Trix joined the fight. Her curved swords flashed, catching the giant boar’s hind leg. The beast limped and staggered on two legs, snorting and heaving across the clearing, lashing its great head back and forth in an effort to spear them on the ends of its curling tusks.
Allison finally found her feet and tried to keep the campfire between herself and the thrashing monster. The horses were screaming and stamping. Mercer and Trix took turns, darting in close to hack at the creature. When it turned to get Mercer, Trix would dance in and strike, then leap back again.
Drake bent down, scooped up a handful of loose soil, and shouted, “Get clear!”
Mercer and Trix both backed off. The wounded monster lumbered in a circle, not sure who to go after. Drake intoned an incantation, rubbed the dirt between his hands, and then blew dust.
The earth beneath the enraged beast heaved and bucked. Allison felt it from seven feet away. The ground trembled, and she threw out both hands to keep her balance. There was a tremendous rumbling. Shards of earth and rock shot up like daggers, exploding through the animal’s vulnerable belly. Bits of sticky guts rained down, landing with wet plops. The beast issued a final, tortured squeal and then slumped over on its side. Steaming ropes of intestines spilled from its ruptured belly.
Allison took one look at the slimy mass of innards and stumbled off to the tree line, where she heaved. Someone laughed. It sounded like Trix. Allison coughed, wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, straightened up, and felt her ears burning. When she turned back, the three companions fought to keep straight faces. Allison ignored them and asked, “What the hell is that thing?”
“Hodag,” Mercer told her. “Basically a dire boar. You don’t want to run into one all by yourself, and if you do, best climb a tree.”
“Will there be any more?” Allison wanted to know.
“Probably not,” Mercer told her.
“How can you be sure?”
“They aren’t pack animals,” Trix said.
Drake said, “Now I have to start my circle all over again.”
He went back to the tree line, took a small bottle, and sprinkled sand.
“What’s he doing?” Allison asked.
“Setting up a perimeter,” Trix explained. “Done correctly it should obscure the light from our fire and give us warning if anyone tries to enter the clearing. Anyone outside the circle won’t be able to see the light of our campfire.”
“If you get up to pee in the night,” Mercer added, “don’t break the circle. Any sorcerer within two miles will know right where we are.”
Allison looked at the dead hodag and said, “I don’t think I’ll be getting any sleep tonight.”
Trix went to the dead beast and used her curved sword to saw off a strip of flesh. “This is a spot of luck. They make great jerky.”
“You’re kidding,” said Allison.
It was no joke. Mercer and Trix cut strips of meat from the dead hodag and hung them over the fire to dry. When they had salvaged what they could, Mercer lashed the hodag to one of the horses and dragged it off into the trees, leaving a trail of blood and guts behind. Drake finished his protective circle, took a small silver knife from his pack, and pricked his thumb. He let a drop of blood fall to the ground and there was a soft electric sensation in the air, like a positive charge that made the small hairs at the back of Allison’s neck stand on end.
Chapter Thirty
Allison woke to the smell and sizzle of roasting meat. She was wrapped in her travelling blanket, close enough to the fire for warmth. She had been lying on a root all night. There was a hard knot in her lower back and her bottom still throbbed from the beating it took yesterday. She didn’t feel like she had slept at all. Every rustle of leaves and snapping twig had jerked her back to consciousness. It had rained twice in the night, and several times Allison swore she heard another hodag rooting and snorting in the underbrush. She had woken Mercer with a hoarse whisper, but he only sniffed and told her to go back to sleep. Instead of sleep, she had laid on the hard ground, the vicious root digging into her spine, straining her ears for the sound of predators sneaking up on her in the darkness. She was convinced one of the foul-smelling beasts would come crashing through the trees and gore her to death before she could even scream. Stars had wheeled in the black vault of the heavens, and the hours until dawn had slowly dragged by. Allison must have nodded off at some point because she didn’t hear the others getting up or the sounds of breakfast. She pushed the blanket off her face and blinked. “Smells good.”
The others were huddled around the fire, eating and talking softly. The horses pawed the ground and whinnied. The sun was up, shining through the trees in shafts of golden yellow, and birds chirruped. Trix, sitting cross-legged, held up a small dagger with a strip of charred meat spitted on the end. She said, “Roast hodag. Want some?”
Allison groaned. “I’ll pass. Have we got anything that didn’t have a face?”
Mercer asked, “You a vegetarian?”
“I wasn’t,” Allison said and sat up with a grunt. Her face pinched in pain and she rubbed her lower back. “Until about eight hours ago.”
Mercer chuckled. “You’ll get used to it.”
Trix passed her a strip of meat. “Try it.”
Allison pinched it between thumb and forefinger. Her mouth twisted.
Mercer said, “It might be the last hot meal we have for several days.”
When she didn’t bite, Drake rolled his eyes and said, “Oh, put it in your mouth already.”
“Phrasing,” said Mercer and Trix at the same time. They laughed and bumped fists.
Allison sniffed. It smelled delicious and her stomach twisted in hunger. Her mouth watered at the scent. She tried not to think about the animal it had come from and nibbled. It tasted every bit as good as it smelled. Allison made a surprised face, nodded, and wolfed down the rest of it.
Mercer grinned. “There, you see that, Drake? She’s going to do just fine.”
Drake only grunted.
Allison finished off six strips of the salty pork and washed it down with half a waterskin. They took their time with breakfast, discussing the best route north, and when they had fed and watered the horses, they were back in the saddle, plodding over rolling hills and gently flowing grass that came up to the horse’s knees. A warm sun was on their faces and a cool breeze blew out of the west, making for a pleasant ride. It would be more pleasant still if Allison had a pillow to sit on her. By noon, her bottom was smarting and her feet were numb. Twice they forded shallow rivers, stopping only to refill their waterskins.
“Where are we?” Allison wanted to know. They were riding under the shade of yew trees, along a hard-packed lane marked by deep wagon ruts with a high berm on one side, fortified by a rambling stone wall that reached Allison’s stirrups.
“This is the highroad,” Mercer told her. “We’re still technically in Tanthus. This territory is under the control of Baron Longknife and patrolled by the knights of Tanthus. Though I doubt they venture this far north, except in the case of an invasion.”
“Who would invade?” Allison asked.
“No one,” Mercer said. “The south has been at relative peace for three years now, under the Seelie accords. Most of the southern territory is controlled by six baronies. They have a peace pact, and no one is eager to upset the balance of power.”
Trix said, “The north is another story.”
“Meaning?” Allison asked.
Mercer said, “The north is split up into two dozen warring states and any number of independent enclaves that claim no allegiance but their own. Then there are roving bands of marauders. They sack villages and sometimes whole cities. Most of the slaves who were taken from your boat will end up in labor camps in the north, mining ByteCoin for tinpot warlords.”
“Why doesn’t somebody do something about it?” Allison asked.
“Like what?” Mercer asked.
She shrugged. “I don’t know. Couldn’t Tanthus help?�
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“Even the knights of Tanthus don’t have enough manpower to police all of the north. They’re stretched thin defending their own borders. I suppose an alliance of the southern kingdoms might work together to enforce some kind of law on the north, but then there would be squabbles over who gets what.”
Allison shook her head. “Hard to believe this is just a game.”
“It’s a game to you,” Drake said. “We live here.”
To change the subject, Mercer pointed and said, “That gray rocky land you see to the far east is called Windmere. They breed some of the finest horses in the Realms. Beyond that is the river we call Longfoam and on the other side of the river is the barony of Archewind. This road we’re on now leads through Thunderside and eventually to Redgate, a wide pass between two mountain ranges that serves as the gateway to the north. We won’t follow the road the whole way, though. It loops many miles out of our way. We’ll cut straight through.”
Mercer seemed to be an authority on all the lands round about, and he went on at length about the different cities and townships dotting the Savage Realms. It was the most she had heard him talk in one setting. Before now, Allison had been operating under the impression he never uttered more than one sentence at a time unless he absolutely had to.
She stretched and reached into her saddlebag for a strip of dried hodag. It was after noon judging by the sun, and she was getting hungry again. In the far distance, she spied a dark line on the northern horizon and asked, “Are those mountains?”
Mercer shaded his eyes against the sun and his mouth turned down in a frown. “No. That’s a storm.”
They rode all that day, boiling black clouds blotting out the sun, and by nightfall the skies opened up. Lightning flashed across the stormy heavens and blasts of thunder shook the ground.
It rained off and on for two days.
They had no fire at night and nothing warm to eat during the day. Allison was starting to feel like she would never be properly dry again. When the skies cleared and the sun came out, they found themselves in a boggy marshland full of stinging gnats which found their way inside sleeves and collars. Their fifth day out from Tanthus, the land turned rugged and climbed steadily upwards. They rejoined the main highway as it mounted the low shoulders of a steep hill. The horses’ heads drooped and their hooves beat wearily at the hard-packed wagon trail. When they crested the steep incline, Allison got a look at the city called Thunderside. Far to the north climbed a lofty wall of sheer grey rock, and over the ridge roared two magnificent waterfalls of rushing white foam. Between the falls rose a tightly packed city, carved of stone and marching in ranks up the side of the rock face. Tendrils of thick black smoke rose from the city of Thunderside, but no one could say what caused it. Between where Allison sat and the city stretched a deep green valley of stout hardwood.
“How long will it take us to get there?” Allison asked. She was eager for a warm bath and hot food and had a hunch that she could find both in Thunderside.
Mercer’s mount snorted and pranced to the side. He hauled up on the reins to steady the beast. “Another day. Provided we don’t encounter any trouble on the road.”
They spurred their horses and started down into the misted vale, each of them thinking longingly of hot food and soft beds. Towering trees soon blotted out the sight of the city, closing in round about them. At length, they came to a narrow stone bridge spanning a loud rushing river and Mercer checked his steed. The water cut straight across their path, and the land to the east and west fell away sharply.
Mercer twisted in the saddle. “Drake?”
The mage closed his eyes and sat hunched in the saddle for a long time. His weathered face pinched in concentration, like he was listening. The only thing Allison heard was the steady rhythm of cicada in the woods and the babbling creek bed, but when Drake opened his eyes, he said, “Something on the other side.”
“How many?” Trix asked.
Drake shook his head. “Can’t say.”
“Men?” Mercer wanted to know.
Drake only shrugged. “Maybe. Whatever it is, it isn’t friendly.”
Chapter Thirty-One
“Can’t we go around?” Allison asked. She sat on her horse, the noonday sun beating down, watching the span of stonework like it was a giant serpent that might rear up at any moment and attack. The others looked on the bridge with dark unfriendly eyes. Rushing water murmured around the three ancient stone arches, and the woods on the other side took on a menacing appearance in Allison’s mind. Remembering the pirate attack, she said, “Surely there’s some other place to cross?”
Mercer turned in the saddle and shared an unspoken communication with his companions. Trix shrugged. Drake made no sign at all. Mercer said, “There is, but it’s several miles south and we generally try to keep it a secret.”
Allison spread her hands. “Who am I going to tell? You’re literally the only people I know in this world.”
Mercer turned his mount and started into the forest. It took an hour of scrambling over rocky terrain, but they finally came to a shallow place where the river widened out and bubbled over a bed of smooth gray pebbles. An overgrown trail, cramped but visible, marched away from the opposite bank. They forded the shallows. The horse’s hooves made clear, ringing claps in the cool torrent. Halfway across, Allison’s mount took a bad step. Pebbles shifted under the beast’s hoof and the animal staggered. Allison slid sideways out of the saddle with a yelp and landed in the cold stream with a splash. Chilly water soaked through her riding clothes, filled her boots, and she choked. She came up spluttering and gasping for breath.
The horse, free of its rider, jogged through the river and mounted the dry bank with a snort and a toss of its long mane. Trix threw her head back and laughed. Mercer tried and failed to hide a smile while asking if Allison was alright. Drake simply scowled. Allison dashed an open palm against the surface of the water and said, “I hate this world.”
Ignoring their laughter, Allison struggled to her feet, slogged the rest of the way across the river, grabbed the pommel, and swung into the saddle. Her hair hung in limp tangles and water dribbled from her chin. She stuck her tongue out at Mercer and his grin turned into a full-fledged smile that softened the hard lines of his weathered face. He would be handsome if he smiled more, but Allison didn’t tell him that.
Trix caught the brief exchange and her expression soured.
The four riders crowded onto the path. The narrow cutting made straight for the distant city of Thunderside and would shave several miles off their journey, but Mercer turned his mount and started through the underbrush.
“Where are you going?” Drake wanted to know.
Mercer pulled reins and twisted in the saddle. “Back to the bridge,” he said, as if that should be obvious.
“Here we go again,” muttered Trix.
Drake clicked his tongue.
“Why?” asked Allison. “Won’t we run right into whoever, or whatever, is waiting on the other side? Why risk it? This road leads straight in the direction we want to go.”
Mercer said, “Because the next poor sap who tries to cross the bridge will get robbed and maybe killed.”
Trix looked up at the sky and sighed. She turned to Allison. “You see, Mercer here has what clinical psychologists would diagnose a savior complex. He’s never been able to turn his back on anyone in need, no matter how bad the situation or what it might mean to his own life and safety.”
“That’s pushing it a bit,” Mercer said.
“He’d walk through fire to save a stray cat,” Drake said. “We don’t know what’s waiting for us at the bridge and I, for one, am not willing to risk my life for a hypothetical traveler who may, or may not, come along and fall into the trap.”
“Me neither,” Trix said. “Let this one go, Merc.”
Drake folded his arms across his saddle pommel. “I say we put it to a vote. All those against?”
Trix and Drake raised their hands. They both loo
ked to Allison. She was caught in the middle. On one hand, she didn’t feel right walking away and leaving someone to be robbed and killed. On the other hand, what could she do about it? Still . . . She didn’t feel right walking away. Mercer was right. It was the honest thing to do.
“I don’t know,” Allison started. “I see Mercer’s point. At the same time . . .”
Mercer, however, had not consented to a vote. He turned and shook out the reins without saying a word. He was going back to the bridge to face the threat whether anyone followed or not. Any lingering doubt about who led the little band of adventurers vanished. The broad-chested warrior with the tangles of salt-and-pepper hair led and the others could follow or be left behind. Drake gave a frustrated sigh and heeled his mount. Trix followed and Allison fell in behind, secretly relieved that she had not been forced to take sides.
They picked their way over the rugged terrain north of the river, going slow, careful not to make any noise, and halted the animals half a mile from the crossing. From this distance, the river swirled around the stone arches and a few birds twittered back and forth, but no other sound could be heard. Mercer slipped down from the saddle, drew his axe from the loop on his belt, and motioned for Trix to scout ahead.
With a dagger in each hand, Trix flitted from tree to tree, stepping carefully and quietly over the snarl of roots and thickets that tangled the forest floor. She was like a shadow in her black leather, blending into the gathering gloom beneath the spreading branches.
“This is a bad idea,” Drake hissed.
“Hush,” said Mercer.
They stood in silence, listening to the birds and the rushing river. Trix reappeared several minutes later, slipping around the bough of a tree like a phantom. “There are six of them. One with a longbow and two with swords. The others are armed with clubs and knives.”
“Any casters?” Drake asked.
Trix shook her head. “Don’t think so.”
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