Son of Cayn

by Jason McDonald

  “I know.”

  Taking a deep breath, Xandor inhaled the crisp morning air. He knew he needed to stop the caravan. The knowledge someone was impersonating Sachin troubled him deeply. Grendel and Jasper could be in grave danger, and he didn’t know what Sachin and Marko were planning. The report he had left behind for Marcus said as much.

  “Let’s go,” Xandor said finally.

  * * *

  Their horses were saddled and waiting for them down in the small courtyard. At the sight of Xandor coming out of the tower, Xerxes pawed the ground, anxious to be on the road again. Of course, he hadn’t seen the trees yet. The pony, on the other hand, cast dubious looks at her rider.

  As Chert approached, the dwarf and the pony faced each other. Immediately, everyone in the courtyard felt the tension in the air. The soldiers stationed at the milecastle stifled laughs; no one could tell if the two were only sizing each other up or if there was going to be a fight.

  For his part, the dwarf looked ready for battle. The long horns affixed to his great helm added several inches to his short stature, and the ancient chain armor that peeked out from his heavy cloak whispered with his every step. In his left hand, he held at the ready a small, round steel shield emblazoned with the silhouette of a large mountain. His right was empty, but it itched for the ornately-inscribed hammer that hung through a belt loop.

  The bay Connemara stood only thirteen-and-a-half hands at the withers, but she still towered over the dwarf. Xandor had chosen the Connemara because they were a strong and sturdy breed, considered agile and with good jumping ability. They were also known to be excellent mounts for children, but watching the two, the ranger began to have misgivings.

  “There’s no way you are getting me on that beast,” Chert said, gritting his teeth.

  “Chert, we talked about this, remember?” Xandor said patiently.

  The Connemara’s powerful hindquarters tensed as the pony assumed an aggressive stance. She stomped the ground nervously and gave a loud snort. Xandor stepped between the two before they escalated into all-out warfare. He put a hand on the pony’s muzzle and said calmly, “Sky Una.” The pony looked at the ranger, and her muscles relaxed slightly.

  “Sky, you must carry this dwarf. We have friends in danger, and we cannot get there without your help.”

  Chert started to say something to the contrary, but Xandor silenced him with a quick motion of his hand. The pony stared past the ranger at the dwarf, and she reluctantly nodded her head up and down, giving a small nickering noise. Keeping his voice neutral, the ranger said, “Alright, Chert, it’s up to you. This girl knows what to do. All you have to do is hold on, keep your balance, and stay in the saddle.”

  The dwarf looked at the ranger and nodded curtly. He knelt down and picked up a small handful of dirt. Rubbing his hands together, he approached the pony and gingerly stepped into the stirrup, hoisting himself into the saddle. It was not pretty, and Chert nearly fell off twice, but with Xandor’s help, he managed to stay seated.

  “Just remember, Chert, this pony knows what she’s doing. Give her the benefit of the doubt, and she’ll not fail you.”

  Xandor could not see the dwarf’s expression through the slits of the great helm, but he knew fear when he smelled it, and so did the pony. Chert white-knuckled the reins and breathed deeply through his nose.

  Meanwhile, if Xerxes had been less of a horse, he would have been rolling on the ground laughing. Justice had finally come to the small, irritating man.

  The soldiers struggled, and those who could not keep a straight face made themselves scarce. All except for the milecastle commander, who approached Xandor before he could mount up.

  “Ranger, are you chasing the knight everyone’s talking about?”

  “Yes and no,” Xandor replied. His mind still focused on watching the dwarf handle riding the pony.

  “Well, if you are, there’s something you need to know.”

  Xandor turned to look at the commander.

  “I don’t know if you know Lieutenant Penko or not, but he was with the militsiya patrol when they found the fugitive knight last night. He chased that knight all through the city, right up to the base of the Stena. Instead of being trapped as they hoped, the knight threw something at the wall, and a bright, yellow light erupted from the wall, forming a large hole. The knight and his men raced through the opening and out the other side.”

  “Lieutenant Penko and two of his men were right behind them. They followed them into the light and through the wall, but they never made it out the other side.”

  Xandor eyes went wide at the news. “What happened to Lieutenant Penko and his men?”

  The commander’s face darkened as he said, “The opening was temporary. After the knight and his men passed through, the opening closed. When the stone blocks filled back in, those three men and their horses became trapped inside.

  “Ranger, I heard their screams when the stone blocks fused with their arms and legs. What makes it worse is the knight waited. He and his men could have escaped through the wall any time, but they intentionally waited for someone to follow them through.”

  Rage filled the commander’s words. “I believe there is a special circle of hell for evil like theirs. If you find them, remember what they’ve done.”

  “I will, Commander,” Xandor said as he mounted Xerxes and led Sky through the gate.

  * * * * *

  The Haunted Wood (October 22)

  Xandor led Sky through the passage within the main tower, passing under the murder holes and the viciously spiked bars of the heavy portcullis suspended above them. Once past the Stena, they followed the causeway across the Vallum.

  Thirty feet from the wall, they rode past the first bulwark, a six-foot high embankment that immediately dropped off into a twenty-foot-wide by ten-foot-deep ditch filled with sharpened wooden stakes. Hooves slowly pounding across wooden planks, the two continued to the other side, where the causeway sliced through a four-foot-high mound with more stakes along the top. On the other side of the Vallum, the land dropped, adding to the defenses of the Stena against any invaders from the forest.

  They stopped at the edge of the Haunted Wood.

  All the trees were dead. Everywhere they looked, decaying bark clung like a disease to the hardwoods. Cracked boughs supported barren branches that splayed out in odd directions like disjointed fingers. From within their shadow came an undercurrent of something watching and waiting. There was anger here, and a looming threat of death.

  Xandor generally found himself refreshed when entering a forest, but not this time. Even the light from the sun dimmed along the road as though it did not feel safe within the trees. Here and there, pools of dark shadow obscured the forest floor as effectively as the blackest night. The ranger caught himself asking, “What could have done this? They look like they all died at the same time.”

  Chert looked around, not saying anything. His initial impressions of the trees did not improve; if anything, they got worse. His forte was metal and stone; the trees and their maladies were a mystery to him. Both Xerxes and Sky gave the forest dubious looks so Xandor gave them both reassuring pats on their necks. Feeling the need to be moving, the ranger handed Sky’s reins to Chert.

  “Remember, trust your pony,” he said.

  “Easy for you to say.”

  Using his knees, the ranger directed Xerxes into the Haunted Wood. As they traveled deeper into the dark forest, noises from above assailed the two riders as the boughs of the trees creaked and groaned though there was not a hint of wind.

  Brown grass covered the roadway. Along the edges, piles of brambles and sticks lay heaped haphazardly. Chert wondered who had taken the time to clear away the debris as he watched Xandor scrutinizing it carefully.

  The two continued slowly for the first mile while Xandor gauged how far behind the caravan they were. Based on the tracks, he estimated the wagons were only a few hours ahead.

  Xandor straightened in the saddle and mad
e a loud clicking sound as he touched his heels to Xerxes’ sides. His mount leapt forward to chase down the caravan, with Sky a pace behind. A loud crash brought the three to a halt. The ranger looked back and saw Chert sprawled in the middle of the road like a turtle flipped on its back.

  Amidst the grumbling and Chert’s cursing of all four-legged creatures, Xandor said, “You have to hold on.”

  “The blasted creature dropped me!”

  Sky looked as if she might trample the hapless dwarf, so Xandor jumped down to interpose himself between them.

  “Sky!” Xandor said sternly and pointed next to Xerxes. “Stay!”

  “Chert, get up and get back on that pony. We aren’t going to be able to catch that caravan if you can’t hold on.”

  “I know. I’m sorry, Xandor,” Chert said as he picked himself up.

  “Don’t tell me, tell Sky.”

  Chert glared at the pony suspiciously.

  “No way am I going to apologize to that beast.”

  Xandor looked at them both. “Sky didn’t drop you; you fell. Get over there and apologize, or we might as well pack up and go back to Vratsa.”

  Grumbling, Chert walked up to Sky and said something incoherent. Sky looked to Xandor for a translation.

  “I think that was his apology,” Xandor said with a shrug.

  The bay pony looked dubiously at the dwarf, but she nodded and stepped closer to him. Grabbing the pommel of the saddle, Chert hauled himself up.

  “Are we ready this time?” Xandor asked as he mounted his saddle.

  “Yeah, I’m ready,” the dwarf grumbled.

  Xandor made a clicking noise with his mouth, and the horse and pony both cantered into the forest. Chert held on this time, both hands tight on the saddle horn.

  * * *

  Without warning, Xandor raised his fist and signaled for Sky to halt. Up ahead, through the dim light, the ranger spied several turkey vultures waiting in the trees. Their brownish-black wings blended with their surroundings, but their bald, red heads made them stand out. Signaling the horses to proceed cautiously, Xandor rode several more steps before spotting something on the road.

  The ranger and the dwarf dismounted and approached a body adorned with the feathered shafts of a couple arrows. Senses alert and weapons ready, Xandor scanned the forest, anticipating an ambush, but nothing was there.

  Chert took off his gloves, leaned down, and checked the horseman’s vitals. He was still alive, but barely. The shaft of an arrow protruded from just below his collarbone and another was completely driven through his kneecap and poked out the back side. From the feel of him, the horseman’s internal body temperature was lower than normal. He had lost a lot of blood from his wounds, and his colder inner core was not letting the blood clot.

  “He’s too cold,” the dwarf said, more to himself than to Xandor. Chert closed his eyes, laid his hands near the uppermost wound, and prayed. A bright blue light spread from his touch and enveloped the man’s entire body. As the light faded, Chert opened his eyes and laid a hand on the horseman’s brow. As he waited, Xandor paced back and forth, watching over Chert’s shoulder, anxious to get back on the road.

  “You’re hovering,” Chert said to the ranger. “Go check for tracks or something.”

  “What are you waiting for? Shouldn’t you pull those arrows out?”

  “If I take them out, I’ll kill him.”

  “Whatever you’re doing, hurry it up. They’re getting away.”

  “Can’t do that, either. His body temperature has to rise slowly, even with my magic.”

  Xandor stalked away, staring intently down the East Road.

  A few minutes later, blue light pooled around the two wounds. Still with one hand on the man’s brow, Chert reached up and grasped the arrow. The dwarf’s muscles bulged as he yanked it out, revealing a wickedly barbed steel arrowhead. Blood gushed. Dropping the shaft, Chert placed both his hands over the wound and prayed. Blue light spread throughout the man’s body. The wound closed, but the horseman did not regain consciousness.

  Chert opened his eyes and focused his attention on the knee. It was not bleeding as badly, but the joint was obviously shattered. “Xandor, I can take out the arrow and fix the entry and exit wounds, but the damage inside is beyond my ability to heal.”

  “Do what you can,” Xandor said. Standing off a ways, he was investigating the tracks on the ground. As he read the signs, the ranger said aloud, “He was shot off his horse and landed where we found him.” Kneeling down to get a better look at the road, the ranger studied a disturbed area. He pushed aside some of the brown grass and fingered the bent blades. “That knight and his companion were here.”

  Chert ignored Xandor. He forced the arrow farther through the knee before using his knife to cut the thin shaft directly above the arrowhead. Next, he placed one hand on the shaft just under the feathers and the other on the leg. As gently as he could, he pulled out the remaining piece of wood in one smooth motion. He laid the shaft beside his knife, placed both hands on the knee, and prayed. Blue light spread and grew stronger, enveloping the entirety of his knee.

  “We have to take him back to Vratsa,” Chert said when the horseman still didn’t regain consciousness. “And I can’t make it back without your help.”

  Xandor stopped looking at the ground and stared at the dwarf.

  “Just let Sky do all the work. You can make it.”

  “Not with me trying to hold him,” the dwarf said quietly. “I’m worried about Grendel and Jasper, too, but I can’t leave this man here to die, and I can’t save him alone.”

  Xandor’s eyes closed briefly as he fought an internal battle against frustration and anger.

  “Fine,” he said. His voice held a hardness that wasn’t there before. “We’ll head back.”

  * * * * *

  The Kiss of Death (October 22)

  It took the better part of three hours to return Viktor to the garrison at Vratsa and find one of the senior members of the healing staff. After a quick conversation with Chert, Xandor opted to stay a little while longer to see if they could learn something from the horseman when he awoke, but the senior healer assigned to the milecastle quickly assessed the man’s condition and told the two it would be at least a couple of days before he regained consciousness.

  “This man has survived a near-death experience,” Monsignor Bansko told Xandor when asked if Viktor would be able to answer a few questions. “Patience is paramount, especially with cases like this, since even a partial recovery can take quite some time. We thank you for doing all you did to help this man.”

  After they left the chapel, a frustrated Xandor looked at Chert and said, “I was really hoping we could learn more.”

  “I’m sorry, Xandor.”

  “There’s nothing left to do but hurry and catch that caravan.”

  “Then let’s get to it.”

  The two hoisted themselves back in their saddles and raced across the Vallum into the Haunted Wood. It didn’t take long for them to reach the point where they had originally found Viktor. Xandor slowed and hung low in the saddle as they rode past. All total, the ranger figured they were at least seven hours behind.

  “They’ve increased their speed.”

  “What does that mean?”

  Xandor quickly calculated when they could intercept the wagons. By himself, he could have easily made up most of the lost time, but with the dwarf, he hoped to simply keep pace and catch up to them after dark. The ranger straightened up in the saddle, held Sky’s reins tightly, and said, “Chert, hold on. We need to make tracks.”

  The dwarf wasn’t quite sure what the ranger meant, but he had a sinking feeling he was about to find out. Chert gripped his saddle and held on tightly. “I’m ready, Xandor.”

  Xerxes bounded forward, followed closely by Sky. Chert tried to mimic the ranger’s profile and lean into the wind, but after ten minutes of racing down the roadway, he had more the posture and profile of a sack of potatoes.

 
* * *

  The Percherons had no trouble keeping up with the fast pace Marko set. The trees passed in a blur, and Jasper couldn’t help but feel the knight wasn’t just in a hurry. He was running from something. Or someone.

  The teamsters did not fare any better than Chert. The increased speed caused every bump and rut to resonate, and Dragahn swore under his breath each time the wagon jostled or groaned.

  Their afternoon break was a quick affair that only served to increase the tension between the two groups. Jasper distributed some dry rations and tins filled with water while Teodor and Branimir fed the horses. Marko informed everyone they didn’t have time to unhitch the horses, so Pyotr and Andrei spent their time rubbing them down and applying a poultice to any spots rubbed raw by the harnesses.

  During the stop, Marko and Kourash constantly kept an eye on the road, checking to see if anyone followed. The knight seemed extremely agitated about the delay, and within the half-hour, they were back on the road racing east.

  * * *

  Dragahn and the wagons had passed three of the four crooked mountains, and still Marko looked harried. It wasn’t until they passed the fourth mountain the knight seemed to calm and let them slow down. The Percherons’ coats were glossy from sweat and, when Marko finally called a halt for the evening, the sun dipped precariously in the western sky.

  Pyotr and the horsemen quickly unhitched the horses while the others unloaded their gear.

  Jasper retrieved several pounds of pork tenderloin from one of the covered pans. He had planned to save it, but if this was going to be his last meal, he wanted it to be a good one. He scrounged around the wagon and found a dozen small red potatoes along with some carrots and a medium-sized sweet onion. The cook smiled when he looked around and saw Lucky already setting up the grill, but his smile quickly disappeared when Kourash appeared at the end of the chuck wagon. The Seldaehne was making it obvious he was watching every move the cook made. Fine, Jasper thought. Let him look.