The Savage Realms

by Willard Black

  “I never suggested it,” said Drake.

  Cinder chewed her bottom lip. “How long do you think it will be before she’s on her feet?”

  “Could be a couple days,” Mercer said. “If she pulls through at all.”

  “You think she could die?” Cinder asked.

  Mercer said, “Without proper medicine, she’s not likely.”

  “What about the healing potions?”

  Drake shook his head. “Those are good for cuts and scrapes. They can’t repair broken organs. Trix needs to log out and back in.”

  “Surely you don’t intend to carry her all the way back to Tanthus?”

  Drake shook his head again. “That’s out of the question. Like Merc said, we’ll have to wait and see if she pulls through.”

  Cinder turned her attention north. The rising sun was illuminating the windswept landscape in vibrant hues of colorful orange and red, a patchy fog was developing in the hollows between the rocks, and away in the distance, Cinder thought she spied a dense copse of pines in a shaded valley. She said, “Drake, let me borrow your scope.”

  He went to his bag, dug out the scrap of leather and the pair of glass discs. It took him a moment to assemble the pieces.

  Cinder raised the spyglass to her eye.

  “What do you see?” Mercer asked.

  She passed him the scope. “There’s a wooded valley not far from here, half a day’s walk. Probably have nuts and berries, maybe some deer. If we could move her, we could build a shelter. At least we’d be out of the wind.”

  Mercer looked at Drake and he nodded.

  “We’ll need to rig up a stretcher,” Mercer said.

  Drake cast about and said, “Hardin and Sparrow might have something that could help us.”

  In the end, they stripped the corpses and used the dead men’s clothing to rig together a crude hammock. Trix went into the contraption complaining the whole way, but when Mercer and Cinder lifted the litter, she pressed her lips together and mewed like a cat. Drake shouldered Trix’s pack and they hauled the swaying hammock over the stony ground, north toward the wooded valley.

  “Where are we going?” Trix wanted to know.

  “There’s a dale not far from here,” Cinder told her. “Plenty of trees and it will get you out of the wind. There might even be food.”

  “There might be hodags,” Trix said.

  “Then you won’t need to worry about the wind,” Mercer said.

  The march to the green valley, so close Cinder could glimpse it through Drake’s crude spyglass, took much longer carrying Trix. Light as she was, the litter swayed with every step, and that made carrying it an unwieldy burden. Drake was too bent and frail to hold her weight, so Cinder was forced to do it. She had to stop every hour or so, put the hammock down, and rest. By the time they reached the edge of the valley, the sun was hovering over the western horizon, a pale orange disk that failed to provide any real warmth, and Cinder had bloody blisters on her hands. Up ahead, the black pines filled the wide dale, carpeted by a thick blanket of fog. The land started to slope down and they had to be careful. When they went too fast, they would bump Trix’s bottom on the rocks, and she let them have an earful every time. A deep silence settled around them as they reached the floor of the valley, like the fog was dampening sound. The trees closed in and towered overhead, shadows gathered at their bases. Thick tendrils of mist crept over the ground. Drake bristled and said, “There’s some kind of magic at work here.”

  Mercer stopped and Cinder pulled up short. He said, “Dangerous?”

  Drake’s lips puckered and his eyebrows twitched while he considered it. “Can’t say.”

  “Could it be another beholder?” Cinder asked.

  Drake shook his head. “Nah. Those give off a particularly evil magic. This is not evil . . . just strange. One thing I can tell you; whoever, or whatever, cast it knows we’re here.”

  “Great,” Mercer muttered and slipped his axe from his belt loop, holding the litter with his free hand. “Let’s find a place to make her comfortable and then we’ll set up a few snares. Maybe we’ll catch a rabbit.”

  Trix had slipped into a fitful sleep, giving them all a rest from her complaining. They shuffled along through the forest, looking for a dell or clearing and keeping their ears pricked for the sound of running water. They hadn’t gone a hundred yards when Cinder heard the creak of a bow string and a voice said, “There are arrows aimed at your hearts. Take another step and you’ll feel their sting.”

  Chapter Sixty-Nine

  Cinder froze. An icy fist gripped her belly. Her mind worked overtime, trying to make sense of this new turn of events. They were supposed to be in uncharted territory. But if that were true, then who was aiming arrows at them? And why? On her right, Mercer tensed. The muscles in his forearm bunched and his knuckles turned white on his axe handle. His eyes narrowed as he peered into the gathering gloom. Drake’s lips moved in silence, and the air around him turned electric. They stood there, straining for any sight or sound of the enemy.

  From the trees they heard, “Release the spell, caster, or you’ll get the first arrow.”

  Drake’s lips tightened and his boney shoulders hunched up. He turned to Mercer, who nodded. Cinder felt the spell release with a faint change in the air, like the buildup of a storm suddenly silenced. It felt unnatural and sent a shiver up her back.

  A figure, dressed in gray, emerged from the trees, pointing a notched arrow at Mercer’s chest. He was tall and thin, and his face was hidden by a deep cowl. He said, “Drop your weapons.”

  “If we refuse?” Mercer asked.

  “You die.”

  “I think you’re bluffing,” Mercer said. “I think there’s only one of you.”

  The bowman gave a high whistle that sounded like the call of a bird, and three more archers stepped from the trees, all dressed in gray and aiming arrows.

  “I’ve got two more in back of you,” the man said. “Need to see them?”

  “Nope,” Mercer said and dropped his axe on the ground. It landed with a heavy thunk. “I believe you.”

  Drake knelt and placed his staff on the ground slowly. He came back up with knees that popped.

  The archer turned his attention on Cinder. “Now you. Take out the sword and drop it.”

  Cinder was forced to draw the blade with her left and tossed it into the dirt at her feet. The short, half-staff was tucked into her backpack, the blunt end sticking up and the ruby hidden.

  “Now turn around and go back the way you came,” the archer ordered.

  Mercer shook his head. “That’s not going to happen.”

  The archer took a few steps forward and pulled his bowstring back the last inch. The string let out a plaintive creak. “I said turn around and get walking.”

  “Our friend is injured,” Mercer told him. “We can’t go any further tonight. She needs rest and fresh bandages. Take our weapons if you want, but we’re stopping here.”

  “You want to die?” the archer asked.

  “No, we don’t,” Cinder answered. “We’ll be going. Sorry to intrude.”

  She turned and gave Mercer a significant look, but he held his ground.

  “We’re not going anywhere,” Mercer said. He bent and lowered his end of the litter, forcing Cinder to put her side down as well. “And I don’t think you’re going to release that arrow.”

  The archer said, “You’re awful brave, friend.”

  “Or stupid,” Drake muttered. “Come on, Merc. Let’s go.”

  Mercer only shook his head.

  The archer stood like a statue, the tip of the arrow stone-still while he tried to make up his mind. Cinder prepared herself to feel a barb punch through her chest. Her knees felt weak and her stomach was a writhing bowl of worms. They had come so close, only to be ambushed by another group who got here ahead of them. She could only hope they put the arrow right through her chest and made it quick. She didn’t want to be in pain.

  “Go on if you’re
going to kill us,” Mercer said. “I haven’t got all night.”

  “Don’t listen to him,” Drake said. “We’ll leave.”

  Cinder hissed, “Mercer, don’t antagonize him.”

  But Mercer stood his ground, waiting.

  At last the archer said, “We’re going to collect your weapons. Make any sudden movements and you get shot. Understood?”

  Mercer lifted his empty hands and nodded.

  Two of the bowmen hurried forward, gathered their blades and Drake’s staff, and then scooted away.

  “You here for the money?” Mercer said.

  “Don’t know about any money,” said the archer. “Don’t care. This is our wood and we just want to be left alone.”

  Mercer thrust his chin at Trix laying on the litter, wrapped in bloody bandages. “She needs help,” he said. “And I have a feeling your duty bound to give it.”

  The archer lowered his bow and pulled back his hood, revealing a shaggy mane of salt-and-pepper hair. He said, “You take chances, friend.”

  Mercer didn’t respond.

  After a minute, the archer said, “Take a seat and keep your hands where we can see them.”

  Cinder lowered herself to the ground. Pine needles poked through the seat of her pants, making her squirm, but she kept her hands in her lap, palms up. Mercer and Drake followed suit. The leader of the bowmen withdrew into the trees along with two of his companions, while the other three hovered around the seated group. Cinder felt their eyes on her back. Minutes ticked by, and they heard whispered snatches of conversation. Then the leader returned and said, “We can help your friend on two conditions.”

  Mercer said, “Name ‘em.”

  “First, as soon as she’s able, you’ll leave this wood and never tell anyone about us,” said the archer.

  Mercer nodded. “And the second?.”

  “You’ll have to be blindfolded with your hands tied behind your backs,” the archer told them. “So you can never lead anyone back to our home.”

  “Fine,” said Mercer.

  Drake stirred, started to speak, but Mercer held up a hand for patience. He said, “Relax, will you? Trust me.”

  Chapter Seventy

  Two of the bowmen tied strips of cloth over their eyes, blocking out the light. Cinder shuddered as the black wool closed over her eyelids and everything went dark. It was an effort to remain still as unseen hands guided her up and then pulled her arms behind her back where they were roped tightly together. The cord bit into her wrists. She heard Trix’s hammock as it was picked up off the ground. Then they were being led through the forest by the archers. Cinder did her best to keep track of which direction they travelled. It seemed at first they went north, then they turned west, then south. Several times they had to stop while the archers helped their blindfolded prisoners over a fallen log, or across a bubbling stream of icy water. Then they were going north again, only to veer sharply. Soon Cinder realized they were taking turns at random to throw off any sense of directions, and it worked. Before an hour had gone by, she was thoroughly confused and had no idea if they were headed north, south, east, or west. She doubted even Mercer could keep his bearings under such conditions.

  Cinder caught her toe on a root or a rock and would have fallen, but unseen hands caught her and held her up. Other than that, the archers did a commendable job, telling them when to lift their feet, or step carefully, and when to duck a low-hanging branch. They stumbled along for another hour; night had fallen and brought with it a bracing cold. Then, slowly, Cinder started to catch the faint but distinct sounds of merry music and laughter. Soon she could hear the crackle of a fire and the babble of many voices. Then she was stumbling into what felt like a clearing. A fire blazed; Cinder could feel the warmth on her skin and hear music. People were chatting gaily. But the music and the laughter stopped as the archers appeared with their prisoners. A concerned murmur ran through the crowd. Someone demanded to know what was going on.

  “Why did you bring them here, Ven?”

  The archers instructed the prisoners to sit. Cinder settled onto the ground, cross-legged. She was close enough to feel the warmth from the fire and see the light through her blindfold. A terrible idea occurred to her; they were going to throw them into the fire. Maybe these were cannibals and they meant to roast Cinder and her friends for supper? The idea put a lead weight in Cinder’s gut. She tested her bonds, but the rope securing her wrists was wrapped tight and the hemp only cut into her skin.

  The leader of the archers—Cinder recognized him by his voice—instructed them to wait, and then he walked away for a conversation with another man. Cinder sat there, her back stiff, listening to concerned whispers and Drake’s rattling breath. She couldn’t tell where Trix was, but she had heard Mercer grunt as he sat, and she could feel the presence of the other archers hovering nearby in case she tried to escape. She wondered how many sets of eyes were looking at her right now, and what were they thinking? Were they friendly? Or was this, perhaps, a pirate band? Slavers? A million possibilities raced through her mind.

  Ven finally returned and ordered their blindfolds off. A moment later, Cinder felt fingers tugging at the knot and the black cotton fell away. She was seated at the edge of a large clearing. Tall pines ringed the copse, and at the center was a huge bonfire. Bright orange tongues of flame leapt high into the night, carrying tiny sparks that danced on the breeze. All around the clearing, and mixed among the pines, were ramshackle dwellings built of split logs, mud, and thatched roofs. It looked like a village of early American settlers. Most of the houses were one room cabins with crude chimneys piping smoke into the air. The largest was a long building with a pitched roof that stood at the edge of the clearing. It could have been a tavern, but Cinder somehow doubted that.

  She blinked and narrowed her eyes against the light of the fire. More than two dozen people were gathered around its warmth, sitting on tree stumps and river rocks. One of these had a roughly fashioned guitar and another had made a stand-up bass from a dented washtub and a broom handle. They watched Cinder and her friends with fear and suspicion in their eyes. It was enough that Cinder’s fear evaporated, replaced by curiosity. These people were more afraid of them, although why, Cinder couldn’t guess.

  Trix lay in her stretcher, dozing fitfully. Her face was pinched in pain and covered in sweat. She looked considerably worse. Dark circles ringed her eyes and her lips were an ugly shade of white.

  The archer, Ven, stood in front of them along with an older man. He was portly with thinning red hair pulled back in a ponytail. Ven motioned to him and said, “This is Bridger, our leader.”

  Bridger crossed his arms over his chest and frowned. “Why have you come here?”

  Mercer shrugged. “We didn’t have much choice.”

  “I meant why did you come north?” Bridger said.

  “Same reason every other player in the game will be coming north,” Mercer said. “We’re after the money.”

  A look of genuine confusion crossed Bridger’s face and he turned to Ven for an explanation. Ven explained briefly about the ten million Byte prize. Bridger shook his head in annoyance. “What makes you think it’s here?”

  Cinder looked to Mercer and he nodded. She said, “I know it’s here. I figured out the puzzle.”

  Ven said, “You figured out the numbers and they led you north?”

  Cinder nodded.

  That news sent a hushed shockwave through the gathering. Whispers of alarm passed among the crowd. Bridger and Ven put their heads together in quiet debate, then Bridge asked, “How many other people know about this?”

  “At least three others,” Mercer said.

  Bridger looked down at the ground and shook his head. The disquiet of the crowd grew. Several of them stood up and wanted to know what they would do.

  “We’ve got to leave,” someone said. “Go further north.”

  “I say we barricade the wall,” another suggested.

  “That will never work. We can’t g
uard it twenty-four hours a day and they’ll just tear down the barricade.”

  “Well, we have to do something. Sooner or later every treasure hunter in the south is going to come pouring into the north. They’ll be crawling all over these woods.”

  Bridger held up a hand for silence and the gathering hushed. He looked up to heaven, back down at his prisoners, and more to himself, he said, “The love of money is the root of all evil.”

  Mercer said, “Are you Disciples of the Nazarene?”

  “If I say yes?” Bridger asked.

  Mercer shrugged. “No skin off my back,” he said. “How you people choose to live your life is your own business. I got no beef with you. We would have gone straight past your little wood, except our friend got hurt and we turned aside looking for a place to shelter.”

  Bridger’s gaze went to Trix and his expression softened.

  “But I’ll tell you this,” Mercer continued. “The lowlifes who ambushed us by the wall are going to log back in, if they haven’t already, and they’ll be headed north. More people are bound to find out about the expansion. They’ll migrate north in search of Byte. You can’t stay hidden forever. But you can buy yourself some time.”

  “How’s that?” Ven wanted to know.

  “Help Trix get back on her feet and send us on our way,” Mercer told him. “We find the prize money and then everyone down south will know the ten million is off the table. With winter coming, no one will be too eager to make the trip north. That should give you and your people until spring at least.”

  Bridger crossed his arms over his chest and chewed that over. At last he nodded. “I’ll do you one better. You promise to forget you saw us and Ven will take you to the money.”

  Mercer’s brow pinched and Cinder sat up a little straighter. Drake make a choking noise in his throat.

  Ven explained. “We found a city not long after we crossed the wall. It was empty, of course, and we had an idea to stay there, but we knew sooner or later people would discover the expansion and start exploring, so we chose the woods instead. If the money is hidden in the expanded territory, then it will most likely be in the city.”