred weapon, Rayne also knew that he could use a bow and arrow with some accuracy when he needed to.

  His father’s other memento was a small silver brooch, in the shape of a small wheel with spokes radiating out from a central hub, into which was set a deep-blue gemstone. The brooch was kept locked away with their most valuable possessions most of the time and Rayne had only seen it the once while his father was alive.

  When questioned about it, his father had simply smiled and looked off into the distance, as if cherishing a memory. He said that it was a ‘little trinket’ he had acquired many years ago in Trest. “It’s only a little thing,” he had said after a few moments, “but it changed my life.” Trest, Rayne knew, was the principal city of Helidos.

  That was the kind of life that Rayne hungered for, then, that of a sword for hire, someone who had adventures that he would remember all of his life, someone who would be respected. He had wanted it ever since he had been old enough to swing a blade. If he didn’t try to fulfil the dream now he probably never would.

  Their friend, Terrin, had sensed his unrest and had offered him work helping out on his smallholding. Rayne knew it wouldn’t have lasted, though. Terrin wouldn’t have been able to afford an extra mouth to feed for long, he could barely feed himself and his wife as it was. He was just feeling guilty about Rayne’s father. It wasn’t Terrin’s fault though. It wasn’t anyone’s fault. Terrin had helped his father many times; it was natural for him to ask for aid in return. Felling the big firs was a dangerous business. The accident was just one of those things. At least it had been quick.

  With a sigh, Rayne chose to skirt the more painful memories. The future was what mattered now. He had left the day after Candlemas. It seemed to him an appropriate time for new beginnings. Just as the Feast of Renewal celebrated the end of winter and the first signs of regrowth, so Rayne saw his venture as a fresh start, a chance to carve out a new life and throw aside the old one, like an old bear casting off his winter coat to make way for the new.

  A month or so and he’d be in Keerêt, signing on with the Algarian Rangers. He’d heard of the trouble the sligs were making and he knew the Algarians were looking for men who could handle themselves. Those years of weapons practice with his father at the end of the day would pay off for him now. The ex-mercenary had tried to impart what skills he could and Rayne had lapped it up, his thirst to emulate his father’s competence a constant driver. Now the adventure he’d longed for was there for the taking and he meant to grab it with both hands.

  His father had always said he’d never regretted his earlier days; he claimed it was just that he’d tired of that life and had wanted to settle down somewhere quiet with Rayne’s mother. But Rayne knew that he wasn’t born to the land any more than his father had been. It just didn’t run in their blood. Maybe he would return to it one day, like his father had done, but first, he wanted a taste of real life.

  Rayne’s thoughts were interrupted by a rustling sound from the trees up ahead. As the noise continued, his attention was drawn to a copse of trees to the left and ahead of him. Quickly stringing his bow, he notched an arrow. It seemed from the snapping of branches and twigs he could hear that dinner was heading his way. His stomach rumbled at the thought of herbed venison roasting slowly over an open fire.

  To Rayne’s surprise, instead of the doe he’d expected, a young girl burst through the undergrowth, running as hard as she could, her wild eyes reflecting her panic. She was running from something, that much was clear from the glance over her shoulder, and she was frightened, scared out of her wits by the look of it. Her face was bleeding from small scratches, no doubt from the brambles and bushes she’d been bashing through, and she was dressed in the buckskins that were typical here in the west.

  As the girl emerged from the trees, almost stumbling as she cleared a fallen branch, she suddenly caught sight of Rayne. She screamed as she came to an abrupt halt, only a dozen or so strides away from him.

  “It’s okay, I mean you no harm,” said Rayne as he drew on his rein. It was clear the girl was distraught. Dropping his bow he quickly jumped down and moved towards her with his right hand outstretched in a gesture of friendship. “Let me help you. What are you running from?”

  The girl backed away from him. Dropping to a half-crouching position, she slipped a knife from her belt. Rayne could see it was bloodied. Her eyes were wide and her body was tensed and ready to spring. Rayne saw tears running down her cheek as she spoke. “Leave me alone,” she pleaded. “Please. Just let me go.” Though her blade looked sharp enough, the girl wielding it didn’t seem quite as menacing. The bloodied knife seemed strangely out of place in her hands.

  Rayne halted, holding his arms wide to indicate he meant her no harm. “Just calm down. I don’t know who is after you but I’m not one of them, I promise you. If you’re in trouble perhaps I can help you.” As he spoke, her trembling limbs gave way and she slumped to her knees, sobbing. Rayne cautiously approached.

  “What’s your name?”

  “Sara.”

  “What’s wrong Sara? Why are you running? What’s happened?”

  ~~~

  Sara looked up at the stranger, wondering at her fortune in running into someone out here in the middle of what seemed to be endless forest. Perhaps she wasn’t as far away from civilisation as she had feared.

  The lad before her was older than her, by a few years, she guessed. He was tall with long, thick, sandy hair, bound into a short ponytail at the back. He was human, and that was a relief, and his face was a friendly one, with a look of concern that comforted and reassured her. She slowly lowered the knife she’d been holding so uncertainly in front of her.

  “Some people . . . they kidnapped me . . . they killed another girl . . . I escaped . . . they’ll come after me,” she sobbed.

  “Well, let’s get you out of here then, as fast as we can.” With a quick look around, he helped Sara to her feet and led her back to his horse. “My name is Rayne. You can ride in front of me,” he said, cupping his hand to help her to mount.

  Sara didn’t hesitate. It was a choice between continuing to run aimlessly through the forest in the middle of she knew not where, or taking her chances with this stranger who offered her help and a friendly face. The opportunity to put distance between her and this valley was too good a one to refuse.

  Once she was mounted, Rayne climbed up behind her, putting a hand on her waist as he righted himself in the saddle. Sara flinched involuntarily at his touch, remembering Tug. She felt her muscles tensing as she suddenly questioned the wisdom of so hastily accepting his offer. He was a total stranger. Why had he been so quick to offer her help?

  A gentle voice came from over her shoulder as they started to move. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you, I’m not used to riding with someone.” After her experience with Tug, Rayne’s consideration both surprised and relieved her. What re
al choice did she have, anyway? She’d have to rely on her instincts, and at the moment they said to trust the lad.

  Sara tried to calm herself as Rayne urged the horse forward. Her heart was racing and her chest still heaved from the exertion of the last few minutes. She’d no idea how far she had run or whether she’d been chased. Fear had driven her blindly into the forest and away from the road and she hadn’t been game to stop until she’d stumbled on Rayne.

  Remembering her sports training, Sara sucked in deep breaths, quenching the oxygen debt in her lungs and slowing her pulse at the same time. As she began to recover, Rayne started to talk to her, questioning her about what had brought her to such a state in the middle of nowhere. His gentle voice and apparent concern helped to calm her even further. Once she could breathe more evenly, she responded, telling her story from the beginning, glad to finally be able to tell someone what she’d been through.

  As her tale unfolded, she could tell that he was astounded at what had befallen her. Surprised as he was, he seemed to accept the bulk of her story, though his scepticism regarding her origins was patently clear. When she explained to him something that Tug had told her about the portal she came through having the effect of allowing her to speak and to understand the language used here in Ilythia, he was quite surprised though. He didn’t seem to have considered that if she had been brought here from another world she might not be able to understand or speak the local language. Again and again, he would come back to the beginning, seeking to know more about where she had come from and who she was. The part about Golkar seemed to interest him most of all.

  Rayne kept them moving at a good pace as they talked. He said he was concerned at the prospect of pursuit and although he told her he hadn’t seen any sign of the house or the road she’d described, he urged his horse on. He suggested that if there were people after her then the sooner they got as far away from that valley as possible the better off they would be.