by Jeff Wheeler
Rista heard the story and rejoiced. She turned to Twig and asked what happened. The kobold gave her a toothy grin. He was proud to tell her the story but it was difficult for her to understand. Twig had just come from her father, who had sent him ahead to help her escape. Father had used honey. He knew the bear’s instincts for sweets would overcome its will for a few moments. Her father had used the confusion of bees to distract it from him and then smacked Papenfuss with a small beehive he’d discovered in the woods, making him drip with honey and bees. The swarm had interrupted Papenfuss’s control of his own magic, and his own bear had attacked him to get more honey.
She grinned with triumph at her father’s ingenuity. She was so proud of him.
“Grab the girl!” Mattson Kree said angrily. “Bring her to me.”
Twig looked panic-stricken, and Rista quickly grabbed a blanket and smothered the kobold with it to conceal him. She went to the tent and stepped out.
“Where’s the gag?” Gabe demanded.
“I was tired of it,” Rista snapped. She glowered at the Serpentarium, but her mind was working fast. “Well? Are we going to stand around at the summit or go to Battle Mountain? I think my father’s planning to defeat you there.”
The taunt was probably ill-advised, but she did not regret it.
“We’ll see who wins,” Mattson Kree said angrily. “I still have you, after all.”
“There’s a bee on your shoulder,” Rista said, nodding at him.
The man jerked back, eyes wide with the involuntary spasm, and flapped his arms almost comically. It confirmed Rista’s suspicion. Mattson Kree was terrified of bees.
* * *
After crossing the highest summit of the Arvadin, the terrain changed drastically. The western slopes had been lush and full of trees. Rista’s father had explained to her that the leeward side of the mountains was stark and barren, for although it did get storms, it did not get as many because of the height of the mountain range. Different creatures infested the rocky, scraggy country—creatures like lizards, serpents, vultures, and even roaming bands of kobolds.
As Rista walked, she sensed the presence of bees, but they were distant and the colonies were small. There were more carpenter bees in the desolate land, their size and hardiness better suited for the rough landscape. Rista sensed them, but she didn’t like them. There were also a variety of wasps clustered around the mud pits that were the remains of dried-out ponds. The earth was cracked and parched, the ground hard on her legs and ankles.
The march down the other side was quick and uneventful, and before them stretched a massive plain with another range of mountains in the far distance. The peak of one of the distant mountains was shaped like a pyramid. Battle Mountain. Pockets of scrub and brambleweed stretched for leagues in front of them. The plains were barren of trees, save for a few stunted mesquites. There was nowhere to hide, unless you were small like Twig. Rista tried to spot the kobold to make sure he was following, but she couldn’t discern him from the foliage, which would have perfectly hidden the creature’s movements. Her thirst became a concern, but Mattson Kree had filled several water flasks up on the mountaintop and they had claimed those left behind by the slain soldiers.
As she plodded on the dusty road, the sun scorching high above, she would occasionally glance back to see if she could also spot her father. But there was no sign of pursuers, no sign of the massive eagles that patrolled the valley on the other side.
“Why do you keep looking back?” Gabe asked, dropping back suddenly to walk alongside her. “Do you think he’s going to suddenly run up and save you?”
“I don’t know what he’s going to do,” Rista replied stiffly. “But he’s smarter than the lot of you.”
“You think so?” Gabe asked with a wry smile.
“Why are we traveling during the day and not the night now?” she asked him, feeling the dust and dirt all over herself. Each step kicked up more plumes of it.
“Once we crossed the mountains, we became less of a target for the Enclave. It’s very far to the south. If they did know about us, it would take weeks before they could get here.”
“What about your father?” she challenged.
Gabe shrugged. “Again, it will take weeks before he learns about the soldiers on the pass. What clues will they have? Bite marks. They won’t know who was behind it. They don’t know about us. They don’t even know about Mattson Kree. But they will.” He glanced ahead at the Serpentarium who maintained a bold, tireless stride. He was speaking to Trea in a low voice. There was no effort to hide their trail.
“What is his plan?” Rista asked conspiratorially.
Gabe glanced back at Mattson Kree, then at her. He dropped his voice even lower. “Do you really think I’m going to tell you? I thought you were smart, Rista.”
She elbowed him sharply in the ribs, which startled him and he grunted. Mattson Kree glanced back angrily and Gabe rubbed his side and stepped away from her, giving her a sulky look.
“My father will stop you,” Rista said hotly, her voice cracking.
Mattson Kree looked back at her again, his look sly. “I’m counting on it,” he replied ominously.
* * *
They walked until well after sunset. Rista’s legs were tired and aching, but she never complained of the fatigue. The mountains in the far distance seemed no closer at the end of the first day. It was like they were walking in sand that pulled them backward ten paces for every five they went forward. After it was dark, Mattson Kree directed them at a sharp angle to the one they had been traveling. They made camp in the dark, with no fire. The earth was hard and sharp with stones and cracked edges. The diminutive shrubs weren’t gentle either. Rista cleared a space to stretch out on her blanket.
Gabe walked by and tossed another rolled-up blanket to her. “It gets cold at night,” he offered by way of explanation. She took it without thanks.
Mattson Kree sat nearby, his back straight.
“I saw no sign of him during the day,” Trea said in a dark tone. “Not even a smudge on the horizon. He could be camouflaged, though.”
Mattson Kree shook his head. “He may have waited for the dark to follow us.”
Trea wrinkled her nose. “Why do you think that?”
Mattson Kree extended his arm, pointing.
Rista turned back and she saw it too. There was an orb of light shining in the mountain, winding down the trail they had come from.
“He stands out like a beacon,” Trea said angrily.
“He’s doing it on purpose,” Mattson Kree said, chuckling. “He’s a clever man, Trea. We shouldn’t underestimate him. He defeated the Overlord, after all.” The Serpentarium turned his gaze to Rista. The moon showed just enough of his face that she could see his sardonic expression. “How did he defeat the Overlord?”
Rista huddled beneath the blanket Gabe had thrown to her, feeling a spark of hope and a deep reservoir of defiance. She leaned forward, glancing from one to the other, keeping her voice low. “Do you really think I’m going to tell you? I thought you were smart, Mattson Kree.”
Gabe stifled his snort of laughter and tried inadequately to disguise it as a cough.
Mattson Kree’s face hardened. “I grow weary of your insolence. Perhaps you’d care to feel an atrox’s fangs again.”
Rista lifted her chin. “I’m not afraid of you.”
“But you are afraid of serpents,” he said knowingly. He opened the flap of his satchel and the snake lifted its head out and then coiled on the dusty ground in a heap. Rista’s skin shivered at the sight of it, despite all her efforts to control her fear. Cold sweat leeched from her skin.
“You cannot help yourself,” Mattson Kree whispered. “It’s the enmity magic. Little children are unaffected by it—until they are hurt. Children are afraid of nothing. But soon they learn, and it is pain that teaches them. The scalding handle of an iron skillet. The sting of a bee. We are a weak and vulnerable race. A sack of watery blood and soft organs enmeshed i
n brittle bones.” His voice took on a mystical quality as he gazed at her, his eyes fierce and determined. “All the while, the Enclave exists in a state of peace. They have immortal bodies that cannot age and die. They sing their fat songs and drink their ancient wines and pluck the strings of their melodious harps.” He said this with derision. “They could be the rulers of the valley. They could knock down Stanchion castle with an earthquake. Yet they refuse to participate in the world at large. They let kingdoms rise and fall. They let us squabble and fight, and they do nothing to intervene. Nothing until humanity is too wretched and irksome and only then will they be bothered to lend assistance. They could make the world like the Enclave. Instead, they huddle within its confines, sipping its precious magic, free of fear.” He leaned forward, his arm resting on his knee. “But they will fear me.”
“You cannot get into the Enclave,” Rista said, her voice trembling. She wanted to be brave, but there was an atrox coiled in front of her, its forked tongue flicking at her. Mattson Kree sat behind it, his eyes probing into hers.
“Can’t I?” he whispered smoothly. “But you misunderstand my goals, Rista. I don’t want to go into the Enclave. I want to stop them from coming out. A serpent population will continue to grow so long as there is plentiful food. Trust me, my dear. I have thought this all through. The Overlord had the right plan. He had the right protections. He just underestimated the folk wisdom of a Beesinger. That is why my plan begins there. Your father should have gone to the Enclave while he had the chance. No one will ever go in there again.”
There was a hint of madness in the man’s eyes, and Rista feared it. He was ambitious and confident. He was convinced he would succeed. But Rista wondered how many would die for his ambitions to be fulfilled.
Mattson Kree leaned back, stretching out his long legs, resting on his elbows. “Get some sleep. The Beesinger is still a league away, if not more. Don’t try to escape, Rista. These plains are full of snakes. And they are hunting your father just as they are protecting us. If you try to leave this camp, you’ll be bitten. I may or may not save you a second time.”
* * *
It was the middle of the night and the moon had gone down. Only the stars offered some meager light. Rista blinked awake, afraid, feeling a tap on her shoulder. She lifted her head and found the kobold leering down at her. He pressed a clawlike finger to his snout.
Rista nodded. The atrox was gone. In the dim light, she saw the satchel was flat, empty. The Serptentarium breathed in and out, deep asleep. Trea was nestled again him, her face buried against his side, his arm around her shoulder. It made Rista frown. Looking over her shoulder, she spotted Gabe on his blanket, away from the other two. Part of her wanted to rouse him, to persuade him to come with her and escape these two.
Twig gestured for her to follow him. The kobold slunk low to the ground, keeping an eye on the sleeping forms and listening for sounds of trouble. Rista got to her feet and grabbed her half-full waterskin. Each movement felt loud and distracting and she winced at herself. Twig grabbed her hand and led her away from the camp, each step as soft as the wind, while her boots scuffed on the dirt and pebbles. Twig guided her away from the stunted shrubs, weaving and crossing. The kobold would suddenly stop, sniff, and then pull her a different direction. He was helping her avoid the snakes, and she was grateful.
Once they had crept far enough, the kobold tugged on her hand and began to move more quickly. He was taking them east toward Battle Mountain.
“Why are we going this way, Twig?” she whispered.
The kobold tugged and pulled again, chittering softly. They had not gone far when a cry went up from the camp.
“She’s gone.”
“What?” Mattson Kree growled.
“I said she’s gone!” It was Gabe’s voice, full of worry.
“How did she get past the serpents?” Trea asked.
“Can you see her footprints?” Mattson Kree demanded.
“Not in the dark. I need light.”
“Can’t risk it,” he answered angrily. “The Beesginer will be watching.”
“How did she get past the snakes?” Gabe demanded. “Do you think she went back?”
“It won’t be long before my pets catch her,” Mattson Kree said with savage fury. “Stay here. She can’t get far.”
“Let me light a torch!” Trea pleaded. “Let me hunt her.”
“No,” shot back Mattson Kree. “Snakes don’t need light to hunt.”
* * *
The sun slowly brightened the eastern sky and was on the verge of being seen. Rista was cold and tired from the night walk and she was hungry. But the fear of capture and being bitten had kept her moving. She shivered, rubbing her arms vigorously, and was grateful for the sun. She had only drunk two mouthfuls of water, wanting to preserve what little she had.
They were still walking east because that’s where Twig insisted on leading her. Twig had tried to explain, but she couldn’t understand his gibberish like her sister could. She regretted not taking the time before it was needed. She caught her dirty braid with her fingers, looking at it and then tossing it back over her shoulder. Her hair was no longer golden blond, but dusty brown. She felt the dust all over her body and longed for a stream or something to clean herself in. The dust was even in her teeth, which was uncomfortable and aggravating.
As the sunlight began to crest the mountains, she turned her gaze backward and dreaded what she would see. The plain was so flat there was no way to hide herself, but that also meant her enemies could not hide themselves either. What had they done after she’d escaped the camp? She had gone all night and not heard sounds from her pursuers, although she did hear the noise of an atrox rattle several times, but Twig guided them away from the path.
During the night she had also seen the strange light in the distance. She thought it was her father’s light stone and that he was using it to see his way. But it had disappeared during the night, and she’d lost all connection with her father. Just seeing the pinprick of light had been comforting. And then it was gone and she felt alone again. Except for Twig.
The dawn revealed her pursuers.
They were several miles behind her but much closer than she had thought possible. Yes, the serpents were still hunting her, leading them to her. And she was going to Battle Mountain, the place they wanted to go anyway, and she didn’t understand why Twig was leading her there. She had wondered if Mattson Kree, Gabe, and Trea would separate to find her, but no—they were sticking together.
Rista kept walking, enduring the thirst and hunger the best she could.
“Stay out of sight, Twig,” she reminded the kobold. Had they figured out that Rista was no longer alone? They couldn’t consider the little kobold much of a threat.
A familiar hum sounded in her ear. She turned as a bee came zigzagging up to her. It landed on her hand. It was a honeybee. The relief she felt hearing its drone and feeling the tickling sensation on her palm made her want to cry. Invoking her magic, she saw where its hive was and her stomach growled. Honey was just what she needed.
“Come on, Twig,” she said with courage. “I think we could both use some breakfast.” Then she turned her magic to the bee and began to follow it back to its hive.
* * *
The beehive Rista found was small and nestled in a dense shrub. With her magic, she kept the swarm calm and extracted a hunk of gooey comb to satisfy her hunger. The sound of the bees was soothing to her nerves and she kept glancing over her shoulder as she watched her pursuers coming after her. They were gaining ground, and she felt the urgency to leave and wondered if she would be able to outpace them throughout the day. The honey was sweet and delicious and she licked her fingers after discarding the comb.
Twig picked it up and wolfed it down, grinning at her with pointed teeth.
She heard the rattling of an atrox coming from behind her and felt a surge of fear. Twig chittered at her to run and so she rose and began briskly walking toward Battle Mountain, whi
ch loomed in the distance. Her stomach, although sated, was wringing with worry as she walked. She could see Mattson Kree, Trea, and Gabe stalking after her, rising above the thin brush and earth, coming after her with determination and purpose. She could find no trace of her father. Was he lying down in the brush, low against the horizon to conceal himself? He could be anywhere in the vast desolate plain.
The sound of the serpent faded behind her, but she did not slow her pace. Twig bounded and scuttled ahead of her, testing the air, sniffing and smelling. This arid land was his domain.
As the sun rose higher in the sky, it became unbearably warm, and Rista’s thirst became more pronounced. There were no rivers or streams in the barren landscape. She did not want to risk losing all her water, so she endured the discomfort. The sun beat down on her skin and hair and made the land in front of her shimmer with the peculiar distortion that made the horizon look wet. Glancing back, she saw that her pursuers were closing the distance more, and so Rista increased her pace. She looked for signs of other people, but there were none.
Past midday, she saw strange shapes ahead in the plains and wondered if her eyes were playing tricks on her. There were long poles sticking out of the ground at various angles. It was like a grove of skeletal trees, except made of poles, and she couldn’t understand what she was seeing.
Twig began muttering in his strange, guttural tongue.
“I don’t understand you,” she said, her voice a little croaky from lack of use.
The kobold repeated himself and she understood a few words. “What is it? Did you say the dead?”
The kobold nodded vigorously, pointing to the shapes. And then Rista remembered there had been a battle fought in the plains forty years ago. It was part of her father’s tales of his adventures and he had called it the barrowlands. The Overlord’s massive kobold army had been defeated by the King of Stanchion. The kobolds were small and cunning but outnumbered the humans significantly.