The Grey Riders' Search

by Susan Bianculli

  “Naughty, naughty, little birdy! You are not supposed to escape me,” Bascom sneered. “Did you not believe the tales of your cage mates?”

  He appeared terrifying, standing there backlit by the fire pit. Auraus shuddered at the sight. She knew then that Bascom had had some sort of magic set to listen to them in the cage—which meant he had probably called all the guards over to him to give them the opportunity of escape they had wanted, just to demonstrate his power over them.

  “It appears that I am going to have to teach you and your companion a lesson. But first, let us do something about your magical tendencies,” Bascom said, switching to an almost pleasant tone.

  The change in attitude gave her a bad feeling as he left her hanging between the Goblins to go to his personal wagon. He returned quickly with another collar; a shiny grey metal one. Auraus, arms and wings still imprisoned by the guards, struggled futilely as Bascom removed the leather collar and locked the metal one in its place.

  “There we are,” he said with oily satisfaction. “Now, for your information, little birdy, this is no ordinary collar. This is something I have invented. I call it a Pain Collar. You will know pain like you have never known it before when I say the command phrase: You are not going anywhere, slave.”

  At his words, she jerked and twisted out of the grasp of the Goblins and fell to the rock covered ground, screaming and writhing in agony as liquid fire exploded at the end of every nerve. Pain was the totality of her existence, and it left her dazed on the dirt when the agony stopped as quickly as it had started.

  The Miscere Ogre mage added, “Oh, and do not think that you can use your talents to escape again. The collar also inhibits magical use by the wearer. I do not even have to take your Handbook from you, wherever it is that you have it hidden. It is only so much bound paper to you now.”

  He motioned to his followers to pick her up and directed them to take her back to the cage. Head clearing, Auraus saw Dusk standing in a circle of Goblins, manacled hand and foot with a short length of chain connecting them. He looked worriedly at her but said nothing. Bascom looked at the cage, ignoring Mereik and Thoronis huddled against the far bars, and casually repaired the damaged cart with two short spells, each accompanied by a flash from one of the runes on his robe. One moved the bars back to where they should be, and one molded the wood back into shape around the bars. Once the cage was as sound as it was before, the Goblins released Dusk and shoved both him and her back inside. Bascom very ostentatiously made sure that the prisoners saw him reset the alarm spell before he strutted back to the fire, summoning his Goblins to him as if nothing had happened.

  CHAPTER 8

  Auraus turned anxiously to her Grey Rider companion. “Dusk! Are you well? I heard you yelling.”

  Dusk shuddered. “I was hurt, but I have been healed by Bascom. I am all right. Now.”

  Thoronis’ mouth dropped open. “That is all you have to say to her? That you were hurt? You were stabbed multiple times, and were bleeding everywhere even despite the spell that Auraus cast for you!” Thoronis turned to the Wind-rider. “He could have died, but Bascom ordered some sort of purple salve be applied to him, and he screamed as it healed him—surely you must have heard?”

  Auraus looked aghast, but before she could speak Mereik came over and knelt next to the two ex-escapees. “See? We warned you. Please, just accept it for now! You might escape from whatever circumstances we find ourselves in later, but not from him,” pleaded the Gnome.

  Dusk saw Auraus’ eyes narrow, and she closed her eyes to drop into the mental state that allowed her to pray to Caelestis and receive the divine power she needed for her spells. Dusk watched her closely until her eyes snapped open in panic.

  “I am cut off! I am cut off from Caelestis! How can this be?!” A look of utter disbelief on her face, her hands unconsciously reached up to the place where her goddess’s symbol once rested and recoiled at the smooth metal there.

  Dusk, astonished, inspected her collar.

  He frowned. “I am sorry, Auraus—I do not know how he has managed this. I may be no mage, but I can recognize the faint tracings of magical symbols in a repeating loop along the edges of the collar. Even worse, it seems to be runestone-locked. So not only is it a magical collar, but a magically locked one as well.”

  Auraus turned and, leaning her body against his chest, cried heart-rending sobs.

  Later the next evening when the caravan had stopped for the night, Dusk separated himself from the other captives by settling himself into a corner of the wagon cage across from the others were. Auraus, probably guessing what he was about to do, engaged Thoronis and Mereik in simplistic chatter to give him privacy. Dusk remained in a corner of the cage and mediated until the rising moon’s rays slanted across his face, and then he started praying.

  Mother, Mother! I beseech you, hear my plea! I am captured with Auraus, a Wind-rider who is a Priestess of Caelestis’ and who will die soon if we do not get help. Mother, aid me!

  A cool, silvery voice answered out loud, “My son, open your eyes.”

  He opened them. Quiris, dressed in her favorite chainmail armor, stood before him. Or rather, a transparent projection of her did. He smiled in relief.

  “Thank you for coming, Mother, but a physical form would be more useful in setting us free,” he said with a half-smile in a hushed voice.

  Out of the corner of his eye the Miscere Surface-elf saw Auraus, an optimistic expression on her face, leave off talking to Mereik and Thoronis. She walked over to sit beside him and look hopefully at Quiris. Mereik, confused at Auraus’ behavior, started to follow; Thoronis must have sensed something because he held the Gnome back even though Dusk knew his eyes saw nothing out of the ordinary.

  Quiris frowned at her son and flipped her long white braid over her shoulder. “Do you not think I have better things to do than to rescue a foolish son who lets his guard down?”

  Dusk flushed red. “Yes, I know that, but, Mother ….”

  “Do not ‘but mother’ Me, Dusk,” she said briskly. “You more than most know of the balance between Divine and earthly actions, and how We the Divine cannot take action down here. It was carelessness that got you into your present predicament, so you are going to have to endure it. And since when have I ever been in the habit of saving you, anyway? Besides,” she added more gently, her demeanor mellowing, “though this once I might have been tempted to help, I am not allowed to interfere. Caelestis has Her reasons, and I agree with them.”

  She turned to Auraus, and her expression softened further. “I am sorry for your troubles, My dear, but nothing can be done to help you presently. You are going to have to be strong and see this through to the end. Whatever end that may be.”

  Quiris looked back at her son. “You, I charge to take as good care of Auraus here as you can, given your present situation. The end will come sooner than you think. Take care, Dusk. I give you My blessing, and you already have My love.”

  She blew him a kiss as she faded away. Auraus’ shoulders slumped forward as she hung her head as far as the collar allowed.

  Dusk howled aloud to where the image had been. “Mother! How can you do this to me? What kind of an answer was that! How can you just leave her … leave us here?! Mother, come back!”

  His angry cries brought the attention of the night patrol, one of whom came and poked a spear through the bars at him to quiet him down. He avoided it and clammed up, and she went back to her post.

  “Does this mean there is truly no hope?” The Wind-rider’s dejected tone was almost enough to make tears well up in his eyes.

  Dusk forced a smile to his face and lifted her chin. “You heard what Mother said. We have to see this through to the end, whatever that may be. That does not mean there is no hope.”

  Auraus’ face had despair written all over it. “She did not say what the outcome would be. Oh, Dusk!”

  He pulled her into his arms, and laid her head on his shoulder. “Shh, shh, Auraus. I know Mother has
faith in us to do whatever needs to be done. You need to have that faith, too.”

  Auraus snuffled. “All right. I will try. But, Dusk … being caged ….”

  Fortunately for her, Auraus could not see the bleak expression on his face. “I know; I know. But I will be here with you; just keep remembering that.”

  She nodded into his shoulder.

  Thoronis, across the wagon, could not stay silent any longer. “What are you two going on about?! First Dusk meditates, then starts having a conversation with empty air—and Auraus joins him! Then he starts howling about his mother. Is this a custom of your settlement or something?”

  Dusk asked, “Whom do you worship?”

  “What has that got to do with anything?”

  “Just answer the question, would you please?”

  “I give reverence to Sylvanelle, Goddess of the Forest and all the creatures within it, if you must know,” Thoronis said curtly.

  “Ah, so you worship the older Gods. How much do you know of the newer ones?”

  “Not much. I know that the newest ones, relatively speaking, are the Goddess Caelestis and her consort Alatis, but that is about all I know.”

  Dusk nodded. “All right, so you know of Caelestis, our Mother Goddess, and the God Alatis, Father and Consort. They are the two major Deities in our pantheon. But there are other, lesser Deities as well, and my mother happens to be one. Her name is Quiris, and she is the Keeper of the Warrior Ways, whether those ways are used in individualistic combat or war.”

  “You–are a demigod?” Thoronis’ face expressed disbelief.

  “Hardly.” Dusk’s tone was dry. “I am her son, but she had had me before she ascended. I am afraid I am just as regular and mortal as the rest of you.”

  Thoronis seemed mollified. “Humph. So, you pray to your mother, who answers you with visitations?”

  “Only occasionally. She must have felt that it was necessary this time, I guess, to show up in what she chose to pass off as a personal visit.”

  Mereik spoke up timidly from where she sat leaning up against the bars. “I did not see anybody.”

  Dusk glanced at her. “I am not surprised. If you were a Goddess, why would you show yourself to unbelievers in the middle of a hostile camp, which might cause trouble for those who do believe in you?”

  “Oh. I did not think of it that way,” she said, chagrinned.

  Dusk pulled away from Auraus just enough to be able to look her in the face. “Hey, Auraus, you heard my mother tell me I have to take good care of you, but I am going to need your help to do it. Can you help me?”

  The Wind-rider managed a sickly smile for him but said nothing.

  “That will do for now,” he said, “but we should all rest, for tomorrow it is guaranteed we will be traveling again.”

  Auraus lost what smile she had had at his words, but she did not resist as he made her lie down. He was worried—she seemed more broken than she was before his mother had come. He lay beside her to offer what comfort he could. Soon sleep claimed all of them except Dusk. He was wakeful into the night, wondering exactly what his mother had meant.

  CHAPTER 9

  A few nights later, Dusk watched Auraus stare listlessly out between the bars of the stopped wagon at the moon that rose low and thin over the mountains. He worried. Though she had tried to keep her spirits up per Quiris’ instructions of three days ago, he could see that it was an increasingly hard thing for her to do. The only emotion she seemed to have left now was apathy. Even the loathing they all had for Bascom’s custom of coming every so often to check on his prisoners had faded into indifference in her.

  A shadow fell across her and resolved itself into a frowning Bascom. “So quiet, my pretty birdy? Why not sing for me? I have not heard a peep out of you for a couple of days now.”

  That reminded Dusk that the mage had some sort of listening spell on the cart. He walked over to stand in front of the mage.

  “Bascom, you are killing her. She probably will not live to see your parley.”

  The Miscere Ogre mage looked at him sharply. “Nonsense! I have not laid a finger on her since I taught her a lesson! And she has had the best of care since then, as you all have had: plenty of food, water, and toiletry breaks. What is there to complain about?”

  “Aside from the obvious?” the amber-eyed Surface-elf snorted. He gestured at Auraus, who was still sunk into herself. “Look at her. What do you see?”

  Bascom smiled wolfishly. “I see a pretty birdy who will fetch me much power at the parley.”

  “No, you do not. Really look at her, Bascom!”

  Bascom looked closer at Auraus, uncertainty now in his eyes. “What is the matter with her? Is she sick?”

  “You have never had a Wind-rider before, have you?”

  A cagey look crossed the mage’s face, and he said evasively, “In a manner of speaking.”

  “You have never had one during a parley, whatever that is, before. Have you?” pressed Dusk.

  “My guards usually have had some excuse or other why the Wind-riders were not brought in alive the couple of times they have been caught before,” Bascom grumbled. “What of it? This had better be relevant, Miscere.” A note of warning appeared in his voice.

  “It is. The reason that you have never had one before is because freedom is important to Wind-riders. Cage them, and they die. This wagon is killing her, Bascom! If you want to have even the hope of getting her to this parley, then you had better think of something else other than this wagon, and fast.”

  Bascom sneered. “That is ridiculous—dying from captivity! Do you think me a fool? You are trying to trick me, Miscere. I can smell it. You are crafty and I will not fall for it.”

  He turned away. Dusk reached frantically out between the bars and grabbed at the mage’s ornate robes.

  “Bascom, please! I am not kidding! What can I do to prove to you that I am telling the truth?”

  The Miscere Ogre scowled down at Dusk’s hands. Dusk removed them from the mage’s sleeve but did not back away from the bars.

  Bascom warned, “Do not push it, Miscere. I can still deliver you to my Lady Morsca after punishing you, so long as I heal you the way I did after your failed escape attempt.”

  He turned and stomped irritably away.

  Dusk sighed and glanced at his companions. “Lady Morsca, eh? Well, now at least we have a name, and gender, to whom Bascom reports at the parley. For what good that does.”

  The amber-eyed Surface-elf went over to sit by Auraus and coax her to eat some of the bread and water that had been delivered. The Wind-rider ate a little at his urging, but when he moved away from her she went back to staring out between the bars at the fading blue sky. Dusk motioned to the other two to join him on the other side of the cage.

  “What was that all about?” asked Thoronis in a low voice as soon as he and Mereik were seated beside Dusk.

  “Being cooped up is death to her kind,” whispered Dusk. “They value freedom over everything else, and this cage will kill her. That is why I know they have never had a Wind-rider captured before: Wind-riders do not survive behind bars. Bascom must not know this.”

  It was nothing less than the truth. Dusk hoped that Bascom would heed the whispered words between prisoners delivered to him via his spell more than he had heeded the overt confrontation.

  Mereik cast a worried look over her shoulder at Auraus’ still form. “I had never met a Wind-rider before now, though I had heard of them. Are they all fragile like her?”

  “Wind-riders, Auraus included, are not necessarily fragile except under this type of circumstance,” Dusk said. “In our home settlement of Treestall, a couple of days and nights imprisonment behind bars is enough discipline for a Wind-rider to forever swear off doing whatever behavior that caused the Elders to decree that severe of a consequence. Longer than that, and, well, I do not see the need to go over it again.”

  The solemn and sad look on his face as he spoke made both Mereik and Thoronis decide to
not ask how this time limit had come to be found out.

  Thoronis asked instead, “How long can she last here, then?”

  “I do not honestly know,” Dusk replied quietly. “It all depends on how strong her spirit remains, how she is treated while here, and other variables I cannot predict. That punishment she endured was the first major crack in her psyche. If something like that happens again, I am not sure how long it would take before she gave up living.”

  Mereik gasped as inaudibly as she could. “Are you saying she could die in here with us?”

  The Miscere Surface-elf nodded grimly. “It is possible.”

  “How?”

  “They die in different ways. Some become violent, some hallucinate, and some just slip away like Auraus is doing now.”

  Thoronis exchanged a concerned glance with Mereik.

  Dusk looked sadly at the Wind-rider, who had not even seemed to notice the conversation. “I do not know what more I can do. I am afraid my mother’s going to be disappointed in me very soon.”

  “Is that all you care about? Your mother being disappointed in you!?” asked Mereik in sudden outrage.

  A flicker of annoyance crossed Dusk’s face. “That is not what I meant. Of course it is not all I care about. I care about Auraus’ life; she has been a good friend and trusted companion to me for a long time. My biggest regret is that I have not been able to help her more than I have.”

  Dusk reached out and pulled Auraus from where she had been leaning against the bars of the cage to lean on him instead. She slumped against him like a broken doll. No more words passed between the captives that night.

  The next morning, Auraus was roused from her lethargy by the distant sounds of roaring. Her companions in misfortune heard it too, and they came over to where she sat against the bars to see what was going on. The distant roaring got louder, and she noted incuriously that Bascom had made his way to the central fire pit. Soon they all could see four Goblins dragging in another elf-sized captive bundled tightly in a net; but for some reason this prisoner, dressed in what looked like a skintight tan-colored shirt, a hunter’s cap and torn brown leather pants, was roaring loudly like an outraged beast.