Leveling her gaze northward, she said gravely, “Yes, we have thrown it off the trail, but not for long.” She turned her strange eyes upon him. “It comes for you.”
He felt a chill right down to the marrow of his bones and was deeply sorry he’d ever spoken.
Wolfram was elated when they crossed the Nabir river, for that meant they were close to their destination. A half day’s ride brought them to the walls of the city of Karfa ’Len. This was not the end of their journey, not by any means, but they had accomplished the first leg. Having settled in his mind that the country was in a state of war, Wolfram was not surprised to find the city gates shut and barred and under heavy guard. He was surprised to see that the Karnuan soldiers who lined the walls had their hands on their bows, and that they glared down at him and Ranessa suspiciously.
“What are they looking at me like that for?” Wolfram demanded. “Surely dwarves haven’t declared war on Karnu.”
He rode round to the postern that was some distance from the main gate. Dismounting, he told Ranessa to remain where she was and keep her mouth shut, then he walked over to the postern and rapped sharply at the iron-barred door.
A panel slid open, an unfriendly eye peered through it.
“What do you want?” a voice demanded in Karnuan.
“To come in,” Wolfram growled. He spoke a smattering of Karnuan, enough to get by. “What do you think we want?”
“I neither know nor care,” the voice returned coldly. “Ride on.”
The panel started to slide shut. Wolfram was about to speak, when Ranessa shoved him to one side and thrust her hand inside the panel, preventing it from closing.
“We have business here,” she stated in Elderspeak.
“Remove your hand from the door or I will remove it from your arm,” said the voice.
In answer, Ranessa grasped hold of the wooden panel and ripped it off the door. She tossed it contemptuously to the ground and stood glaring through the opening.
Wolfram stared in open-mouthed wonder at the broken panel piece. The wood was thick as his thumb. A strong man might have grunted and heaved, expended all his effort and not ripped out that panel piece. The Karnuan on the other side of the door was no less amazed, both at the effrontery and at the show of strength.
Ranessa turned to Wolfram. “Tell him our business,” she ordered peremptorily. Stepping back, she crossed her arms and stood waiting expectantly. If she thought she’d done anything remarkable, she did not show it by her calm demeanor.
Wrenching his gaze from the broken panel, Wolfram sidled forward. “I…uh…have business with Osim the Cobbler on Boot Street.”
“The shops are closed. We are at war.”
“I know that,” Wolfram said impatiently. “Or at least I guessed it. What do you suspect me of? Do you think I have the Dunkargan army hidden in my pocket? You’ve been watching us for the last five miles. It’s me and the girl, that’s all. If you are at war, all the more reason to let us inside the walls where it’s safe.”
“Nowhere is safe,” said the voice. “And we are not at war with Dunkarga.”
The face disappeared, leaving Wolfram to wonder who in the name of the Wolf they were at war with then. He might have supposed the Vinneng-aeleans, for Karnu had humbled and humiliated the empire by sweeping unexpectedly out of the south to seize the Vinnengaelean Portal located at Romdemer, now renamed Delek ’Vir. But the Karnuans had been in possession of the Vinnengaelean end of the Portal for many years now and although the Vinneng-aeleans spoke heatedly of retaking it, they had yet to do more than issue empty threats.
The face returned. “You can come in,” the soldier said grudgingly. “But you’ll both be under escort, so watch your step.”
Leading his horse through the postern into the bailey, Wolfram noted that the faces of the soldiers surrounding him were grim and stern and watchful. He might have added fearful, but that was hard to believe of Karnuans.
The postern gate shut behind them. Workmen arrived to repair the damaged panel. A guard was detailed to accompany them across the bailey to the main wall surrounding the city. The soldier was female, for in Karnu both men and women are trained to battle from their fifteenth year to their twentieth. The best warriors are accepted into the Karnuan army, the rest return to hearth and home to farm the land or take up a trade, raise their children to be future warriors. Their military training is put to good use, however, for they serve as the city militia, guarding their homes when the warriors are called to fight in other areas. The militia forces are not to be taken lightly, for they are well-trained and they fight with extra incentive—they fight to protect those they love.
“You rode from the north?” the soldier asked. Her speech was clipped. Her voice was tense. What little he could see of her face beneath her helm was drawn and taut.
“We did,” said Wolfram.
“And saw no one? No thing?” she asked with a dire emphasis.
“No,” said Wolfram, puzzled and increasingly uneasy. “The road was empty, except for her.” He jerked his thumb back at Ranessa. “Unusual for this time of year. I feared something was up. One reason she and I elected to join forces, travel together.”
He said this loudly. He sent Ranessa a piercing stare to indicate that she was not to contradict him. He had been able to think of no other way to explain the odd fact that a dwarf and Trevenici were companions.
Ranessa saw his look and absorbed it, but whether she intended to go along with his story or not, he couldn’t tell. She gazed around her, so lost in wonderment that she’d dropped the horse’s reins. Free to roam away, the horse trotted up to join Wolfram.
Retrieving the reins, Wolfram gave Ranessa a none too gentle prod in the shins with his boot. “Quit staring, Girl. You look like you’ve just fallen off the hay cart. You don’t have to tell the world you’ve never been in a city before.”
“It’s here,” she said, turning her gaze to the dwarf. “Close by.”
“What’s here?” Wolfram snapped.
“The thing that is following you.”
Fumbling for his knife, Wolfram whipped around so fast that he made himself dizzy.
He saw nothing behind him except more city and more soldiers. Wolfram’s racing heartbeat returned to normal.
“Don’t do that to me, Girl!” he said angrily. “You’ve shaved ten years off my life at least. What do you mean telling me something’s there when it’s not?”
“It was,” she said, shrugging. “It is.”
The Karnuan soldier stood staring at him. “What ails you, Dwarf?”
“I’m just a little jumpy,” he said lamely. “What with the talk of war and all. It makes me nervous.”
The Karnuan cast him a scathing glance and rolled her eyes in disgust. Her already low opinion of dwarves was now even lower.
“I have been on the road for many months,” Wolfram continued. Speaking to the soldier, he pointedly ignored Ranessa. “Up in Trevenici lands. I’ve heard no news. What is going on?”
The woman gave him a cool glance from out of the eye slits of her helm. “You have not heard, then, that the city of Dunkar has fallen?”
“What? Dunkar fallen! I suppose congratulations are in order,” Wolfram said, then saw the woman was not pleased about her news.
“It did not fall to us,” the soldier said bitterly. “It fell to this new enemy, hideous creatures who came out of the west, led by one who calls himself Dagnarus and claims to have the blood of the old Dunkargan kings in his veins. He maintains that he will return Dunkarga to her days of glory and he has attacked both the city of Dalon ’Ren and the Karnuan Portal.”
Wolfram’s jaw went slack. “I’ve heard nothing of this,” he began and was nearly knocked down by Ranessa.
Bounding forward, she caught hold of the soldier’s arm. “Dunkar fallen! Tell me—what of the Trevenici warriors? What happened to them?”
“She has a brother who fights with the Dunkar army,” Wolfram added.
The soldier shook off Ranessa’s nail-piercing grasp. “Unlike the sniveling coward Dunkargans, who surrendered in droves, we heard the Trevenici stood their ground and were wiped out to a man.” She added the traditional Karnuan blessing for a fallen warrior, Al shat alma shal: “He died the death,” meaning, “he died the death of a hero.”
“I was unkind to him,” Ranessa said softly. “I did not mean to be. I couldn’t help myself.” She clasped her arms, frantically ran her hands up and down her flesh. “My skin feels so tight sometimes!”
She spoke in Tirniv, for which Wolfram was thankful, not wanting their host to realize they had let a mad woman into their city. We’ll not be here long, he reflected. Sounds like this part of the world is going to hell in a handbasket. The sooner we leave, the better.
They had just reached the main wall when a shout rang out. “Sails! Sails to the south!”
A second shout sounded on the echoes of the first.
“Orks!”
The soldier abandoned them in an instant, turned to run back to take her place on the outer wall. Wolfram tugged on the horses’ reins and hurried forward toward the postern, urging the beasts along. Glancing back, he bellowed at Ranessa. She walked with her head bowed, her hair a tattered veil covering her face, seemingly oblivious to the commotion that was breaking out all around them.
“Make haste, Girl! Didn’t you hear?”
She lifted her head. “What? Hear what?”
“Orks! The city’s coming under siege!”
She had no idea what he meant, that was clear enough, but she did quicken her pace. They were admitted into the city without question, the Karnuans being now far too preoccupied to concern themselves over a dwarf and a barbarian.
Bells rang throughout the town. People hastened to the walls or climbed up on their rooftops to see for themselves. Wolfram had no need. He’d seen ork ships before, seen their painted sails, the long sleek ships with rows of oars dipping up and down in a graceful, deadly motion.
The moment he and Ranessa set foot in the city, the first globs of the most feared ork weapon, flaming jelly, began to rain down on Karfa ’Len.
Flung from catapults mounted on the ork ships, flaming jelly is a combustible substance that sets fire to anything it touches, including human flesh. The worst part is that the flames cannot be doused. Water causes the flames to spread.
Wolfram cursed his luck. Had they arrived in the city an hour earlier, they would have been well out of this by now. As it was, he and the Trevenici were caught near the curtain wall, a place the orks would strike first, hoping to drive off its defenders. The orks launched boats, sent in their warriors to attack by land, while their ships kept up the bombardment from the sea.
Karnuan catapults began firing heavy boulders at the ork ships, hoping for a lucky hit to sink one. Wolfram conjured up a map of the city in his head. The orks would attack the port first, for the curtain wall did not extend over water. Massive logs roped together with heavy chains barred entrance into the harbor, but that would not stop the orks long. Worse luck, Boot Street was only a few blocks from the port.
“We have to get out of here!” Wolfram growled and, for once, Ranessa didn’t argue with him.
He kept tight hold of the horses, for flames were starting to erupt around them. Smoke tinged the air. The horses rolled their eyes, nervous at the smell of burning and the fear that was palpable in the air. Wolfram stayed close to the heads of each animal, kept up a constant flow of soothing talk. The horses suffered him to lead them through the confusion and the cinders and smoke.
The streets of Karfa ’Len were crowded with people, but, unlike Dunkar, no one panicked. Every citizen was warrior-trained, knew what to do, where to go. Still, Wolfram and Ranessa had to make their way through streets clogged with soldiers running to reinforce the walls or dashing off to fight the fires that were now raging in various parts of the city. Their pace slowed to a crawl.
With the increasing smoke and noise, Wolfram had all he could do to keep the horses calm. He could not worry about Ranessa. Either she kept up with him or she didn’t. Every passing moment brought the orks closer and while orks in general have friendly feelings toward dwarves, these orks wouldn’t be having friendly feelings toward anyone they found in the city of their most hated enemy, those who had attacked and captured Mount Sa ’Gra, their sacred mountain, those who had taken many orks slaves.
He turned down one street, only to find it blocked. A wooden building had caught fire and collapsed, sending flaming rubble into the street. He retraced his steps, found another street, but he was now worried that he would end up lost. Not much liking Karnuans, who didn’t have much liking for his kind, he never spent much time in Karfa ’Len. He knew his way to his destination and that was about it.
Ranessa kept close, her hand clinging to her horse’s mane. He had no breath left to speak to her. Smoke burned his throat and stung his eyes. His arms ached. He coughed, blinked away tears, and kept trudging forward.
At the end of the next street, their way was blocked by a bucket brigade. A line of people stretched from the well to a burning house, passing along filled buckets and taking back empty ones to fill again. Wolfram kept going, determined to shove his way through if they would not let him by.
A glob of flaming jelly landed on the cobblestones near the Karnuans, splashing some of them, setting clothes and skin alight. Dropping buckets, they scrambled to get out of the way as the flaming jelly spread fire across the cobblestones. Some ripped off burning clothing, others screamed as the globules burned holes in their flesh. The fiery ooze struck closest to an old man. The burning jelly covered his chest and face, burned off his clothes in an instant, setting his very flesh afire. He shrieked in pain, staggered backward, clawing at the air with his hands.
His skin burned black, cracking and bubbling from the heat. His cries of agony were terrible to hear, resounded throughout the street. A young woman hovered near him, crying out that he was her father and begging someone to help him. His neighbors regarded him with pity and horror, but no one went near him. There was nothing they could do. If anyone touched him, the flaming substance would cling to him, set him ablaze, as well.
At last, one of the men—a veteran with a wooden leg—grabbed up a piece of timber that had fallen from the burning building and bashed the old man over the head. His skull crushed, he dropped to the ground. His screaming ceased.
“Al shat alma shal,” said the veteran.
Tossing aside the bloodied timber, he grabbed up a bucket and the water started flowing again, people edging gingerly around what remained of the flaming jelly. The old man’s body continued to burn. His daughter stood over him for a moment with her head bowed, then she, too, returned to help pass buckets.
Wolfram had caught only glimpses of this. At the sight of the flames bursting up right in front of him, the horse reared in panic, nearly dragged Wolfram’s arms out of their sockets. He spent a bad few moments struggling with the bucking and lurching beasts, trying desperately to calm them.
At last he had the horses under control. Exhausted, he stood panting, hoping to catch his breath, only to inhale smoke and spend the next few moments choking. Ranessa stood at his side, unmoving, staring.
“You might have at least helped me with the beasts, Girl!” Wolfram snarled, when he could talk again.
She turned and gave him the strangest look: as if she were seeing him from a far distance, as if she were standing on a mountaintop and he was in a valley below or as if she were somewhere up among the clouds and he was afloat on a vast ocean.
“Why do men do this to each other?” she demanded.
“Don’t be daft, Girl,” he said, exasperated. “The old man might have lingered for hours in terrible pain and suffering. The soldier did him a favor.”
“Not just that,” she said softly and, by her tone and her look, she had never before set eyes upon him. She spoke to a stranger. “All of it.”
“Barking mad,” said Wolfram to
himself, shaking his head. He cast a glance at the body of the old man, now little more than a charred and smoldering lump. He looked at the burning building, the young woman passing buckets as the tears streamed unheeded down her cheeks, the veteran who continued to keep the water moving, even as he peered grimly over his shoulder in the direction of the harbor.
Nearby was a slave pen and an auction block. Several orks, chained together at the ankles, were being hastily moved to a place of safety. Their masters were not concerned over the orks’ welfare, just over their profits. The orks lifted their heads, strained to see the harbor where lay freedom. They dared not cheer when a Karnuan house went up in flames, for the slave masters had whips in their hands. But they smiled.
“All of it,” Ranessa said again.
Wolfram turned the horses. “Let’s find another way.”
The Vrykyl, Jedash, lost the dwarf and the Trevenici when they crossed over the Nabir river. He spent days combing the countryside for some sign of their trail. When at last he found it, the scent was cold. He estimated that they were at least three days ahead of him. Jedash was growing increasingly angry and frustrated over his failure. He had no answer to Shakur’s insistent demands for information and now did his best to avoid Shakur. Jedash used the blood knife as infrequently as possible.
Jedash was well aware that Shakur was furious with him. Shakur cursed his lieutenant for being incompetent, could not understand why Jedash had not run such easy quarry to ground. Jedash had no explanation for his failure himself. It was as if he were chasing smoke. One moment he saw it clearly. The next moment came a puff of wind and it was gone.
Standing over the remnants of their camp, Jedash faced a difficult decision. He had an idea as to where they were headed. Karfa ’Len was the only major city in this part of Karnu and they were on the road leading to it. He could continue to traipse after them, wasting time meandering around the countryside in search of them, or he could place his money on his hunch that they were traveling to Karfa ’Len, could go there and wait for them. If he caught them in the city, they would be hard pressed to shake him.
Guardians of the Lost Page 36
