Most of his best thieves had been recruited by Agretor’s guild before it disbanded and scattered throughout the other kingdoms of Aetheaon. The five that remained with Echtrose no longer possessed the glint of greed in their eyes, and soon, he feared, they’d move on and possibly do the one thing thieves dreaded the most—make an honest living.
The city above was filled with chaos. The clashing metal of swords, axes, and shields meant a battle was taking place. With whom? And why would any kingdom dare attack Hoffnung? No hint of an enemy preparing to ransack their great city had been mumbled or even suggested.
He hated to know the kingdom might eventually fall, or perhaps it already had if the invaders were vast in number. However, skirmishes and battles were great places for thieves to add to their wealth. Dead corpses possessed rings, trinkets, and gold pouches, all for the taking with little to no resistance. The profitability of being a thief during a great battle escalated.
In spite of his pain, he smiled. The boy suddenly held less of his interest, but only if he and the other thieves obtained more overflowing wealth by plucking it off the dead and dying victims above the sewers.
Echtrose smacked away Jak’s hand. “Enough!”
“But I’ve not treated all the burns.”
“No time. We have to sneak to the surface.”
“Why?”
“Gold and treasure awaits.”
Jak frowned. “And what of the boy?”
Echtrose shrugged. “When Thorn finds him, he’ll bring the boy here. He’ll keep until we return.”
Jak followed close beside Echtrose. He pulled his dagger and said, “What makes you think treasure is ready above? We’ve had no good looting for weeks.”
“Listen to the ruckus above. You hear it?”
Jak nodded. “But barely.”
“Hoffnung is under attack. We can loot the dead.”
“And risk being haunted?”
Echtrose smiled. “What harm can a ghost do?”
Jak nervously glanced around the sewers. Water dripped from overhead. Things crawled and bubbled in the thick green ooze. The waft of the rotten stench greeted their noses without any affect. They had lived here far too long that their sense of smell had dulled.
“Let’s check the old woman the boy left behind,” Echtrose said. “Surely she has something of value on her.”
“Perhaps we’d best leave her.”
“Never pass up the possibility of finding something of value.”
With uneasiness in Jak’s eyes, he followed.
Echtrose knelt beside Nessa’s body. He searched for a purse but found nothing to hold coins at all. She wore no rings, not even a necklace. Her body was cold and rigid.
He glanced at Jak and said, “Look at the woman’s elegant clothes. She’s one of the castle hands, perhaps even one of the Queen’s personal servants? And she has . . . nothing of value on her?”
“That is odd.”
Echtrose’s eyes narrowed. “Damn that boy. Whatever of value this old woman had, he took it. Why else would he attack us to prevent us from searching her or him?”
Jak shrugged.
“When I find him, I swear that he will suffer great pain before I kill him.”
They headed back to the edge of the sewer channel.
Jak hugged himself and rubbed his arms.
“What’s wrong?” Echtrose asked.
“It’s suddenly very cold.”
“You’ll be okay. We cross the channel and go to our hideout. Build a small fire while I figure out which passage to the surface we should take. Probably best to find one where the skirmishes have ended and dead bodies still remain on the ground.”
“I still say that we let them be.”
Echtrose chuckled and stepped onto a block that protruded above the sewer water. Without little thought or effort, he moved swiftly to the next and the next until he stood on the other side of the channel. Jak followed almost as quickly.
“Ghosts linger between worlds, Jak. They are wanderers. I’ve yet to encounter one that is capable to harm a physical being, and I’ve robbed many a grave.”
“Always a first time.”
Echtrose shook his head. “Not a chance. If such beings wished us harm, I’d have died long ago. The dead have no need of treasure.”
Jak’s eyes widened with fear. In the flickering light of the torch, his face paled. His finger shook as he pointed behind Echtrose. Echtrose turned around quickly. The floating image of Nessa hung in the air.
“What is this?” Echtrose asked. “I’ve taken nothing from you.”
Anger firmed Nessa’s ghostly brow. She shrieked and charged at his face. Her fingers went into his eyes like slender threads of smoke. He howled in pain. In an instant, her cold ghostly form entered through his eye sockets, and she housed herself inside his head.
Echtrose thrashed the sides of his head with tight fists, trying to drive her out of his mind. His face contorted. Agony was evident in his expressions. His desperate hands clawed for Jak but missed.
Jak screamed and ran through the knee-deep sewer water until he reached the other side of the channel, and then he kept running, never looking back.
In his mind, Nessa said, “You will not harm the child. You’ll wander aimlessly like the blind man you now are.”
She fled his mind and his body, vanishing through the wall.
Echtrose opened his eyes. Nothing but darkness. He extended his arms and tried to find a wall. Water droplets dripped and struck the sewer channel’s surface. Other noises sloshed in the oddly greenish water. Creatures he avoided, when he had been able to see. But now . . . he was at their mercy.
“Jak!” he shouted. “Jak! Where are you?”
His voice echoed through the sewers, ricocheting off the ceiling and the walls, but there came no reply other than his own voice that now rang inside his head.
Echtrose was alone. Blind and alone. Suddenly he realized other things were more precious than looting gold and treasure. Some things you couldn’t place a price upon. His sight was one of those. With the loss of his vision, his heart sank. He’d gladly trade all the loot in their hideout to have his sight returned. But he knew that wasn’t possible.
Ghosts had no need of treasure, and now, neither did he.
Chapter Eleven
Lehrling, Bausch, and Dwiskter rode their horses as fast and hard as possible. Sweat rolled off the horses’ bodies. Foamy spittle coated the sides of their mouths while they panted heavily.
Behind them a dozen or more Vykings and guards pursued. Dwiskter’s injury was weighing heavily upon him. He leaned forward over his saddle but didn’t seem alert enough to fight, should they be forced into combat on the roadway. Lehrling wondered how long the dwarf warrior would even remain conscious.
Three against so many Vykings was not a well-fitted match. The odds were highly in favor of the invaders and traitors. Lehrling had no knowledge of where to find the other Dragon Skull Knights. He hoped to reach Woodcrest, but he doubted their horses could outpace those giant Vyking warhorses.
“Dwiskter!” Lehrling shouted, riding up beside the dwarf.
The dwarf popped his left eye open.
“Can you make it?”
“Aye,” Dwiskter replied weakly.
They rode to the crossroads. The path to the left took them to Woodcrest. Going straight led them to Icevale, which was a Dwarven city hidden deep inside a massive cave. Mainly dwarves resided there, but they were not exclusive to their race. Other races offered their skills and services for hire.
The distance to Icevale was much shorter than Woodcrest, however, the roadway was much steeper until they crossed the first mountain peak and descended into the valley. The temperatures plummeted, too. Constant winter claimed the region, but none of them were dressed to deal with the harsh cold except the dwarf.
Knowing Dwiskter, he’d head to Icevale, and in the dwarf’s present condition, Lehrling was not about to abandon him. Rather than slowing at the cro
ssroads, he motioned for Bausch to follow Dwiskter. They both rode along behind the dwarf.
Lehrling glanced over his shoulder after they passed the metal plated Icevale sign fastened to the crude wooden post. The Vyking horde of riders was still coming. They showed no signs of turning back. The path leading to Icevale was thickly wooded on each side of the road, and since they held no torches, he hoped the extra darkness of the trees concealed them.
The crossroad intersection was fading from view as the horses panted and ran up the steeper incline. The riders slowed at the crossroads and then stopped. One of the riders dismounted, possibly seeking hoof prints to find the proper direction his party had taken.
Lehrling hoped the Vyking party headed in a different direction. Their horses needed a break from the constant running or they’d collapse. Icevale was a half-day’s journey on horseback, and if they pushed their horses much harder, they’d be forced to walk on foot, which definitely placed them at an even greater disadvantage.
Before Lehrling, Bausch, and Dwiskter rounded the first upward bend of the forest path, Lehrling watched the majority of their pursuers take the path toward Woodcrest. Only three or so Vykings decided to make the climb toward Icevale, which matched numbers a bit more favorably. But Lehrling hoped that they reached the vale on the other side of the mountain before these bloodthirsty men shortened the gap.
The relaxing sound of crickets and other night insects faded. The temperature dropped in an instant where the path ascended. The insect chorus didn’t sing here. Instead, the hooting owls and night ravens pronounced more foreboding songs of the dangers lurking within the night forest. More than ice and rockslides threatened Lehrling and his party.
Lehrling wondered why the Dwarven populations favored the frigid regions where most humans and elves refused to settle. Dwarves were a hardy race. The dwarves Lehrling knew were stout and committed to defend their homeland, families, and friends. Dwiskter had proven his loyalty by risking his own life to defend Hoffnung even though he had no bloodline ties or vowed any obligations to the kingdom. For that, Lehrling could never abandon the injured dwarf. He had seen few humans willing to make such sacrifices on others’ behalves.
Lehrling kept his horse near the dwarf’s, but he knew once they ascended even higher, the trails became too narrow to ride side by side. He trusted that Dwiskter’s presence in their party would make entering the Icevale gates somewhat easier after the sun set. Although Icevale didn’t exclude humans, they viewed them with the utmost suspicion, even though humans weren’t nearly as greedy as most dwarves when it came to treasure.
But the leaders of Icevale also needed to know of the Vyking invasion into Aetheaon and Hoffnung’s unfortunate fall. The Dragon Skull Order needed allies to help take back Hoffnung. Dwiskter was a firsthand witness to the numerous Vyking ships in Hoffnung Bay. Hoffnung may not be the only kingdom the Vykings wished to overtake. However, according to Dwiskter, the city had turned upon itself, which meant only one thing. Someone was behind the revolt and teamed with the Vyking horde to take the city, and that person was most likely Waxxon. Being crowned immediately after the Queen’s demise reeked of his disloyalty and betrayal.
“Dwiskter?” Lehrling asked, trying to get the dwarf’s attention. “You okay? Perhaps we should slow our speed?”
Dwiskter didn’t reply. Instead, he collapsed forward against the warhorse’s neck. The fast pace of the horse was slinging him out of the saddle. In a matter of moments, his body would crash to the trail and add to his injuries.
Lehrling rode up beside the warhorse, grabbed Dwiskter’s arm, and pulled the heavy dwarf across the front of his saddle.
Dwiskter didn’t even groan. He had lost consciousness. In the darkness it was impossible to know if his wound had stopped bleeding. At this point, Lehrling knew the dwarf had lost a lot of blood.
“Is he okay?” Bausch asked.
“Doesn’t look good,” Lehrling replied. “We need to get him to Icevale soon. Take his ax.”
Bausch nodded. When he was near enough, he took the ax from the side of the saddle, and placed it across his own saddle. Once he and Lehrling rode past the warhorse, it stopped and panted on the roadway.
The winding trail curved back around and the steep rise turned into a narrow ridge path. Two horses barely had room to pass one another. Trading and supply wagons never traveled this path. This simply was a shortcut to Icevale that only travelers and adventurers took. Traders used the overland ridge path from Icevale’s southeast road that tunneled through icy mountain walls and led between Icevale to Glacier Ridge or to Woodcrest, depending upon which path one took.
“Is he alive?” Bausch asked.
“Barely,” Lehrling said, nodding. He pulled back slightly on the reins. Their horses needed rest, but he also understood that riding too swiftly upon the icy winding path would end with either or both of them falling to the bottom of the ravine. He doubted the Vykings that followed would continue at a ruggedly fast pace either. There was too much danger for reckless pursuit, even for marauders. They weren’t foolish enough to lose their lives outside the heat of battle. Such a death would be a dishonor, or so the legend was told. From what Lehrling understood, Vykings weren’t trackers, either. He hoped they decided to turn back.
Bausch held the dwarf’s ax. He ran his hand along the jeweled handle. Blue light shimmered from one of the stones. A tingling sensation zapped his index finger. He hefted the ax in both hands. The ax weighed more than twice Bausch’s sword. He wondered how much blood this weapon had spilled. Probably more on this evening than he had with his sword through his many years of training and battles.
Branches snapped at the bottom of the ravine. Echoes of the night watchers in the forest made Lehrling place his hand to the hilt of his sword. Bandits might be waiting for a weary passerby, so perhaps the Vykings weren’t the only ones looking for unfortunate parties during this night. A few startled birds shrieked and flew from the underbrush and darted directly across the dark narrow path before them.
Lehrling had been to Icevale only a couple times during his travels. Usually, when he wasn’t staying in Hoffnung, he spent his time in the Elven City of Woodnog that remained concealed within the swamps and bogs from most of the outside realm. Few travelers ventured there because of the noxious plants, gases, tarlike muck, and the strange reptilian creatures that hid within the marshlands.
“There’s a light ahead,” Bausch said, pointing.
Lehrling stopped his horse and looked. The torch bobbed as the rider headed further away and up the next winding slope. The horse moved at a gentle pace. From this distance Lehrling didn’t know if this was a friend or foe. The faint moonlight didn’t aid them either.
“I see it.”
“What do we do?”
“We can’t wait here. At least three, possibly four, of those riders are on the path behind us. Without knowing who rides ahead of us, the best thing we can do is to follow at a safe distance.”
“I heard noises down below earlier.”
Lehrling nodded. “As did I.”
Bausch’s jaw tightened. “What do you make of it?”
“Always thieves and bandits prowling during the darkness of night. Of course, thieves would have better opportunities by scouting the trading route and not this narrow path.”
A thick branch popped and crackled. Whatever approached was still a good distance away. Charging up the hill at a fast pace was not likely. The ravine was jagged with moss covered rocks and half frozen mud pits. A thick row of medium saplings prevented any straight-line attack.
“So we keep riding?”
Lehrling whispered, “As quietly as possible.”
Bausch pulled his short sword and kept it steady in his left hand.
The torch carrier rode slowly around the next bend. The flickering fire faded and disappeared. Lehrling wondered about the rider. While the night was still early, he suspected most travelers would have already been through this series of winding mountain r
oad by now. Of course, if Hoffnung had not been invaded, he would not have been making his way toward Icevale at this hour either. A lot of Hoffnung citizens might have escaped through the city gates to prevent dying at the blades of the Vyking marauders. Perhaps now they were refugees, seeking any city that might take them in.
The horse hooves echoed slightly off the compacted trail. The ground was getting more frozen. Patches of white snow were scattered amongst the tree lines. The steady pace at which the horses moved had carried them past the desperate night watchers in the ravine. Perhaps it was nothing more than a curious bear or a deranged beast that had fallen from the winding path, unable to find its way back up the embankment to the road. Most likely not.
He thought about the news of Taube’s death. The horror still sickened his stomach. She was by far one of the most gracious leaders he had ever met. The death of her husband had not made her bitter or filled her with uncontrollable vengeance. She enacted kindness where most might not have. Once the news of her death traveled to the other cities, all of Aetheaon would lament.
The air grew colder. A gust of frosty air spilled upward from the vale below. Icevale wasn’t much farther, he reasoned.
The small raiding party that had exited Hoffnung’s gates and headed straight for them . . . wait . . . a thought suddenly occurred to Lehrling. Were these Vykings actually coming after them, or had Lehrling and Bausch overreacted when they witnessed the riders leaving Hoffnung? There hadn’t been any reason for such a blatant attack. They could have just as easily been scouting outward to the next towns. Only a handful of them had continued after him and his party.
Of course, Dwiskter might be part of the reason for the Vykings’ pursuit. He had rung the warning bell after seeing their invasion at Hoffnung Bay. Lehrling imagined the dwarf had taken down more than just the three turncoats he had seen on the white cobblestone path outside Hoffnung. Vykings were vengeful enemies for life and never allowed any grudge to weaken.
Lady Squire- Dawn's Ascension Page 9
