Still engrossed in his book, Chert didn’t respond. His lips moved as if he were silently reciting a phrase or prayer.
“Chert, I need you to collect some pine straw.”
“Why?”
“Camouflage,” Xandor said as he rummaged through their baggage.
When the dwarf returned, the ranger crushed the needles in a bowl half-filled with watered-down tree sap until he had a dark-colored plaster. Satisfied with the mixture, he strategically daubed it on his armor and gear, giving it a distinct yuletide smell. Next, he handed the bowl to the dwarf and asked him to do the same.
* * *
With large swaths of pastel colors decorating the eastern horizon, the dawn stretched across the sky. A loud grumbling erupted from their tent. “Xandor, what did you do to me?” Chert asked, his voice barely under control.
The ranger lay watching the teamster’s camp. Without looking back he replied, “I didn’t do anything to you. Now keep quiet.”
Chert poked the ranger in the back with a stick. Xandor glanced back over his shoulder and froze.
“You’ll pay for this, ranger.” Tree sap caked the dwarf’s hair and it stuck out in all directions. Bits of leaves and twigs entangled in his beard made him look like a forest imp.
Xandor’s face turned dark red as tears formed in his eyes, and he choked back the urge to laugh. “I’m sorry, Chert. I didn’t think about your beard.”
Chert stormed off to pack their gear.
* * *
Once the wagons were out of sight, Xandor climbed onto Xerxes and directed his horse to walk slowly back to the road while Chert followed on foot. Before stepping into the open, Xandor gently tugged back on the reins and looked westward again to make sure no one was coming. Empty road.
Next, he surveyed the ground and looked for anything out of the ordinary. Nothing. He took off his glove, licked his finger, and stuck it up in the air. Xandor said, “The wind’s from the west. We should be downwind from that knight and his man.”
Satisfied, Xandor urged Xerxes across the road and into the forest on the other side.
“You’re not staying on the road?” Chert asked.
“No. That patrol would have slowed them down but not stopped them,” Xandor replied.
They continued south for a hundred yards or so before again turning east. The rows of trees made it fairly easy for Xerxes to maintain a quick walk through the pine straw, and the ranger rode low in the saddle to help his horse avoid the tree roots.
* * *
Far to the north and west, a cloud of dust followed a thunder of hooves. Marko was furious.
Yesterday after the two Northmen, Mladen and Ognian, joined him at the crossroads, he had set out to catch up with the caravan. They were making excellent time when they came to a long line of travelers stopped on the East Road. Word quickly spread the Kral’s men had established a cordon and were checking everyone’s papers and searching baggage. There was even a rumor that more troops were on the way to help with the process, but no one knew why the soldiers were stopping people. There was only a vague statement the order had come direct from the Kral’s office.
Being a knight usually had its advantages, but this was not one of those times. Marko could have turned around or tried to sneak through the forest and bypass the soldiers, but he decided to wait it out. He was not here on official business, and it would not bode well for his standing in the family if the Kral’s men detained him.
It took a couple of hours before Marko and his men could see the cordon where ten regulars were stationed. He watched them search each person and their baggage. They were very thorough in their efforts and, even though tempers flared, the men handled themselves very professionally. Marko judged they probably would not accept a bribe. Just before it was his group’s turn, he collected everyone’s letters of introduction and prepared his story.
The commander motioned him forward, and Marko, with his family crest still concealed behind his leather cover, dismounted and introduced himself. The commander took his papers and read each one carefully while his men set about searching the baggage.
Everything went smoothly until the commander looked up at Marko and said, “Sir, I must ask you to remove your shield cover.”
Marko stared at the soldier with cold eyes and said, “I have suffered this line of commoners, and I have relented to your search. Your request is most inappropriate, Commander. I respectfully decline.”
“You misunderstand, sir. I made it a request only to be polite. I have my orders, and you will remove the cover before I let you pass.”
“No.”
“Then you, sir, are under arrest,” the commander said, signaling to his men.
Marko responded, “The hell I am!” He punched the commander with his steel gauntlet, bloodying the man’s mouth and knocking him backward. Instantly, the sliding of steel resonated through the forest as five of the soldiers unsheathed their weapons while Kourash and the two Northmen drew theirs.
Steel clashed on steel when Marko’s men crashed into the soldiers. The Shire horse charged forward, and Kourash’s two-handed sword cleaved through the steel helmet of a young soldier. A sick, crunching sound accompanied the dark, arterial blood that spurted from the collapsing body.
Wielding cutlasses in each hand, the two Northmen easily guided their small horses into the fray. The soldiers were ready. Behind the front rank, four regulars thrust long spears repeatedly at Mladen and Ognian. The two Northmen dodged and deflected their attacks but could not stop all of them. A soldier snuck past their defenses and caught Mladen’s horse in the neck. With a scream, the horse went berserk, bucked, and threw his rider. The spear bowed and splintered.
Marko’s Frisian reared and kicked with his forelegs, clearing a path for the knight. When the soldiers backed away from the destrier, Marko pressed forward, struck with the edge of his shield, and drew his weapon. Kourash roared defiantly as another soldier went down under his heavy two-handed sword.
The roar echoed and was answered by the clear call of a horn. A score of the Kral’s men charged out of the forest from the south. Panicking, the line of people waiting took flight in all directions.
Taking advantage of the brief confusion, Marko yelled at his men, “To me! To me!” Not looking to see if any followed, he raced through a small gap in the soldiers’ line. The Kral’s men renewed their attacks, but their blades failed to dent the knight’s heavy armor.
Kourash’s Shire crashed through the two ranks of regulars and followed the knight. Behind him, Ognian barely fended off the soldiers long enough for the fallen Mladen to hoist himself onto the back of the horse, and then they, too, raced eastward.
* * *
Marko looked back over his shoulder; behind him six cavalrymen gave chase. They galloped down the road, two to a row, each carrying his long spear high, with the red and gold pennon near the tip fluttering. Marko spurred his horse to even greater speed as the Kral’s men drew closer. However, Ognian’s horse, burdened with two men, fell behind.
Marko grimaced when he saw the soldiers tighten their ranks and lower their spears. It appeared they were about to catch their quarry when, suddenly, the front rank of horses screamed and collapsed in a tangled mess of limbs. Some soldiers flew through the air while others disappeared beneath flashing hooves.
* * *
Patrols raced past the teamsters the whole day. When they neared a campsite, Dragahn gestured for Viktor.
“Sir?”
“Did you see that team we just passed?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Take one of your horsemen with you and go ask if they know what’s going on. I want to know if the trouble is ahead of us or behind us.”
An hour later, Viktor and Andrei returned and checked in with Dragahn over a late supper.
“Did you find out anything?” Dragahn asked.
“Yeah, turns out a patrol was attacked yesterday a few miles outside of Dobrovnitsa. From the description, I think it may ha
ve been Jasper’s friend and the knight. They are scouring the countryside for them now.”
“What happened?”
“Don’t know anything specific, but they killed a whole mess of the Kral’s men. One person said he heard they had used caltrops.” Viktor spit and wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve.
“I know I don’t have to say this, but keep your eyes open.”
“Yes, sir,” the two men replied.
“Everyone listen up!” Dragahn announced.
He had everyone’s attention; even Sachin and Grendel walked closer to the group.
“Tomorrow evening, we should arrive at Vratsa and the Stena. After that, it will be nine days of hard travel outside the official reach of the Kral. That means tomorrow night will be our last night in civilized country for a while. So when we get into town tomorrow, I will let each of you have the night off to relax and find what entertainment is available.”
Everyone started talking at once.
Dragahn held up his hands to quiet them back down. He looked at each of his men and said, “That’s not permission to get arrested or get into trouble. Make no mistake, day after next, every one of us will earn our pay. We’ve been through this territory twice, and each time it was different, so we can’t afford to let our guard down. That’s how people get hurt. Tomorrow morning, I want to get an early start. The sooner we leave, the sooner we get there. That’s all I’ve got to say. Unless you have any questions, let’s get ready to turn in.”
* * *
Sachin stared westward down the road and frowned. A chill had snuck into the air, and he wrapped his cloak tighter around himself.
“Worried about the knight and his men?” Grendel asked.
“What? No, just thinking ahead.”
“What is on the other side of the Stena?”
Sachin turned and stared up at his bodyguard. “Who can say?” he asked with a shrug. “I expect a few of your brethren.”
“They are not my brothers.”
“We’ll see.”
Grendel glared at the small man and fought to control his temper.
Sachin gave him an apologetic smile and said, “Forgive me. That was uncalled for. As for the other side,” he continued, “let’s just say thirty years ago, before the Kral retreated and gave his land to the khumanoidi tribes, it was full of thriving people and their cities.”
Grendel looked startled. “The Kral just gave them up? What happened to the people?”
“I don’t know. I can only assume they moved out when the Kral recalled his men.”
“He uprooted entire families?”
“I’m sure it was either move out, be captured and forced into some type of slavery—or worse—eaten.”
Grendel thought about what Sachin told him and asked, “What about the Stena? I have heard Dragahn mention the wall several times.”
“Full of questions tonight, aren’t we?” Sachin asked, then, when Grendel started to back away, said, “It’s alright; these are good questions.
“Others may view it a bit differently, but to me, the Stena is an unprecedented monument to cowardice. It marks the first time the Kral ever conceded territory to his enemies, and by doing so, he completely left his southern neighbors vulnerable to the hordes of khumanoidi. There’s even a dark rumor the Kral secretly met with khumanoidi chieftains, worked out a bargain to divide the land, and thus saved his sovereignty. In either case, his actions rewrote the world map.
“As for the wall itself, it is the eastern border of Trakya. First started during the Plague War, it now stretches four hundred miles, and it’s still not finished. Vratsa, the town we arrive at tomorrow, was originally a staging ground for two teams of builders, the north team and the south team, each with the task of constructing the wall and milecastles as fast as they could.”
“Milecastles?”
“Gatehouses built into the wall.”
“How many men guard it?”
“The numbers vary, but I’ve heard the Kral has stationed three of his legions, each five thousand strong, to both build and guard it.”
“Seems a bit much for a wall.”
“Maybe, but it has served its purpose and protected the eastern border of Trakya from the khumanoidi tribes.”
“I guess so. You seem to know a lot about this wall.”
Sachin flashed a quick smile and said, “No, not really. But I do like to keep up with current events and the geopolitical situation of places we are expected to travel.”
“Is that one of the reasons you are not afraid to travel outside the wall?”
“One of them,” Sachin replied. After a moment, he said, “Your turn.”
Grendel waited.
“From what you’ve told me, it sounds as if J’Bel is a place far away from here. I want to know what brought you to Trakya.”
After taking a moment to think, Grendel said, “I guess you can say I am searching for something I lost.”
“What do you mean?”
Looking off into the distance, Grendel answered, “I was given a gift on loan—an ancient labrys with perfect symmetry and balance. It may sound funny, but when I held that axe, it gave me the sense that when I fought, I was not alone. Have you ever felt that way?”
Sachin did not answer.
“It was stolen, and I have vowed to whomever it was that gave it to me that I would get it back.”
“You don’t know who lent it to you?” Sachin asked.
Grendel faced Sachin, a faraway look in his eyes. “No, not really. But I feel he is still watching me. One day, I must go before him and be judged. With that axe at my side, I can say that, even though I was not worthy, he entrusted me with a great weapon. Then I will return his gift and show I did not disappoint that trust.
“It may be a simple thing, but to me, it represents much more than that. It means someone is with me. Someone who cares if I live or die. It means redemption is still possible. Even after all I have done.”
Focusing a fiery, determined gaze on the small man, Grendel said, “Would you not travel to the ends of the world to seek out an item like that? To be able to possess something you knew in your heart could mean the difference between Heaven and Hell?”
The question hung in the air.
Breaking the half-orc’s gaze, Sachin said quietly, “Enough questions for one night.”
He walked back to his tent and, with one final glance down the road toward the west, said, “Sometimes, Grendel, you are destined to travel the road to Hell, no matter how many times you try to turn back.”
* * *
Matching the pace of the caravan the next day, Xandor rode a half mile or so behind the wagons. He had heard the rumors about the patrol Marko had attacked, and it disturbed him. He should have warned them, but he had not thought the knight would assault the Kral’s men. He had obviously misread him. It also made the ranger wonder what had triggered the encounter. He had spent the bulk of the evening eavesdropping on various camps, but the stories he heard did not say.
Chert walked beside Xerxes, enjoying having his feet on the ground. The ranger had offered to let the dwarf ride, but he turned it down, muttering, “Horses are unnatural.”
“I thought you were a devout priest and loved all creatures.”
The dwarf looked up at the ranger and said, “It’s not about loving the creatures of the Eternal Father. It’s about using what the Eternal Father has given you. Look at you. You ride everywhere you go, letting your legs go to waste.”
Xandor choked on his water. “Dwarf, my legs are just fine. I am faster than you, with or without a horse.”
“Is everything a race to you, human? You should slow down and smell the dirt.”
“Smell the dirt? Are you kidding?”
Chert looked hurt. “No, I’m serious. Have you ever stopped to smell red clay or beach sand? Or have you stood in the middle of a freshly-plowed field and smelled that rich, earthy smell?”
“Yeah, I’ve done that, and it smells hor
rible.”
“You just don’t know what you’re smelling. Did you know some human cultures eat dirt?”
“No. I must have missed that one,” the ranger said, shaking his head. “And you said horses were unnatural.”
Xerxes whinnied. The ranger patted him on the neck and said, “You’re right, boy. Chert, let’s talk about something else. You’re upsetting Xerxes.”
* * * * *
Valevataya Mehana (October 21)
Bright street lamps illuminated the faces of many off-duty soldiers and their paramours, who were coming and going from the restaurants and taverns. Music flowed from the doors of several establishments, and lively dance tunes beat in counterpoint to softer melodies. Despite the ebb and flow of foot traffic, Sachin had no trouble making headway up the street. One look at the tall, dark figure at his side caused the bravest of soldiers to give way.
For Xandor, the going was not so easy, though the crowd did disguise him. Rather than try to mingle, he concentrated on staying at the fringe, moving with the current and bobbing from pool to pool rather than being caught in the main flow. Farther along, the number of revelers thinned as the buildings turned dark and street lamps grew less frequent. Sachin moved with confidence through the silent shadows past houses that were far from new and narrow buildings where the poor but proud made their homes in shabby tenements.
Taking advantage of the darkened street, Xandor drew closer as Sachin and Grendel entered a narrow, winding lane where the sound of happy laughter vanished; travelers here did not want to be noticed. A prostitute lingered in a doorway here, a clandestine couple slipped down an alleyway there, and a small-time thug waited for an easy target in the shadows farther on. The occasional sounds of tears or cruel laughter reached the street, traveling the night air like ghosts in a fog, coming at a person from every direction at once and sending a chill down the spine.
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