The Isle of Ilkchild (The King of Three Bloods Book 4)

by Russ L. Howard

  Sur Sceaf halted abruptly. Staring in awe, he said in a low breath, “Ygg-Hrus-Syl!”

  “What?” Xelph said. “What did you say?”

  “I said, Ygg-Hrus-Syl, the Tree of Life.” Sur Sceaf imagined his children playing in this roaring spring, minus the serpent. He pictured his wives drawing water from it and imagined his sheep grazing the grasses nearby. A feeling of exultation overcame him. He loved his estate at Namen Jewell, but this place vibrated with a new and powerful spiritual energy that beckoned him to shape it. He couldn’t imagine a more perfect place. Someday soon, he hoped to build his country manse here.

  “Well, I can just see Going Snake and your boys, Russell and Ev’Rhett climbing that tree,” Dak said with a grin.

  They both looked up and saw rapid movement in the branches, only to discover it was a large red-tufted squirrel, warning them away from her nest in the top of the tree. A large antlered hart went scrambling through a nearby hawthorn thicket, with its white tail flagging at them. He noticed Mendaka seemed every bit as much enthralled with this spot and it was a confirmation to Sur Sceaf that his blood-brother knew this was holy ground they stood on.

  Sur Sceaf raised his arms to the swan square, bowed at the neck, and said, “Praise thee, oh elven parents, Njord and Nerthus, for this grant of fertile land and abundant waters. Here I shall plant myself as you have shown me this day.”

  Then Sur Sceaf pointed at the roaring springs. “I shall name this fount, Alph.” He knelt down, cupped his hands in the crystal spring, and brought the sweet water to his lips. “All the land within a hundred acres of this place shall be for the building of my manor.”

  “What will you call this place, my lord?” Ilkchild inquired.

  “Neorxenawang,” Sur Sceaf declared, “for it is the Garden of the Elves. It is perfectly situated. I’ll be close enough to the Mound of Godeselle to govern, but free to come to my country estate to be with my family so that they won’t always be caught in the labors of government, the bustle of business, and the intrusions of dignitaries. I like it. It’s the perfect bundle of all that pleases me.”

  Fromer looked disgusted, “I would never expose my children, had I any, unto these wilds and that serpent we saw there. It betokeneth madness.”

  Sur Sceaf noticed that while the others were looking around, the map maker, Flammalf, had already taken paper and charcoal from his rucksack and was busy making sketches of the area. Sur Sceaf remembered that when he scryed Flammalf, endless images of maps had flashed before his vision and now he knew why he was led to include the wiry young dark-haired Half-Quailor.

  Flammalf noticed that he was being observed and exclaimed, “I’ll do a general sketch with the major landmarks now and come back later with Muryh and a chain to establish the leaps and bounds of the manor.”

  “If you will, please make a note, I’d like the hall to be situated here and the houses and mess hall over there.” He pointed. “The gates of the manor should be right over there just beyond where the old grey oak stands. That will be the courtyard and the entrance development.”

  “All you ask will be included, but as you know, Muryh will have his own suggestions.”

  Sur Sceaf laughed, “As will Paloma and the other bride-sisters.”

  Muryh walked up to add his opinion. It was clear he had overheard them. “Well, I hope you can find some builders to build this manor of your dreams, my lord, because I don’t want to be diverted from the fortress and the palace. I’ll design it, but someone else is going to have to do the work.”

  “Don’t worry, Muryh, hope costs very little and I have plenty of it. No one would even think of distracting you from your labors. I’ll have you design it, but I’ll use the Hickoryans to build it.”

  Mendaka said, “At least I only have to please Little Doe, which is quite enough.”

  Red Fox grunted, “I’d like to start a horse stud in these lands and hunt all my food once the allotments are determined. I’ll leave it to my wife to plan out her house and I’ll stick to building the barns.”

  “Flammalf, are you finished?”

  “Yes, at least for now, my lord.” Flammalf folded the paper and returned it and the charcoal to his bag.”

  Sur Sceaf took one final look at the tree of life before summoning the men and led them back down to the lake shore. Once they were assembled, he looked at the position of the sun and said, “I think it’s time we head back in the direction of the hall.”

  He noticed the winds now blew harder across the lake. The closer they got to the lake the taller the grasses grew, so that most of the stalks were four to six feet tall by the time they reached the water’s edge. As they retraced their steps towards the mound, the waves beat rhythmically along the shoreline, where killdeers ran up and down the beach giving their signature songs.

  Looking out over the lake, Sur Sceaf was able to see the distant shore to the west and it appeared far lusher. He asked Muryh, “What would account for this water being so blue?”

  “It’s limestone sediment.” As always Muryh was happy to share his knowledge. “I saw it in the quarries up in the Sand Wand Islands. The Tlingit call it sky blue waters.”

  When they returned to the spot where Coyote and Xelph had studied the multitude of ungulate tracks, Red Fox stopped and pointed. “Look fresh tracks! Whatever the creature is, we appear to have just missed it.”

  Upon the hillside to the east they saw bands of wild horses. Suddenly they came upon wild boar which they stirred out of the tall grasses. The pigs ran out before them with their tails up in alarm.

  Sur Sceaf looked around and said, “Why don’t we have our lunch over there beneath that old weeping willow and perhaps we will see what the creature is.”

  * * *

  By the time they made it back to the Hall of Godeselle, Elijah was putting on the final touches of a hearty meal of grass beast and barley corn with hrampsa onions for their supper. While Sur Sceaf’s party had been exploring, Herman and Govannon had constructed a small oven from rock and mortar. As the mortar was setting, they had retrieved provisions and the large cauldron from the sea chamber.

  Sur Sceaf said, “Great job on the oven, but how in the gods’ names did you get the cauldron up here.”

  “Thank you for noticing, Lord Sur Sceaf,” the wizard said. “I think this man is going to be a great metal master some day,” pointing to the giant, Herman, who was uncomfortable but pleased with the praise. “We were discussing his work and he has a deep understanding of metallurgy I find in few blacksmiths.”

  “Great. Herman, you will never be taught by a greater master. Believe me, he knows things others cannot even imagine.”

  “He hinted at that,” Herman said smiling. “Even said he will teach me how to make the green lion eat the sun and bleed the Hereward star fire.”

  “Whoa, you are getting into deep alchemical formulas here,” Sur Sceaf said. “Wait til he shows you what he can do with gold and iridium.”

  Xelph interjected, “Govannon, look at this.” He showed him a bamboo culm he brought back from their foray. “See, it has ears of corn growing out off it. Now, men, I know my bamboos and I ain’t ever seen it growing perfect ears of corn on it just like mais. Like this.”

  “By the gods,” Govannon said, “Corn!” He pulled the husk off one ear and took a bite. “Sweeter than honey!” The wizard’s face went pale.

  “What is it,” Xelph cried, “Is it poison?”

  “No, I just had the worst thought,” the wizard said. “What is it that causes the population explosions in the Pitters every forty-five to fifty years?”

  Xelph thought briefly. “The bamboo fruit.”

  “Precisely,” Govannon said. “What if the Pitters could get their supply of bamboo fruit from here. That would spike their fertility and lead to another Pitter explosion, the aftermath of which we could never compete with. We must guard carefully how well the bamboos grow here. The gods only know how these bamboos might benefit them.”

  Xelph
started digging in his bag, “I brought enough for our dinner.”

  “We’ll roast the ears in the husks,” Govannon said. “Just soak them in water and throw them on the hot coals. They should be ready by the time we eat.” He turned to Sur Sceaf. “Turtle Duck’s crew really thrashed the supplies. Everything was turned over and thrown all about. It looks like they went mad or something.”

  “Did you see their boat in the bay?” Sur Sceaf asked.

  “No, just the disarray they left in the chamber.”

  Sur Sceaf shook his head and frowned, “Then I don’t think it was Turtle Duck.”

  “I beg your pardon, it certainly wasn’t us.” The wizard raised his brow of bushy eye brows for emphasis.

  “No, not you. I suspect the cave was vandalized by the giant tro whose prints we just discovered down by the bamboo groves. I assume Turtle Duck and Raven’s Tongue will soon arrive safely at Ur Ford. I have sent a petition for laborers, supplies, and settlers to the high lord Sur Spear. But if the ship were still there I would be very concerned. Praise the Elves, they carry our message of hope over the Deep of Aurvandil to our home.”

  “What thinkest thou, man?” Fromer exclaimed. “Plannest thou on staying here? And now with giants in the land. Can it get anymore insane?”

  Sur Sceaf bit off a sigh, “Fromer, I should have thought I had already made it clear that my every intention is to subdue this land and make it fruitful.”

  “Canst thou not see it is cursed?” Fromer yelled, spittle flying from his mouth. “We need to stick to our initial agreement and take up our allotments in Ur Ford.”

  “Fromer, two men can stand under a tree with a swarm of bees. One looks up and sees stingers, the other looks up and sees honey. I am the one who sees honey. If you don’t want the stings, at least do me the courtesy of standing aside while I fetch the swarm for my own honey.

  * * *

  Wose picked up the Cha’Kal’s trail in the foothills of the Kalifornia Mountains. As he had suspected, Scynscatha was making a beeline heading straight toward Copperopolis. It was Wose’s intent to ferret out the Cha’Kal’s camp in order to determine the next course of action against Sur Sceaf.

  Before going to Copperopolis, he stopped in Zamora at the graves of his wives and children. After praying and asking his wives for their approval to marry Va-Eyra, he was sufficiently convinced they were present and gave their blessings to him.

  Next he visited his friends Aethelstone and Sigrum to get some pigeons. He had also asked them to relay any message he sent to them on to Witan Jewell as quickly as possible.

  Three days after leaving Zamora, he neared Copperopolis. He spotted numerous columns of smoke in the near distance rising above a large hill. Laying on his belly, he stealthily crawled to the top of the hill and peered through the thick grass. Before his eyes spread endless Pitter camps as far to the south as eye could see.

  After memorizing the general lay of the camp, he snuck back down the hill and found an oak grove surrounded by rocks that gave him ample cover and would serve as his base. He estimated this grove was four miles out of Copperopolis, and would make the ideal hideout for him from which to launch his plans.

  After feeding the pigeons in their crate and grooming his horse, he sat on a large warm rock and ate some hardtack. When he finished, he pulled out the silk scarf Va-Eyra had embroidered for him, just as he had done every evening since leaving Fort Rock. The scarf still bore the rose fragrance from where she had concealed it in her perfumed breasts. He drew in the scent and murmured, “My desert rose!” remembering his promise to Va-Eyra to keep it close to his person. “I’m taking your words to heart, my love, but living is so much harder than dying. I desperately want to live to get back to you. May the Elves make it so. The gods know my heart wills it.”

  The Wose tucked the scarf back beneath his shirt against his bare chest. For a brief moment he allowed himself the fantasy of his chest pressing against Va-Eyra’s breasts, shook his head, Mustn’t be thinking of such good things. Must stay focused on the mission.

  The sun was now high overhead, shortening the shadows to mere slivers as solar noon marked the time. He placed his bedroll against a large boulder, reached into his rucksack, and unrolled a piece of leather containing an assortment of needle sharp spikes ranging in length from three to nine inches. From another pocket in his rucksack he retrieved a leather pouch containing flakes of crushed castor beans and dried rattlesnake venom. One-by-one he spit on each spike, then dipped it in the powdered ricinus poison and carefully placed each one into the small quiver attached to the scramasax on his ankle.

  Wose checked all of his crypsis, carefully tucked grasses into his suit and into his cap, then followed the hill around. He realized he would have to discern out of this sea of tents the one occupied by the Cha’Kal, but that wouldn’t be that difficult, considering Pitters stuck so rigidly to standardized plans, never departing by much.

  He assumed the persona of an owl surveying for significant movement. Bright-eyed, he scanned the enemy host and estimated there were as many as twenty thousand encamped there. He thought of how much easier it is to go undetected when there are many people, as opposed to when there are but a few, due mostly to the lack of caution and the many distractions created by such great numbers.

  The smell of barbecued meat reached his nostrils long before he saw a butchered quarter of beef aging on a spit over a fire. At the same time he detected a poorly cared for latrine and thought, if they stay here much longer there will be disease entering their ranks soon enough.

  Moving with the silence of an owl in flight, Wose noted where the horse corrals had been placed and the poor quality of horse flesh, nothing like the Sharaka ponies he saw tethered to a line nearby. To one side he spotted a corral of ill-favored, boney cattle, and the smell of the cooking meat no longer seemed as enticing.

  As he moved to a less trafficked area, he froze as a Pitter soldier nearly ran into him. The man was carrying armor and shield and heading toward a large tent where posted guards eyed him cautiously. As they lifted the flap to allow the soldier entrance, Wose noted the interior was filled with armor, shields, and weaponry. It was an impressive display of the implements of war, which confirmed his suspicion that they were indeed preparing for a large and prolonged engagement. It probably betokened a preemptive strike on Frisco. Certainly this was information that needed to be conveyed to Sur Spear, and he was glad he had brought pigeons. However, before he sent a message off, he needed to explore much further.

  Moving stealthily through the camp, he paused now and then to make a mental note of landmarks and patterns of traffic flow. Inside a ring of tents he observed a group of the Pitters playing a stick game where they rolled two dice and moved sticks along lines in the dirt. Their arguing made it easy to move in silence right past them. How unlike a Herewardi military camp this was. In a Herewardi camp the men would never be just lazing about, gambling, and drinking. No, the fyrd would be discussing maneuvers, cleansing and clearing of any bad feelings towards one another, and engaging in team building activities with their wolf packs.

  The tents of the Pitters were mostly khaki green with a smattering of black here and there which belonged to the officers and priests. There were a couple Sharaka tipis, but no sign of the Standing Bull, only some of his do-nothing followers milling about with the Pitters.

  Slaves carried bundles, brought food, and water, and firewood, and tended fires. There were way more Pitters than he expected. An army this size must be fed and he knew it must be employed for no Pitter commander could suffer for his armies to remain idle. What god-awful plans can they have for armies of this size? The supply lines must be enormous.

  Wose counted the black tents with guards. Then he added those to his mental map and noted possible escape routes, distractions, and hiding places in the unlikely, but possible event that he might be detected.

  He had assumed one of these black tents was the Cha’Kal and began trying to search them out, one by o
ne. He had eliminated three and was moving toward the fourth when the Cha’Kal emerged out of the black tent directly ahead, shouting orders as usual. The cruel tone brought back the memory of how the Cha’Kal had abused and murdered the women in the desert and his rage boiled within him. He had to repeatedly tell himself he was not in killer mode, but on an intelligence gathering operation only.

  Careful to avoid disturbing the ground, he moved in closer. The Cha’Kal was shouting at an Apache boy of around eight winters.

  Wose went into total stealth mode and eased in close to the tent of the Cha’Kal to listen.

  “I told you to keep my stones separated,” Cha’Kal shouted. “That’s how I keep track of my legions. And stay away from my clothes, you wretched little cut-throat, you’ve messed up all my order, my stones aren’t where they are supposed to be.”

  “Which color of stones do you want, Commissar?” The boy asked.

  “Bring me sixteen of the orange stones.”

  Barefooted, with only a loin cloth about his waist and a hair band around his long black hair, the boy said, “The last time you told me to only bring seven.” Wose noted the boy stood tall, proud, even defiant, his feet anchored, reminding Wose of the fierce Apache warriors he had fought beside in the past.

  “Well, now I want sixteen, you little bastard. Do as I say. I just got word the Skull Worm is bringing sixteen more legions and I need to mark it on the map. Then I’ll need six blue stones for the Growling legions, and four red ones for the Vardropi. Now, for Angrar’s sake, don’t ask anymore questions you little savage or I’ll break your neck.”