Mendaka wrinkled his brow. “It doesn’t add up. Somewhere near here is a pit. There has to be.” He shouted, “Yeoh! Everyone, light your torches and spread out to look for any unusual signs or tracks.”
Once the torches were lit, Mendaka waved his torch three times three to let Wselwulf know to bring the horses. Then the young bloods spread out in a fan shape, torches held high, and began their search.
It wasn’t long before Redelfis waved his torch and shouted, “Over here. See here, a heavy stone has been dragged this way.” The searchers ran to Redelfis as he limped along the drag trail.
The torches splashed light on the obvious gouge in the earth. Just then the grokking of ravens came from a juniper bush as black as the ravens sitting in it.
“Follow those ravens,” Mendaka ordered. His hopes rising. “Hurry, not a moment to waste!”
As Mendaka ran towards them, the ravens took wing and began circling, barely visible in the dark sky above the torch light. “There’s something here,” he shouted. He grabbed the bush the ravens had been on a moment ago. To his surprise the bush gave way readily without any effort, it being a shrub of particularly deep root, he was astounded that it came up so readily. “Aha, it’s the marker,” Mendaka said. “This juniper branch is the marker for his grave. The pit must be here about.”
Once again they fanned out to search with Ilkchild surging ahead.
Ilkchild announced, “Here! Over here, over this rise, Mendaka, it’s a pit!” He looked into the darkness.
“Yeoh,” Elfy hollered out, “over here everybody, we’ve found it!” He peered closer, “He’s down there. They’ve crushed him under a huge rock.”
* * *
Dust and dirt fell down on Sur Sceaf. He heard rocks falling and muffled voices with occasional splashes of light piercing his blindfold. The demons had returned to torment him. He braced for a final blow before he heard, “Oh, Thunder Gods, I thank you, he’s alive!”
Mendaka? Or is it just some other ghost from my imagination. Sur Sceaf managed to push a groan through his tortured throat. Impatient hands pulled at the swaddling until he felt a knife cutting through it to free him of the cloth of death.
As though from a great distance, a hollow voice said, “Be careful, Elfy, you might cut him.” It was Yellow Horse.
Sur Sceaf managed to open his eyelids a slit, but the brightness was too great to bear. Lots of hollow voices rose and fell around him, but he couldn’t distinguish the words or who they were. His hearing made it sound like everything was under water.
The ropes that bound him were cut, his feet and hands freed. Like a miracle from the gods, the pressure on his back was gone. Air rushed into his deflated lungs. At first it was painful to breathe. Gradually he filled his lungs, bit by bit with each breath. Hands rolled him gently over. Cool water bathed his face. Fingers continued to unravel the swaddling.
A distinct voice said, “Hand me the water flask.”
He struggled, Mendaka, it is Mendaka. Surrey struggled to speak his name, but only a groan came out.”
“Don’t try to talk Surrey. You are safe now.” Gentle hands raised him up a few inches. He felt the water cross his lips and run over his thick tongue.”
We will raise my brother from the dust with the strong grip of Howrus.
He struggled to express his thanks to the gods, but collapsed and blacked out.
Chapter 2: The Day After
His screaming body awoke in agony. For an instant Sur Sceaf believed he was still in the pit and only dreaming of the rescue.
“Good morn Fa, how are you feeling?” He turned his head to look up. Ilkchild was hovering over him, an anxious look upon his face.
“Happy to be alive,” he hoarsely forced out through his still swollen throat. “Or shall I say, I’m just glad all my body parts are still here.”
“I can tell you this much. Your face is more colorful than the sunrise. You could even pass for a troll.”
Sur Sceaf croaked out a laugh. He was lying on his back on a pile of blankets in the shade of a make shift lean to, fashioned from another blanket. The air was warm and perfumed with the familiar scent of artemisia. From the shadows, he surmised the sun was high overhead. As he turned his head he saw White Fire, geared up and ready to ride. He took Ilkchild by arm and asked, “Did any harm come to my horse?”
“No, but he kicked the living snot out of the two Pitters that tried to break him.”
Sur Sceaf smiled.
Oh Great Woon, thank you for preserving me and my gallant stallion from the Land of the Dead. Heal me every wit whole, and let me bear the sword of righteousness for thy name’s sake.
Sur Sceaf threw off the blanket and then groaned from the pain that seemed to start at his head and go down to his feet. “It may have been more merciful if they had drawn and quartered me.” He glanced around and saw that Mendaka and the young bloods were energetically packing up camp. Clearly, they had cleaned up the filth left by the Pitters.
“I wish I had been able to watch when you slew the damned bastards that did this to me.”
Ilkchild laughed. “You would have enjoyed it. They didn’t give much of a fight. This morning we dumped them in the pit and left them for the birds to pick apart. Dak killed all their horses. Can’t have them breeding with ours.”
Sur Sceaf nodded in satisfaction. “So you have been blooded in battle. How does it feel?”
“Necessary, but as gruesome as butchering hogs. Aethelstan warned me that it was no easy thing to kill a man. No matter how much he deserves it.”
“Aethelstan speaks wisdom, but remember, Pitters are vermin, not men.”
“Once I saw those rat’s teeth, and wolf eyes, I knew that to be true and it was no longer a problem.” He glanced towards the campfire. “I prepared you some vittles of eggs and side meat or would you prefer just porridge like last night?”
Sur Sceaf thought for a moment. He was ravenously hungry, but wasn’t sure what his stomach could take. I’ll have the eggs and porridge.”
While Ilkchild hurried to the campfire to get his breakfast, Xelph came up as though waiting his turn. He carried a flask and a medicine bag. “Good morrow, my lord. It’s a miracle you are even alive. The Ur Fyr told me to leave your wounds open to the air, and to give you this drink when you waken. It will flush all the poisons out of your body.”
He handed the flask to Sur Sceaf. His fingers were so sore from clawing the earth that he had difficulty holding on without using both hands. As soon as he drew in a whiff of the contents, he recoiled and spat out the contents. “Are you trying to kill me with this stuff? I’d sooner bite off a rattle snake’s head than drink this devil’s brew.”
“Don’t spit it out again. Drink every drop of it.”
Sur Sceaf downed the medicine, shook his head vigorously, and said, “Wicked!” His face felt like it was going to collapse. “Dammit, Xelph, what did I ever do to you?”
“Do you want to be healed? Or not? I’ll have you know I had a sick ram I gave this to and he was up on his feet chasing the ewes before the day was over.”
Sur Sceaf snorted, “There certainly aren’t any ewes in these parts to be chasing.” He handed Xelph the flask to return it to his medicine bag.
Mendaka approached laughing. “Oh, if Taneshewa could only see you now, she’d run for the hills. What would you say Xelph? Is he ogre, booger, or troll?”
Xelph warned, “Don’t make him laugh. Every time he does, it opens the wounds on his back.”
“Xelph’s right,” Sur Sceaf acknowledged. I’ve already had enough jokes at my expense this morning and I don’t need a mirror to tell me I look like a corpse.”
“At least you look more alive than last night. I knew you were too full of piss and vinegar to leave us.”
Sur Sceaf stifled a laugh. “Actually, I’m feeling quite irritable, like I want to bite someone’s head off, but those feelings aside, I am grateful you came to my rescue when you did, Dak. I promise a minute longer and I’d ha
ve been a dead man.”
“I marvel that you lived as long as you did. And a little irritability is to be expected after that hell-pit. But don’t you remember Sagwi’s axiom, ‘laughter is always the best medicine’.”
“Well, the laughter is certainly better than this foul brew Xelph has concocted. How much of this panther piss do I have to drink, Xelph?”
Xelph and Mendaka laughed before Xelph answered, “Sounds like you could use some more medicine to cut that sour spirit you’re in. I’ll go whip up another batch.” Grinning, he excused himself and left.
Ilkchild returned with the eggs, side meat, and porridge. Sur Sceaf groaned as he tried to sit up. Mendaka ran to fetch a pack, which he carefully placed behind Sur Sceaf’s back so he could rest as he ate.
“Damn it!” Mendaka said, “I should have known better. The shirt we put you in is stuck to your back. The clear blood was absorbed and the shirt now cleaves to your flesh.”
“Well,” Sur Sceaf said, “my sister has her fish-healers that can take care of that. It’s the least of my worries for now.”
Ilkchild placed the plate before him then sat on his haunches, the look in the young blood’s eyes told him he was more shaken than he would admit.
Sur Sceaf nibbled at a piece of side meat. “I’m a bit fuzzy about last night,” he said between bites, “what was it you said about the ravens?”
“I told you about how I almost didn’t come because Little Doe thought the black birds might be tricksters. We finally decided to get Sagwi’s opinion, and her take was that you were in serious trouble. She could feel your pain by proxy. Then it was the damnedest thing. Once we decided to set out on the trail, the ravens led us right to you.”
Sur Sceaf felt a shiver. “Did one of them have golden eyes.”
Mendaka looked startled, “How the hell did you know that?”
“I saw the golden-eyed one pick up my hair claw when I was being beaten. That’s how.”
“Sure enough, two ravens showed up yesterday morning. One of them had your hair claw. Dropped it right in my face.”
Ilkchild declared, “Purely coincidental.”
Mendaka jerked his head toward Ilkchild. “Were we, or were we not led to the pit in the dark by two ravens?”
Ilkchild shrugged, “There’s some logical explanation. I just haven’t figured it out yet. Probably some one’s pet ravens mistook Surrey for their master.”
As Ilkchild traipsed off, Sur Sceaf declared, “The boy has given up on faith after the death of his father, even when the evidence is in his face.”
Mendaka nodded, “If you feel up to telling, do you have any memory of what happened to you?”
Between bites and drinks of water, Sur Sceaf recounted all that had transpired from the time he awoke in the yellow pine forest until the intruders threw him into their pit as a binding offering to their god, Angrar.
Mendaka uttered a ripe Sharaka curse. “Would that I had severed the head of the king rat before I offered mercy in exchange for information about your whereabouts.”
Sur Sceaf spooned up the last of the porridge. “Mendaka, do you know the name of the Sharaka that was with the Pitters?”
“That was Crooked Boar. He once belonged to the Boar Clan, but ran off to be a renegade with Inteus Walker, that Balmor Rogue scum we sought to bring to justice.”
Finished with his breakfast, Sur Sceaf pushed the plate aside and glanced around. “I thought I heard Yellow Horse’s voice last night, but I don’t see him anywhere.”
“That’s because I sent Yellow Horse to tell the queen we found you hale and hearty. He was very worried about you and insisted he ride and tell the queen.”
“If this is hale and hearty I’d hate to feel bad.” They laughed.
“We’re ready to leave at your command, my lord,” Mendaka reported with an inquiring look.
“First I have to piss like a race horse in Midlithe. Then let us be off to Fort Rock. We have Pitters to kill.”
“That’s the spirit!”
Chapter 3: The Fish Nurse
As though White Fire sensed his master’s pain, the five-gaited, huge stallion rode as softly as dandelion down on a gentle breeze. But after thirty minutes or so on the trail, Sur Sceaf began wobbling in his saddle and had to forcefully hold on to the saddle horn in order to keep from falling off, an indignity that no knight should have to endure. Sheepishly, he glanced over at the hazy image of Mendaka, who smiled and said, “Hang in there, brother. We should be at the fortress before noon where we can down some of that high desert ale you like so much.”
Despite the pain, Sur Sceaf forced himself to sit up straighter. He blinked to sharpen his vision. In the distance directly ahead, Fort Rock arose like a large upthrust mountain towering above the undulating, but seemingly flat sage-specked desert floor. All along the trail, large cracks of cooled molten lava opened in the ground to an indiscernible depth, very treacherous to stumble on in the dark if you didn’t know about them and one of the primary defenses of this far flung Herewardi viceroyalty. As a youth he had run a rope down one of the narrow cracks to a depth of three hundred feet without hitting bottom.
The reins were getting slippery from all the plasma that leaked from his sweating wounds. He wiped his hands on the bottom of his shirt, the only place that wasn’t already contaminated with the plasma and blood that was seeping so profusely from his wounds.
White Fires ears pricked up. A steady hollow rumble rocked the earth. He glanced up and saw only blue sky. “Do you hear thunder?”
Mendaka cocked his head to listen. After a moment, he declared, “No! Not thunder. These lava cracks make it sound like thunder. I believe it is riders coming this way.”
As soon as they crested the swell of land they spotted the red-clad Vanguard of Fort Rock approaching like a river of crimson fire down the road known as Buzzard Run. They rode four abreast with two out riders to the fore bearing silver banners that snapped wildly in the breeze.
“Who are they, Father?” Redelfis called from behind.
Mendaka settled his overo, Wind Chaser, who was still unseasoned and showing agitation at the approach of the thunderous fyrd. “They are the Jaguarundi Vanguard of the queen, one hundred and forty-four members strong,” he said, turning his head toward the rear. “The banner you see flying has an otter cat with a single double-rose above its raised paw.”
“Otter cat, what’s that?”
“It’s a cat about half way between a bobcat and a cougar with a golden brown color and deep greenish-blue eyes. The Herewardi call it a jaguarundi. Of course, the white rose on top the red rose stands for the union of two Herewardi bloodlines, as well as Queen Va-Eyra, who is known as the Desert Rose.
Redelfis said, “So that’s her totem?”
“Exactly, I learned at the Academy at Maiden’s Head that the Herewardi of royal blood are entitled to have a special totem that they call an emblem and device. Surrey’s totem is the fire swan.”
Redelfis said, “I think I remember hearing the story of how you and Sur Sceaf took the Young Blood Tournament two years in a row under that banner.”
“That’s right. I flew my totem, the winged serpent, and Surrey flew the fire-swan.”
Redelfis urged his pony a little closer in order to be heard over the pounding of approaching hooves. “The merchants have told me many good things about this queen.”
“All true,” Sur Sceaf managed to squeak out. His vision was clouding once again, and he felt increasingly faint.
As the distance between them shortened, the red-coated riders on their specially bred, all white horses, reined to a halt a few feet away. It was obvious the lathered horses had been ridden hard and fast, their nostrils still flaring to suck in air. Sur Sceaf sat as erect as he could manage and returned the salute of the hardy looking, golden-haired commander.
Sur Sceaf managed a painful grin. “Hail Lord Ilrundel, son of Ilker, heretoga of the Fort Rock fyrds.”
“Hail, Lord Prince Sur Sceaf, kin
sman of mine from the lands of the Umpqua. Your delay in arriving has had her majesty, the Cat Queen, on edge. And Yellow Horse’s arrival at dawn with a report that you had been beaten nigh unto death has only compounded her worries.” He grinned. “When she gets a good look at you she’s going to doubt you are even alive.”
“You should have seen him last night,” Mendaka interjected. “Even his horse mistook him for dead.”
“I don’t doubt it,” Ilrundel declared as Ilkchild rode to the front and saluted him. “Hail to you, little brother, grown into a fine man. I see you are now hooded and wear the red.”
“Hail, Ilrundel. It is good to see you again after so long.”
Ilrundel signaled for the vanguard to do reconnaissance while he filed in close beside Ilkchild to speak with Sur Sceaf. “My lord, are you up to riding? I can have a litter brought, if not.”
“I can ride—well—enough.” He uttered between labored breaths. “Just can’t—talk—for long. Speak—to Elfy, he misses you.”
As they set off at an easy pace, Ilrundel turned to Ilkchild. “Elfy, you’ve become the spitting image of Fa. It pleases me you have stayed with your nigh-father. He’ll teach you so much more than I could have. It’s been four years since our sister, Faechild, summoned me home at the time when our mother found her grave at Witan Jewell. We have a lot to catch up on.”
Ilkchild glanced away from his brother. “My youth seems like another lifetime to me now. I don’t even remember what Fa looked like anymore and it pains me to remember how our mother’s heart broke upon an early grave.”
Through a haze of pain and weakness, Sur Sceaf forced himself to attend the conversation. Since Ilkchild had begun living with him at thirteen winters, he shied away from speaking much at all about his martyred father.
Sur Sceaf managed to take three deep breaths. “Ilrundel, you have filled in well and are no longer the lack beard who used to tease my daughters. Your fa would be proud of you as a heretoga. Many tales reach us of your exploits in the furthering of our cause.”
Ilrundel shrugged off the compliment. “I do my duty. It is the obligation of sons to avenge the blood of their fathers. Everything I do is to the honor of my father’s name.”
The Frightful Dance (The King of Three Bloods Book 2) Page 4
