by Susi Wright
Hunger satisfied, Chadren wasted no time, beginning trading negotiations with various acquaintances as soon as the tables were cleared. In short order, he had organised a meeting with two of the miners the following day, at their camp, to exchange furs and food for some rare gems. Shortly after their conversation, he noticed the miners join a group gathered on one side of the room, discussing something in a very hushed and agitated manner. Curious, he approached the huddle, to hear one man in a loud whisper saying, ‘I came from there yesterday. It is gone! Burned to the ground… everyone dead… even the children! No need to bury the bodies… it is one big funeral pyre! Terrible business… maybe raiders, I do not know!’
Another man suggested, ‘We must take some men up to Malto, and other villages further up, to see if they fared better. Maybe there are survivors!’
A rugged-faced miner warned the others, ‘You know there will be little we can do… if it is a flame adder! Did you hear? Those two men that arrived yesterday swear they saw one!’
Chadren hoped Fralii had not heard the exchange, though it would not be long before they would all need to be aware of the apparent danger.
Questioning these people and newcomers who arrived later, with more reports as the evening wore on, provided the shocking and incredible truth. That there was indeed a creature responsible for the demise of neighbouring villages, that it was very likely a pyrothon, or colloquially named flame adder, a huge serpent-like reptile the length of two ocean-faring ships, breathing fire and feeding on the villagers. It had reportedly taken up its home in the abandoned mountain mining-tunnels about three days’ travel away, and now that a few survivors had made it to Chuli, villagers here had begun to fear for their lives, should the creature extend its territory. Soon, the room was buzzing with the same bad news, and what could be done, if anything, against such a monster.
With the increasing din of fearful chatter, Fralii could not help overhearing. She nervously asked her father what he thought, and after some consideration, he answered gravely, ‘It seems there is little we alone could do! We must finish our business here tomorrow, and leave for Splendo. We can report our first-hand knowledge, ask the army to send soldiers with large weapons, equal to the task. As soon as possible!’
The tension brought by the threat at hand made sleep that night difficult at first, but the fatigue from many tiring days of travel soon prevailed, with a deep but fitful slumber for the weary travellers.
The following morning, the men had set off at the crack of dawn, quickly concluding business with the miners, fortunately blessed with intermittent sunshine which made for easier unloading and loading of the wagons, allowing them to return to Chuli village in time for the midday meal. Chadren had decided they would leave immediately after that, wanting to waste no time returning to Splendo. It was paramount to secure help for these people as soon as possible, and find their own safety!
Conditions along the route were boggy, but they were careful to avoid the muddiest parts of the road as they could not afford the delay of having to dig out the wagons. They continued in this way for the next twenty-four hours, until the mud gave way to rocks and ruts, forcing them to pick their path through the boulders, making very little ground. It was commonly like this in autumn, so they were accustomed to the conditions, but with their pressing purpose in mind, the slow progress was all the more frustrating.
After a second long day of crawling at a snail’s pace, Chadren came to a decision.
‘Simban, take Fralii’s samblar and ride ahead. You will make good time without the wagons. We can follow. That way you will reach Splendo days ahead of us! You can muster the authorities to action. But, Simban, take the utmost care!’
Fralii, at first disgruntled at the prospect of an exciting mission that excluded her and took Spirit from her in the bargain, soon allowed Chadren to coax her to reason, for the greater good. And she would be safer in the wagons with the two men, especially in these worrying times.
They bid a hasty farewell to Simban, his bow and arrows slung over his shoulder and saddlebags full of supplies, mounted on the black samblar, as he set off at a brisk pace south towards Splendo. As he disappeared into the distance, and the wagons continued a steady plodding, Fralii felt a shiver of trepidation, whispering poignantly, ‘Go safely, Simban and Spirit!’ But she knew that prayer was probably just as much for herself and her companions as for Simban and her samblar.
Chapter Ten
In his overstuffed armchair, Charl arrogantly puffed on a cheroot. He was a pudgy, balding man, and obviously, by his spreading waistline, far too used to an abundance of rich food and a comfortable lifestyle, with well-paid minions at his beck and call. For many years, he had operated his business under the guise of being a legitimate trader, his curiosity shop in the city centre successfully providing the front for his extensive black-market dealings, dealings that had made him a very wealthy man.
Here in his opulent mansion in Splendo, he had every luxury money could buy. And there was no shortage of coin. The proceeds from his shady deals saw to that. His henchmen controlled various robber bands within the city and out in the countryside, raiding travelling caravans. He owned several ale and gambling houses, brothels, a slave market, and a very lucrative but very illegal zabuk-fighting ring in the Capital. He had spent the last two hours counting his gold coin, and just now he was well satisfied with his latest success, employing mercenaries to steal samblars and sell them over the border. Of course, his well-oiled crime machine made sure the profits made their way back to his coffers. He gloated as he sipped on his iced, fermented pekunis juice, safe in the knowledge that his brilliantly complicated network of operation made it nigh impossible to trace the raids, or any unlawful activity for that matter, back to his person. Money was power.
As it happened, he had spent recent weeks organising, through a chain of associates, another raid on a caravan he knew to be regularly bringing rare and valuable gems to Splendo. He also knew the traders were presently on their way south, returning fully laden after several weeks trading in the gem-rich Northern Mountains. The small family group would be easy prey for his burly men, who were always more than willing to do just about anything for their share in the tidy fortune that was heading his way. Men without scruples were always his best asset. This would be the best haul yet.
Life was good. Yes, very good indeed!
Chapter Eleven
For Chadren’s caravan, after travelling for two days further south, the road had become easier and they were at last making better time. They pulled into a clearing off the road to rest for the night. Though Simban had gone ahead and would carry the urgent message to the authorities in Splendo, leaving them free to travel at their own pace, none of them could shake the feeling that evil was afoot, and they were anxious to reach their destination, for safety’s sake.
The campsite was edged by trees, and having gone a short way into the woods to answer the call of nature, Fralii was returning with an armful of kindling. Such a scene always brought sharply to her mind the image of the young man in the forest, his haunting eyes, and she wondered where he was now.
Shaking herself from her daydreams, she set to cooking the evening meal on the campfire, occasionally glancing into the trees, nostalgically. Soon they were eating heartily of beans and yam hotpot, before settling into their bedrolls for the night, Chadren and Fralii under each of the two wagons. Zaf took the first guard; Chadren would take over after moonrise. With Simban gone, they were one short, but they had managed before without him, even in these longer nights of autumn.
Fralii woke to an alarming commotion around her. The fire had burned down, leaving the camp in complete darkness, and still groggy, she blinked hard, peering out into the dark mist, the cold realisation looming that they had been beset by raiders. Where was Zaf? She remained hiding under the wagon where she had slept, frantically trying to catch sight of him, or her father. She could see the murky shapes of two men ransacking the camp for anything of va
lue; four more were coming straight for the wagons, leading the two samblars already tacked in harness, obviously intending to hitch them up. She froze in terror. Soon they would discover her hiding place, in the deep shadow of the wagon. Her survival instinct told her the only choice was to make a dash for the bushes on the edge of camp. If she rolled out the other side of the wagon, she could possibly stay out of sight long enough to make the cover of the vegetation, not twenty metres away. The scuffing footsteps and the exchange of gruff and unfamiliar voices came closer. She needed to act soon.
Holding her breath, hoping the noises of the other raiders and samblars would cover her movement, she moved as quietly as she could, crawling on her belly away from the wagon. In a few more moments, she would reach the undergrowth.
‘Well, well! What have we here?’ boomed a voice from above her, and before she had time to get up and run, the heavyset man had jumped down from the wagon and pinned her to the ground with the weight of his body, forcing his arms under and around her. She squirmed, trying to shake him off. He squeezed harder. ‘Don’t think you will get away from me, little girl! I have been without a woman for far too long, you will do nicely!’ He ground his hips against her, leaving no uncertainty of his intent. Mortified, and face down in the dirt, she could not see her assailant, but she could smell his fetid breath over her shoulder as he leaned in closer, and the nausea of fear threatened to overwhelm her. She heard the other men bantering as they gathered around, ‘Well caught, Mo! Looks too good for you though!’
Another added, ‘Let’s have a closer look, Mo, maybe we can share… we are all mates, eh?’
‘Hey, you lot, give me a look!’ barked a loud voice. ‘Hands off! She could be worth a tidy penny… to all of us. She looks to be a maiden!’ Authority boomed in the order. He was the leader.
Grumbling, with a last squeeze to her breast, the reluctant oaf hauled himself to his feet, dragging her up by both arms with him, cruelly digging his fingers into her upper arms in spite, as he held her tight to face his boss.
Terrified, Fralii peered up at the leader’s gargantuan frame; the man’s scarred face was covered in whiskers, and in one misshapen ear dangled a large gold earring. He was leering at her, his beady eyes raked her from head to toe, then grabbing her face roughly with one meaty hand, he turned her face from side to side, hurting her cheeks. Her heart beat so hard she felt it would leap from her chest, she had never been so afraid. She wished, hopelessly, that Zaf or her father would appear, but she had an awful sick feeling they might be dead. These were evil men.
‘Yes, this is a beauty! Far too valuable to our boss to waste on you whoring dogs!’ A flurry of protests and curses erupted from the rest of the gang, quickly silenced by the big man. ‘Enough! We must take her to the slave market, unsullied. That means . . . untouched’ he emphasised, ‘by you thick bastards!’
‘But that’s not fair!’ whined the first, persistently. ‘We have never had the chance at one like this!’ Another piped up, ‘So we should get an extra share of the profits, slave traders get the death penalty. I’m not doing another thing until I see some coin!’ Without warning, the leader backhanded the first man hard across the face, running the other through with his sword, finishing the mutiny with shocking finality.
The one called Mo picked himself up off the ground, nursing the gash on his cheek. They were all starting to realise they would not get anything else from the capture of the girl, with their ruthless leader watching their every move. As some of them dispersed to get on with their tasks, they were still squabbling about whose share was what, among themselves, certainly not brave enough to gainsay their boss. Fralii, not about to go to a horrible fate quietly, twisted from the big man’s slackened hold and ran for the treeline but one of them was faster, and in seconds, she was prisoner again, held in the lascivious iron grip of her first attacker, who seemed to enjoy squeezing her too tightly. He ordered another man, ‘Go get some rope, Thomass, and the bottle of lubio. I can see we are going to have a job with this one!’ then added with a cruel laugh just to frighten her, ‘’Course, we could always beat her senseless if she struggles, couldn’t we, lads?’ His evil grin made him even uglier, as he bound her hands and one of them forced some of the liquid between her lips, pinching her windpipe to make her swallow. She gagged to no avail, wondering if dying might be better than her apparent future now, her last thoughts as everything faded to black.
Chapter Twelve
Luminor had been cloak-flying and practising air and water control alone since daybreak, when Altor had been summoned for extra swimming training at the lake, with their father. Well advanced with most material skills now, Luminor trained purely to maintain the speed of his reflexes.
Taking a short rest, he went to the edge of the forest to sit and watch the road down in the gully. He sometimes saw human travellers as they passed by, always curious about their lives, the question never leaving the recesses of his mind, why Gaian and human could not coexist. Their father’s order not to interact at all with the other race came from the long-observed necessity to avoid persecution and Thunis’ own philosophy that they should not waste their time on the trivialities abundant in human affairs, that alerting anyone to their existence would somehow compromise the higher purpose, which was, of course, to save all Life in the Dire Circumstance, prophesied to occur at some point in the future. Luminor kept guarded his opinion that they seemed to be wasting an awful lot of time, waiting. He cast his mind back to the number of occasions when he and Altor were younger and had agreed it was a good idea to help out in a human skirmish, or they were bored and stole food for fun, using subterfuge. Then there was the time Altor really got into trouble for a terrible accident when his air-bending went wrong, and it was possible someone had died, just because he wanted a gem! Thunis never failed to mete out punishment when due and it was certainly due then! Altor was forbidden to leave his tent for a month.
For quite some time now, though, perhaps years, they had by design not crossed paths with any humans. Much less trouble that way. Except for… Luminor’s thoughts strayed to the girl he had accidentally knocked down in the forest.
His reverie was interrupted by the sounds of wagons and samblars rattling down the road. He glanced down as the small group of a half-dozen humans moved along the gully.
A sharp stab of perception invaded his mind, startling him, a feeling he had not experienced before. Trying to decipher the unfamiliar nagging in his head, he remembered his teachers talking of the various perceptive abilities each of them would experience at different times in their lives. He supposed this was one, but the meaning was elusive. Unbidden, his attention went back to the motley group on the road. For some reason, he had a feeling they were up to no good. Then his gaze lit on a rider shrouded in a cloak, hunched over as if asleep or unconscious, noticing the small hands tied to the saddle as those of a woman, apparently captive. Bewildered, he felt his senses converge on that forlorn figure, finding it nigh impossible to drag his attention away. Empathy urged him to help this poor girl. Down to his bones he felt it was right. Yet his inclination weighed heavily, at odds with his father’s authority. Indecision immobilised him for several moments. This paralysis was, he realised and hated the fact, an emotion and weakness he could not afford to have as future leader of their clan. So, shaking it off, he leapt into the air and flew under cover of the treeline, back along the road to look for confirmation of foul play, before he followed his instinct to rescue the girl, and ignore his father’s rules.
As he had rightly guessed, he shortly came upon the ransacked camp. Pots and pans and sundries were strewn all over the clearing. Deep ruts and samblar prints in the soft earth indicated where the thieves had recently made off with the wagons, and the girl. Landing quietly in the middle of the mess, he scouted around, expecting evidence of a struggle, people injured or, worse still, murdered. He could feel the violence in the air here. Then he heard a groan coming from the bushes nearby and caught sight of the prone body
of a man. Pulling his air-cloak around his native clothing and his hood over his eyes, he approached to check for further signs of life. Slightly relieved, he detected very shallow breathing, but the man was seriously injured. A spreading pool of blood surrounded him from a sword wound to the leg. No special perception was needed to see he was close to death. Luminor knew he would need to make haste and find some Prian leaves, which were commonly growing in the forest. A salve of these leaves chewed with his saliva and packed on the wound would staunch the flow of blood and begin the healing process, probably the poor man’s only hope of survival.
As he scouted the nearby woodland for Prian, he came upon the grisly sight of the body of another unfortunate human, his throat slit from ear to ear; his lifeblood had sometime ago soaked into the forest floor. Luminor assumed this one had been the guard, silently dispatched as the raiders entered the camp. The balding, strongly built man of middle age and bearing the telltale scars of war would probably have been a capable fighter, and not gone down easily. It seemed the attackers were extremely stealthy, to have been able to take him by surprise, kidnapping the girl and stealing the gems, obviously well practised in their nefarious trade.
Chadren was too weak to react when Luminor packed the paste into the wound. At least his condition would not worsen for the time being. Luminor, being careful to hide his strange eyes with the hood, addressed him in a kind tone, though his attempt at human dialect was stilted. ‘Do not fear. I… help you. Friend there, dead! You need more healing… to Splendo!’
His vision blurred from loss of blood, Chadren weakly raised his head, trying to look around at the debris, murmuring, ‘My daughter… Fralii! Please do something… get help! Oh, Zaf, poor Zaf!’ He was slowly losing consciousness.
