Djeri would have to see if there was a way he could keep an eye on Neddy during the day. Then at night, they would just have to take turns on watch. It would be difficult because during the night was their only time to plan. As it was, they barely got enough sleep to make it through the day.
Tarah stopped in surprise. The tracks had disappeared.
She backtracked for a few yards and looked again. The ground had gone fairly hard because of the cold but the beast was so heavy she could make out each print clearly even through the light skiff of snow on the ground. Rufus had come this way and left one last track at the edge of the grass line. Beyond that was an empty stretch of sand that turned to pebbles just before the waterline.
Tarah knelt down and touched the track. As usual, she felt only the strong impression that he was heading forward with strong purpose and confidence. There was no sign that he intended to stop.
She looked at the swift moving water and the big chunks of ice that sped by like large paving stones. Surely Rufus hadn’t entered the water. Of course not. The river was so wide here, she could barely see the far bank. Besides, there were no tracks in the sand to show it.
Nevertheless, she followed the path of the rogue horse’s last steps straight forward as if he had continued down to the water. Nope. There was nothing. Not even the barest indentation in the sand. Tarah stepped onto the pebbles and shook her head as she approached the water’s edge. This was ridiculous. She was going to have to backtrack. Maybe the mysterious rider had fooled them. Maybe he . . .
There at the waterline, in a small patch of mud, was a single human footprint and it was barefoot.
Tarah crouched next to it. What was a footprint like that doing there? And at this time of year? She reached down and touched the print.
For a moment the world stopped. This wasn’t like one of the dwarves’ paralyzing spells. This was more. Everything paused as if time were frozen. The water wasn’t moving. Her very heartbeat stopped.
Tarah felt a warmth on her shoulder as if someone placed their hand there. She heard a voice whisper in her ear; a masculine voice, deep and clear. She heard it audibly, yet at the same time in her mind as well.
“Take them across the river.”
Tarah gasped as the water sped past her once more. She looked around, but no one was there. She touched the track again, but this time there was nothing. Nothing at all as if there were no memory attached to it whatsoever.
What had just happened? The experience had been unlike anything she had felt from a track before. That hadn’t been a memory. It hadn’t been a single thought. It was a message and it was meant just for her. Tarah felt a chill that went beyond the cold air.
Whoever had left the message knew about her magic, knew about the staff. Who could it be? No one knew. No one but Djeri and her Grampa. She thought back to the voice and tried to grasp the tone. Had it been at all familiar? But the memory had already begun to fade. Only the message remained.
“Take them across the river,” she whispered. There was only one answer. It had to be the mysterious rider. Somehow he had known they were following.
“Hey, Woodblade!” came Donjon’s voice.
She stood and casually stepped on the print as she turned to face him. The dwarves were at the edge of the grass line looking at Rufus’ last print. She leaned her weight on that foot and felt her boot sink slowly into the half-frozen mud, destroying the track. “Yeah?”
The black-mustached dwarf was glaring. “Get over here!”
Tarah made a show of taking a wide step, as if over an invisible set of tracks, and walked towards him. He looked angry about the way the rogue horse’s tracks had disappeared. Donjon took a few steps onto the sand to meet her. She needed to diffuse his anger a bit if she was going to convince them. Tarah decided to start with some gratitude.
Softly, she said, “Donjon, thank you for helping me back there. I-.”
Donjon grabbed the front of her armor and jerked her down to meet him eye-to eye. “Don’t give me no gratefulness, girl. I didn’t do that ‘cause I care one whit about you.” His lit cigar illuminated the shadows under his hat, revealing eyes filled with anger and disgust. “I just can’t stand the thought of any of my boys lookin’ at yer ugly human face that way. If you wasn’t such a good tracker, I would’ve slit yer throat weeks ago. You hear me?”
The other dwarves were staring at her, some of them nodding in agreement. Tarah grit her teeth and clutched her staff tightly to keep her hands from trembling with anger.
Keep a level head, warned Grampa Rolf.
“I hear you, Donjon,” she said slowly. “Did you want me to tell you what I think about the tracks?”
He released her armor and folded his arms. “Tell me.”
“The rogue is gone. He’s crossed the river,” she said.
“No way!” said Leroy. “It’s too friggin’ cold. It probly just backtracked a ways.”
“What are you talking about? The tracks end right at the water,” she said, pointing at that invisible line.
The trackers looked at each other, frowning. Mel squatted by the last track and peered across the sand with his well-trained eyes. “I don’t see nothin’!”
“It backtracked I tell you,” Leroy said.
“If it did, you would’ve seen it,” Tarah said. “What do you think the beast did, step backwards perfectly in its own tracks? It’s a horse, not an elf. Anyways, its tracks are right here in the sand plain as day.”
“I don’t see nothin’ either,” said Donjon.
Show off. Convince ‘em Tarah Woodblade knows best, said her grampa’s voice.
“The sand was mostly frozen when it made the tracks, that’s why they’re so light,” she said.
“Then how come the tracks in the grass are so deep?” asked Mel.
“Look, the tracks at the edge there are about four days old, would you agree?” she asked. They nodded. “Well we had a cold one that night, remember?”
They shrugged.
“Well I’ve lived here in Dremaldria all my life and I can tell you that the Wide River gets a stiff wind on cold nights in the winter. The grass will break some of the wind so the ground don’t freeze as hard, but the sand becomes hard as rock,” Tarah explained.
“Yeah, well I still don’t see no tracks!” Leroy said.
She had hoped it wouldn’t be this difficult. “Look, I know you dwarfs are all way more experienced than I am. I may seem like just a baby compared to you. But we’ve been tracking together for near a month now. You’ve seen what I can do. I’ve found tracks that no one else could and I tell you I see the durn rogue’s tracks going all the way down to the water.”
“You know I think I might see ‘em too,” said one of the other trackers. He was the oldest of the dwarves, more experienced than the rest of them, but Tarah had watched him track. He tried to hide it from the others, but his eyesight was fading.
Donjon shrugged. “Okay, so it went down to the water. But there’s no way it crossed. The durn thing would freeze to death ‘fore he got half way.”
“Then it’s dead. And here we tracked it all this way.” Tarah shook her head sadly. “I dunno though. He is a rogue horse after all. Maybe he’s one of the kind that can take it. He loves the cold. You saw from his tracks how much he likes playing in the snow.”
A few of them nodded and she could see that she was winning them over. “You know, Filgren is just a couple miles south from here. There’s ferries there that can take us across. Then we can head back north along the coast and pick up its tracks again.” Donjon narrowed his eyes at her and she paused, looking abashed. “Of course it’s your call, Donjon, sir. I wasn’t trying to talk out of place.”
“She’s talking too sweet to you,” Mel said suspiciously.
“Shut up,” Donjon said. “All of you, split up. Head up and down the bank a ways. Make sure she’s right and there ain’t no more tracks.”
“Yes, boss,” Leroy said.
As the tracke
rs scattered, Donjon reached into a satchel at his waist and pulled out the message stone that he used to communicate with Shade when they were out of camp. It was a long thin piece of rock that he wrote on with a piece of wood. He started to write a message, then paused and cocked his head in Tarah’s direction.
“You better be right, girl. ‘Cause if we cross this thing and don’t find no tracks on the far side, I’m paralyzin’ yer arse and tossin’ you in the water.”
Tarah nodded. She hoped that trusting this mysterious rider was the right thing to do.
Chapter Seventeen
Filgren was a prosperous city, not so large as Sampo, but a major stopping place for people traveling from Dremaldria to Razbeck. The ferries were run by the Roma Family, one of Dremaldria’s high noble houses, and they levied a tidy fee for transport.
Shade rode into Filgren alone to make the arrangements. Getting the band across the river was going to be more difficult than usual. Most times of the year the ferries worked all day long, but usually closed down when the ice chunks were this large. The boats were made to be tough, but an impact at just the right spot could cause a lot of damage.
In addition, the noble family could not be seen making such a dangerous exception for a troupe of dwarves with handlebar mustaches. Dwarf smugglers were in ill favor with the capitol at the moment. Lord Commander Demetrius had passed a law against doing business with them in any form.
While Shade made his case with the Romas, the rest of the camp traveled down the river bank and stopped just outside of the nearest farm. Tarah updated Djeri on the situation while they waited. Once again, he was impressed by her ability to think on her feet. The message she had received was strange, though. How could the rider have known such a message would work?
Donjon went through three cigars pacing back and forth as he waited for Shade’s go ahead. The boss was in a foul mood, berating anyone and everyone he came across. Peggy was slapped across the face when she asked if they should start cooking dinner.
“Donjon takes this hunt personally,” Djeri said to Tarah as they watched Peggy walk by with a glower.
“I’ve noticed,” Tarah said.
“I was talking to Biff today and I think I know why,” Djeri added with a whisper. They were standing next to Neddy, but some of the other dwarves were just yards away and they were watching.
Tarah stepped closer to Djeri and put her arm around his shoulders just as a lover should. She whispered back, “What did you learn?”
“Donjon’s family is familiar with this rogue horse. They had captured it once before, but it escaped.” he replied. “Thing is, they already had it sold to a gnome scholar at the time and it gave the clan a black eye when they couldn’t deliver.”
“How long ago was this?” she asked.
“It was a couple hundred years ago,” he said. “They’ve been on the lookout for the rogue ever since.”
“Two hundred years is a fairly short time when you’re talking business deals between gnomes and dwarves,” Tarah said in understanding.
“Exactly. Shade came to them representing some hoity-toity gnome scholar that’s looking for a rogue horse for some kind of research,” he said.
“The same gnome as before?” she asked.
“I don’t know, but Maggie Cragstalker is the clan boss and she sees this as a way to save face after their last mistake. She’s put a lot of responsibility on Donjon for this, so he’s under a lot of pressure.”
The sky had grown dark before Donjon finally received a message from Shade. It had been a difficult sell, but Shade’s silver tongue and purses of gold had persuaded the nobles to let them cross. The Romas had made a stipulation, though. The crossing would have to be taken in the deep of night after most of the city had closed down. The fewer people who knew of this particular ferrying the better.
Two ferries were in use; one docked at the port in Filgren, the other docked at the port on the far side of the river in West Filgren, their sister city in Razbeck. The two ferries were connected by heavy steel chains that were pulled by giant water wheels on either side of the river. Because of the way they were interconnected both ferries ran at the same time, passing each other in the very center of the river.
Just after midnight passed, the band headed into town. They stayed to the riverbank, avoiding the major roads and entering Filgren on the north end of the docks. They led their horses along the wooden planks in this relatively dark side of the city, careful to keep their mustaches covered by bandannas or scarves. The trip went smoothly. There was the occasional raucous sound from dockside taverns, but it was quiet otherwise.
Because of the size of the smuggler’s group it was going to take two ferry trips to get everyone across. When they arrived, ferrymen were already hard at work prepping the boats and de-icing the chains. Most of them were droopy eyed and none of them looked excited to be making the trip. They knew it would be dangerous. Where each boat normally had a crew of four, they had crews of six tonight.
Tarah and Djeri were in line to be part of the first ferry across. The dwarves started walking their horses onto the deck and tying them in place. While Tarah and Djeri waited for their turn to load, they discussed what to do once they reached the far side.
“This vision you saw, did it show you what to do on the other side of the river?” Djeri asked, a bit unnerved that they were following instructions from a complete stranger.
“It wasn’t a vision, just a voice,” she whispered. “It said, ‘Take them across the river.’ That’s all. There were no further instructions.”
“Are you sure the rider meant everyone. All the smugglers?” he asked.
“I don’t see how it could have meant anything else,” she said giving him a frown.
“What if it just meant for you to take Neddy and me?” Djeri asked. Tarah’s brow furrowed and Djeri knew that she hadn’t considered that possibility. “I don’t know how we could have done it that way. I’m just saying. We have no idea who they are or what they-.”
“Get in, lovers,” Leroy interrupted with a frown. “Come on. Don’t slow us down.”
It was their turn. Tarah walked across the wide plank and onto the deck of the ferry first. Djeri followed, pulling Neddy’s lead, but when he stepped onto the plank, the mule wouldn’t budge.
“Come one, Neddy. Come on up,” Djeri said. Neddy dug his hooves in at the edge of the dock, refusing to move. What was wrong with the animal? He hadn’t been a problem since day one of their mission.
“What is it?” Tarah asked, looking back at them.
“I don’t know,” Djeri said. “He won’t come up.”
“I’ll get him up fer you,” said Mel, walking up from behind the mule. Two large knots bulged on the side of his head from Tarah’s blows earlier that day. He swung the Ramsetter, delivering a stinging blow across Neddy’s rump with the flat of the blade.
Neddy’s eyes bulged and he let out a startled squeal before clattering up onto the deck. Tarah comforted the animal, bringing him over to tie him with the horses. Djeri fixed Mel with a glare.
“What? You ain’t gonna give me no thanks?” the dwarf said, sheathing the sword.
As far as Djeri was concerned, any time the dwarf touched the sword it was an insult to Tarah’s father. What he really wanted to do was throw the fool into the icy water. Instead, he said nothing and stepped aside to let Mel board. Sooner or later they were going to have a reckoning and Djeri was looking forward to it, but for now he just walked over to stand by Tarah.
The ferries were circular boats, wide and flat with stocks for up to ten horses and room for more to stand unsupported. Most of the regular band members were on the first ferry, while the wagon, supplies, and rest of the group would wait for the second ferry to arrive.
Once everyone was aboard, one of the ferrymen raised the plank and signaled the powerhouse to get the ferry moving. On both sides of the river great signal lamps flashed. Two men at each dock turned heavy cranks lowering the enormous water
wheels into the river. As soon as the swift-moving water hit the paddles on the wheels, the ferry jolted forward, breaking through the thin sheet of ice at the bank. Huge gears moved the chains, propelling both boats into the water towards each other.
Djeri had crossed the Wide River using the ferry system several times over the years and this was the part he hated the most. As they left the dock and moved further away from the bank, the currents of the river caught the boat and pulled it southward. The undersides of the ferry were shaped like smooth saucers to offer as little resistance as possible as they went. This reduced the drag, but also led to an awfully bumpy ride as the large chunks of ice hit the hull and either slid under the boat or were pushed to the side.
The only lighting on the ferries were great lanterns pointed outwards in four directions so that the ferrymen could keep an eye out for obstacles. The further out they went, the more isolated Djeri felt. The wind wasn’t very swift this night but snow began to fall. Big fluffy flakes clouded up the lights of the lanterns until the only thing he could see was the heavy chain attached to the prow arcing into the darkness.
Soon the lights of Filgren faded to a muted glow, obscured by the falling snow, and Djeri saw the lights of the second ferry approaching. As it came closer, the ferryman rushed to the southern side of the deck with long poles to make sure the two boats didn’t come too close. The lanterns on their ferry illuminated the ferrymen on the north side of the otherwise empty second boat with poles of their own. Keeping the boats from colliding was a group effort. When the ferries crossed paths without incident, Djeri let out a relieved breath. The crossing was half way over.
Tarah clutched his arm. “Djeri, we might have a problem.”
Confused, Djeri turned and immediately understood her concern. The light of the passing second ferry illuminated their deck in the falling snow and Djeri could see the faces of their fellow passengers. The only dwarves on the boat with them were Mel’s friends and co-conspirators. Several of them were giving Djeri grim looks. Mel was smiling.
Tarah Woodblade Page 26
