Once they passed the chuck wagon, Jasper dropped his glamour and busied himself with breakfast. The knight and his companion continued until they were in front of Sachin’s tent.
Grendel stepped out of the shadows and placed himself between them and the opening. Behind him, Sachin appeared and gave the knight permission to enter his tent, leaving Kourash and Grendel outside to face each other. The quiet tension between them was palpable, but fortunately, neither seemed ready to provoke the other—at least, not yet.
A few minutes later, Marko emerged from the tent, his face a mask of neutrality. He approached a secluded part of camp where one of the Northmen lay hidden. Not wanting to arouse suspicion, Jasper made himself busy with breakfast. He glanced back in time to see the Northman disappear behind one of the tents and then reappear mounted on his horse. With a snap of the reins, the horse leapt forward into a gallop, back down the road they had just traveled.
The smell of coffee, bacon, and eggs filled the small campsite, waking the teamsters. Dragahn and Lucky were the first, followed quickly by Pyotr and the rest of the horsemen. Soon, a crowd formed around the campfire, attracting Marko’s attention. He motioned to Kourash and the two converged on the teamsters. Jasper noted the brisk, angry pace that replaced Marko’s normally cocky stride.
Breaking in at the front of the line, Marko took the plate and cup of coffee intended for Dragahn. Next to him, Kourash turned his nose up at the cooked food, and Jasper could only imagine what he considered a normal meal. Attracted by the smells of breakfast, Sachin and Grendel walked over and joined the back of the line.
Marko scowled at the teamsters, spoiling for a fight. Everyone, including Sachin, gave him plenty of room and let him eat. This change in attitude caught both Dragahn and Jasper’s attention. It seemed the normally haughty man was cowed in the presence of the knight.
After everyone was seated, the second Northman appeared and grabbed the last plate. He sat down a short distance away, his bow in easy reach. It didn’t take long for everyone, especially Grendel, to notice one of the Northmen was missing.
The cook watched the expressions of the teamsters run the gamut from curiosity to speculation to nervous tension. Draghan brought his empty plate to the cook and held out his tin cup for a refill. “I notice you don’t have any extra food. Camp’s one man short this morning,” he murmured.
“Yeah, I saw him leave while I was getting things together. He headed back the way we came. The look on his face would have curdled fresh milk.”
“Wonder what that means,” the chief mused.
“Can’t say,” Jasper said.
As soon as the coffee pot was empty, everyone busied themselves with striking camp and loading the chuck wagon.
Marko mounted his Frisian and watched Jasper close the chuck box. The cook remained a mystery. During his conversation earlier, the Northman told him the cook had walked into the woods. Marko could only presume he had overheard his conversation with one of the spirits of the wood, but that’s not what bothered him. What bothered him was the cook had managed to get past both himself and Kourash undetected.
Dragahn gave Marko the signal, and the knight smiled knowingly. The caravan chief knew the chain of command.
* * *
Dragahn cursed silently when he realized the knight was setting another fast pace, one that would eventually cause an accident. Luckily, the land they traveled had flattened, but grass covered the road, hiding any holes or ruts.
For their part, the Percherons were ready. Yesterday’s ride had allowed them to stretch out their stride a little, and they seemed eager for more.
The morning flew by, and the day warmed as the sun reached its zenith. They continued along the roadway, passing a small lake on the right.
Raising a clenched fist, Marko gave the signal for everyone to stop. Dragahn tugged on the reins and stared at the road ahead. In front of them, as far as the eye could see, stood a large herd of light-brown bison, grazing peacefully on the grass. They appeared unconcerned with the sudden presence of the caravan and had no intention of moving out of the way.
Dragahn looked at their fearless leader and waited for his instructions. After a few minutes of waiting, Marko still looked unsure of what to do. Dragahn climbed down and approached the knight.
“Sir, if I may?”
Marko sat his horse calmly, but inside he was furious, cursing the god who created such foul beasts. He looked down at Dragahn and asked, “Do you know how to clear the road, driver?”
“We can’t clear the road, but I think I can get us past the bison.”
At first, the knight was suspicious of the driver’s intentions, but not finding any obvious subterfuge, he tipped his head slightly and said, “Fine. I temporarily relinquish command of the caravan to you, driver.”
Dragahn patted the lead Percheron on the neck as he walked past. He stopped next to Sachin’s wagon and said calmly, “Everyone listen up. We are going to take this slow and easy.”
“You’re not thinking about going into that herd, are you?” Pyotr interrupted. “That’s crazy!”
Dragahn looked directly at the horse doctor and replied, “Yes, I’m planning on taking this caravan through the herd, and no, it’s not crazy as long as you do exactly what I say.”
After giving everyone a few seconds to let his words sink in, he continued, “I will take the chuck wagon and hug the right-hand side of the road where there aren’t as many buffalo.”
Everyone turned to look at the road. The bison looked just as thick on one side as the other.
“I want all the horsemen riding between us and the woods. Whatever you do, do not stop. I repeat, do not stop. If you keep the horses moving, everything will go just fine.”
Walking back to the end of the line, Dragahn made sure everyone had heard him and understood what they needed to do. He made a point of giving each of the lead Percherons some attention before he went back to his seat.
Except for Pyotr, the teamsters seemed fine with his plan. Jasper, for his part, could hardly contain his excitement. He had no clue what was about to happen, but he was thankful Dragahn seemed to know what he was doing, and Marko was willing to follow the chief’s lead.
The caravan chief looked behind him to make sure everyone was ready and in their proper places. He received nods from each of the teamsters and from the knight.
With a flick of the reins, the chuck wagon drove forward slowly. Dragahn steered the wagon closer to the edge of the road and aimed straight for the herd. At first, it did not look like the bison were paying any attention, but at the last second they opened a path.
As the last wagon entered the herd, Jasper turned to watch the bison close their ranks behind them. He gave the caravan chief credit. Even though some of the larger beasts seemed annoyed with the presence of the caravan, they slowly moved aside with little more than a snort. Everyone remained quiet, and Jasper caught himself holding his breath when they passed close to one of them.
The cook had never seen these animals before, and their size amazed him. Their heads and forequarters were massive, and they had short, curved horns that could easily be used to gore a person. They stood six feet at the shoulder, and Jasper estimated the smallest must have weighed over a thousand pounds.
They traveled several miles before Jasper saw the edge of the herd. The slow, tedious pace wore on everyone’s nerves, but Dragahn seemed unaffected. He held the reins tightly and didn’t relax or increase the tension the entire time they were within the herd.
When they came out the other side, everyone sighed in relief. Marko motioned to the horsemen, who resumed their positions along each side of the wagons. As Marko passed Dragahn to take back the command, he bowed his head slightly toward the driver, much to Jasper’s surprise, and said, “Let’s find a place for lunch.”
* * * * *
Sachin (October 23)
Dragahn and Marko found a small pond surrounded by grass for the caravan’s midday break. The horsemen jumpe
d down from their saddles and unhitched the Percherons to let them graze near the pond. Everyone seemed happy to be walking around again and less nervous around the knight and his companions.
Jasper eavesdropped on small conversations about the day’s events while he and Lucky prepared lunch. Even Marko and Sachin seemed more at ease now that they were clear of the bison. They stood together, conversing in low tones.
Without warning, Grendel threw a small work hammer, which struck the Northman in the head with a high-pitched metallic tone. The man collapsed instantly.
Grendel, taking advantage of the opportunity, pulled out his battle-axe, slipped behind Marko, and pulled the edge of the blade hard against his neck. A small rivulet of blood ran down and disappeared beneath the plate armor.
“No one move!” Grendel growled.
Kourash drew his two-handed sword, ready to attack, but paused to see what the half-orc would do next. “You won’t make it out of here alive,” Kourash said.
Grendel looked around to see if he had any backup, but Jasper and Lucky hadn’t moved; they were watching from the chuck wagon. A feeling of dread came over him as no one came to help.
Marko inhaled sharply as Grendel pressed harder. The half-orc glanced at the other teamsters, then back at the chuck wagon, but Jasper frowned and shook his head slightly.
Kourash took a tentative step, and Grendel glared at him, daring him to try it.
Suddenly, Grendel’s muscles tensed and froze. Sachin stood behind him wielding a small, ornate, silver dagger covered in runes.
Marko grabbed the handle of the battle-axe and pushed as hard as he could, trying to give himself room to breathe. It didn’t move. With Kourash’s help, the knight managed to slip out from Grendel’s grasp.
After freeing Marko, the Seldaehne gripped his sword tightly, intending to decapitate the half-orc, but Sachin stepped between Grendel and the large blade.
“What are you doing? He’s too dangerous,” Marko gasped, a little out of breath. He held a cloth to his neck.
“That’s exactly why I chose him as my bodyguard, you idiot,” Sachin replied, his haughtiness back in full force.
Dragahn caught the exchange and asked Sachin, “Who are you? You’re not the Sachin I know.”
After a brief pause, Sachin said, “No, I’m not.” He removed a thin, gold chain from around his neck, and the small man became a tall, long-legged woman in her early thirties with a regal bearing. Her medium-length, raven hair hung loose above her shoulders and framed a pale, square face with a slightly upturned nose. The riding clothes she wore no longer fit properly, nor could they hide her near-perfect proportions. Her dark eyes captivated the teamsters as if with magic and held them prisoner.
“You should let me kill him, sister,” Marko said.
“Why? Because you got careless?” she laughed. “Oh no, I’m keeping this one. If I had not stopped him, he would have killed you while your Seldaehne just stood there and watched.”
The beautiful woman looked away from Marko and caught Dragahn staring at her, his mouth open. She walked up to Dragahn and closed it for him. Her touch was full of secret promises, and it sent desire coursing through the man.
Amused, she watched him and said, “No, Dragahn, I am not Sachin. My real name is Aleksandra, and I am a member of the Madasgorski family, cousin to the throne of Zhitomir, and widow of Baron Boris Krakov, former advisor to the Kral. The knight you see before you is my younger brother, Marko Madasgorski.”
Everyone was speechless, their eyes riveted to her every move.
“Oh, this is priceless,” she said with a smile, basking in the attention.
Finally, Dragahn regained some of his senses and asked, “What happened to the real Sachin?”
A shadow briefly crossed Aleksandra’s features, and she said, “He’s dead.”
Jasper watched Dragahn struggling to think clearly. In fact, all the teamsters seemed to be reacting toward her the same way, and it did not take long for every one of them to become completely enamored of her.
All except Jasper. He couldn’t explain it. Maybe it was his training, or maybe it was something else; regardless, he seemed immune to Aleksandra’s charms. Stepping away from the chuck wagon, he asked, “What are you going to do with us?”
She focused on Jasper, curious, and said, “Nothing. You made a deal with my brother. There’s no reason for me to break that deal. Now, please excuse me while I change into something more appropriate.”
Aleksandra retrieved the luggage stowed under the seat of her wagon and changed on the far side, teasing everyone with glimpses of soft, fair skin. When she returned, she still wore the same style of riding clothes, but these were tailored to her figure and complemented her natural beauty. Her dark hair was parted down the center and fell in layers, with a light twist through the tresses giving her a roguish look.
“Jasper, please make sure everyone is fed; Pyotr, please check on Ognian and see how badly he’s hurt. I would hate to waste this break.”
“Of course, milady,” Jasper said before he realized it.
Paralyzed by the touch of Aleksandra’s dagger, Grendel still stood motionless. His emotions ran from one end of the spectrum to the other. His mind replayed the scene, and each time, he felt more betrayed by the mage. Grendel knew they could have saved the people, but now, because of Jasper’s cowardice, they were still prisoners.
The first sign his paralysis was wearing off was when he could move his eyes, followed closely by his first blink. Words could not describe the relief that coursed through his body.
Grendel watched Aleksandra approach, and his battle of emotions reached new levels. Her dark green eyes peered into his, and it seemed she felt what he was feeling. Maybe she even knew what he was thinking. She walked up to him and traced her finger along his jaw and down his arm. Her touch sent electricity through his body, and he found it difficult to think about anything else.
“My orcné, what am I going to do with you?” she whispered softly, an affectionate hand on his cheek. “I certainly didn’t expect you to try to rescue everyone.”
Grendel could only stand and blink, but he felt the muscles in his face relax.
“I’m sorry I had to do that. I couldn’t have you kill Marko; he is family, after all,” she continued. More to herself, she mused, “Did you attack Marko to rescue me? Or did you have some other motive?”
After a brief pause, she said, “You will soon regain your ability to move. Before that happens, I want you to think long and hard about your next course of action. I didn’t save your life only to have to take it away from you. You have passed the final test, and I want you as my bodyguard. Can you live with that?”
Looking deep into those green eyes, Grendel saw something there, something different. It was hard to fathom at first, but he swore he saw hope.
“Do you promise not to hurt my friends?” he said finally, his voice dry from lack of moisture.
“Of course,” Aleksandra replied.
“It seems I have little choice.”
“The decision is ultimately yours.”
Grendel cast a quick glance at Jasper as he served dry rations to the horsemen and temporarily put aside his angry feelings. It seemed mixed up, but it also felt right when he said, “I will be your bodyguard.”
* * * * *
The Bunker (October 23)
After only a few hours, Xandor gave up on sleep. The feeling of being watched forced him awake. He looked around for the hundredth time, but there was nothing there. Only the pitch black of the forest; even the stars seemed farther away.
Pulling out his journal and stylus, Xandor started writing.
Chert groaned as he awoke and stretched. “I’m getting too old for this.”
Xandor stopped, thought a moment, and asked, “How old are you?”
Holding up his hand to count his fingers, Chert answered, “Sixty-two.”
“Wow, you’re old.”
Chert laughed. “Not really. Some dwa
rves live over four hundred years. My great, great-grandfather’s three-hundred-fortieth birthday is next month. I’m sure everyone will be there. “
“You miss them, don’t you?”
Chert looked at the ranger and said sadly, “I’m one of the last Joalheiro.” He reached into his pouch and pulled out an ugly red rock with jagged edges. Rubbing it with his fingers, the dwarf said, “Stonework is a gift given to my clan by the Eternal Father.” Small bits of red dust sprinkled the ground as he continued working the stone. Finally, he stopped and handed it to Xandor. “Here, take it.”
Xandor took it and held it up—a ruby. One half sparkled brilliantly in the light of the glowing stylus, while the other half remained rough and dull. Admiring the stone, Xandor asked, “Why did you leave?”
A faraway look overtook the dwarf. “I’ve been looking for more of my kind, but all I’ve found are old, forgotten cities my kin abandoned long ago.”
“Like Pazard’zhik?”
“Yes, like Pazard’zhik. I keep looking for some hint of where they went, but there’s not much out there. Even at Pazard’zhik, the Trakyans destroyed or built on top of most of what my kin created.”
“I hope you find them, but I expect they are well hidden.”
Chert looked at the ranger and asked, “What makes you say that?”
“I’m not as old as you,” Xandor said good-naturedly, “but I’ve noticed how we humans seem to take everything for granted, and we tend to be opportunistic when it comes to expansion.”
He gestured toward the trees. “Eventually, the Kral will take this area back. His people will continue to multiply, and he will run out of land. One day, the countries of Rhodina will cross the White River and reclaim their lands. Battles will be fought and new borders will be drawn. There will not be much room left for the races of the elves and dwarves.”
“Guess that’s why my people retreated into the earth,” Chert said sadly.
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