Tarah Woodblade

by Trevor H. Cooley

  He almost turned around and went after her. Then his nose caught a savory scent in the air. Someone was roasting meat. His stomach rumbled and Djeri realized that he hadn’t eaten since the night before. He looked around and saw a wisp of smoke curling up from the center of a small stand of trees.

  Cautiously, he followed the smell until he found the source. Sitting on a rock by the fire was a nondescript man in his middle years. He wore plain traveler’s clothes and a winter cloak of fur. He was roasting four small spits of meat, turning them slowly. He had brown hair and kind eyes, but a forgettable face. In fact, Djeri was sure that as soon as he looked away, he would be completely unable to remember what the man looked like. He frowned. That’s what always happened when you met the Prophet.

  Standing behind the Prophet, standing two full feet taller than Neddy, was the rogue horse they had been following for so long. He looked just as Valtrek had described. His front end was that of an enormous gorilla, his rear end that of a great cat, and he currently had one enormous finger up his nose.

  “Come, Djeri the Looker,” said the Prophet without looking up from the skewers. “Sit and eat for a spell. We have things to talk about.”

  “Of course it was you. Who else could it have been?” Djeri said, his brow knit in frustration. This was just like the Prophet. Wandering around, nudging people here or there, changing their lives, but never telling them what he was up to.

  “You look displeased to see me,” the Prophet said, his eyebrows raised. He held out one of the skewers. “Don’t be too mad. I cooked you some squirrel.”

  “Why didn’t you tell us it was you?” Djeri asked. “I mean, you could have left Tarah a single footprint message on the first day. ‘By the way, it’s me, the Prophet. I’m the one riding the rogue horse around.’”

  “Sit. Eat,” the Prophet said. “And call me John. We’ve certainly known each other long enough.”

  “Fine, John.” He sat on a tree stump across the fire from the man and accepted a skewer of meat. He was in a foul mood, but when he bit into it, he moaned in spite of himself. The meat was tender and had the perfect amount of spice. He could taste salt and curry and something else he couldn’t quite identify. “You de-boned this? Who de-bones a squirrel?”

  “There’s a trick to it, but it’s not so hard with as much practice as I’ve had,” John said with a shrug. “How is it?”

  “I’d say it’s just about the best squirrel meat I’ve ever had,” Djeri said, chewing the last piece. “Strange, I never pictured you cooking.”

  John handed him another laden skewer. “Why is that? Do you think I go around with a maidservant?”

  “Nobody knows what you do,” Djeri said with a shrug, as he filled his mouth. Wow, it was good. “Some people think you don’t eat.” At the Prophet’s raised eyebrow, he added. “You never ate with us during the siege.”

  “Djeri, I find that a meal is a fine time for private reflection. I have some of my greatest moments of understanding while filling my belly.” he said. “This is one of the reasons I’m feeding you right now.”

  Djeri frowned. What reflection did the Prophet want him to make? “I asked you a question before.”

  “Ah, the tracking. Well to tell you the truth, I didn’t know you were following me,” John said. “At least not right away. You were almost on our heels when I realized what was going on. As for why I didn’t tell you, I ask, would that knowledge have changed anything?”

  “Perhaps not, but it would have at least been a simple courtesy,” Djeri said, wiping his mouth.

  The Prophet handed him a third skewer before claiming the fourth one for himself. “I apologize. At my age courtesy is something easy to forget.”

  Djeri gave him a wry look. John always spoke like an old man, yet he looked to be no more than forty or fifty in human terms. Then again, maybe that’s what happened when one lived for thousands of years.

  They chewed in silence for a moment and Djeri’s thoughts turned back to Tarah. It felt strange that she wasn’t sitting there with him. “It’s a shame that Tarah’s not here. She would have liked meeting the rogue horse she’s followed for so long.”

  “Me?” The rogue horse looked at him and smiled, showing him an enormous mouth full of plate-sized teeth. Neddy had walked up to the rogue and was sniffing him suspiciously.

  “Yes,” Djeri said, surprised to hear the thing talk. “And, uh, I’m sure she would have liked to meet you too, John.”

  The Prophet swallowed a mouthful of food. “So why isn’t she here?”

  “Oh. She, um . . .” Djeri leaned forward, staring into the fire. “I don’t know what happened. We had this talk and she tells me she’s not who she is and for a minute there, I didn’t know who she was . . . The truth is, I think I screwed up. I don’t know.”

  “Come on now, you’re Djeri the Looker!” John said in mock surprise. “You’re supposed to figure out these things. Why do you think I coined that name for you?”

  “Because you have a sense of humor,” he replied dully.

  “No. It’s because you have a particular talent. You have eyes that see the soul.”

  Djeri snorted. “That’s not what people think when they hear that name. I’ve allowed everyone to call me it out of respect for you, John, but come on. Most folks hear ‘Djeri the Looker’ and either assume I’m vain, or just a peeper.”

  “Indeed?” the Prophet laughed. “To be honest, I hadn’t thought of it that way. I thought it was a clever bit of wordplay, myself.”

  Djeri sighed. “So what are you saying?”

  “I’m saying use that skill,” John said. “What do those ‘peepers’ of yours tell you about Tarah Woodblade?”

  “I don’t know,” Djeri said, clutching his hair. “My brain is all jumbled up when it comes to her.”

  “That’s called love,” the Prophet said. “Look past it.”

  “Love? But-.” He sputtered a bit, then sighed again. Arguing with the Prophet was useless. He knew too much. “Alright. Give me a minute.”

  Djeri closed his eyes and cleared his mind. He tried to think about Tarah logically, pushing all his emotions aside. He took all his theories he’d come up with about her over the last month and added the information she had told him that morning. He frowned. It didn’t make sense. It was like she was two different people. He re-examined their conversation and stripped out all of her own opinions about her actions, looking only at the facts.

  Suddenly, everything fell into place.

  “Oh.” Djeri opened his eyes.

  “Do you see now?” John asked.

  “I’ve got to go now,” Djeri said, standing up. “I’ve got to find her.”

  “Yes, I think it’s about time that you did. But before you do, there’s something I must give you.” He leaned back. “Rufus?”

  The rogue horse grunted and picked something up from the ground. He stretched out his enormous arm and Djeri saw Tarah’s red staff clutched in his hand. John took it from the rogue and leaned it across his knee.

  “Where did you find that?” Djeri asked.

  “Floating downstream,” he said. “We saw it early this morning caught in an eddy. Rufus swam out to get it for me. He’s a great swimmer. Loves the cold water.”

  Rufus shivered. “Cold!”

  Djeri laughed. “And she ran off looking for it. Oh if only I had been able to convince her to come with me.”

  “These things happen,” John said. “People part ways. You needed to think. She needed to think. But now that’s done.” He spun the staff through his fingers with practiced hands, then held it out with a slight frown on his face. “You know, this blood staff is a distasteful tool in many ways. In the old days people went so far as to call it evil.” He shook his head. “But in the end, the value of a tool has more to do with the user than the tool itself. I suggest you take it to her.”

  “Blood staff?” Djeri said, taking it from the prophet’s hands. “What does it do? She thought it was giving her trackin
g powers.”

  “Well, I suppose it may have enhanced them a bit. Magic this old seems to have that effect on spirit magic powers. As far as what it’s designed to do, well . . . that’s old news, I’m afraid,” John said with a sad smile. “And you know me, Djeri. As frustrating as it is, there are things I like to keep close to my chest. I’ve learned over these long years that the right bit of information at the wrong time can ruin everything.”

  “So we should just take it on faith?” Djeri said with a scowl. “That’s what you always ask us to do, isn’t it?”

  He shrugged. “It’s the way my master works and therefore part of my job. Now go. I have the feeling that it’s important you leave right away.”

  “Right,” Djeri said. “Neddy!” The mule was standing in front of the rogue horse. They were looking at each other very closely, staring into one another’s eyes as if they were having some kind of contest. “We need to go find Tarah!”

  Djeri looked at the Prophet. “But how do I find her? She’ll have hidden her tracks.”

  John frowned. “That would make it difficult.” He stood and walked over to Djeri. “Would you like my help finding her?”

  “Yes.” he said. Of course he would. Why even ask?

  “Very well, then. Hold tightly to her staff.” He gave Djeri the staff and placed his hands on the dwarf’s head. “This is more difficult to do with dwarves, but hold on.”

  A strange warmth gathered under the Prophet’s hands and descended over Djeri’s body causing a shiver to run up the dwarf’s spine. Then the warmth focused in his head. The heat increased, becoming hotter and hotter until Djeri thought his brain must be cooking.

  The Prophet finally removed his hands. He stepped back. Wisps of steam rose from his fingers.

  Djeri swayed for a moment. He felt the heat inside his mind, almost as if like a hot coal had been left just behind his eyes. It didn’t actually hurt, but there was a dull throbbing. “What did you do to me?”

  “More than I intended when I started,” John said, looking at his hands in surprise. “I placed a link between the two of you.”

  “Like a bond?” Djeri asked, thinking back to Sir Edge and the other bonding wizards he’d met.

  “No. Not exactly,” John said. “You won’t be hearing each other’s thoughts, but . . .” He bit his lip. “Hmm. This may have some unintended consequences.” He slapped Djeri’s shoulder. “Oh well, it’s time you got going. In fact it’s past time. I’m afraid I’ve delayed you too long already.”

  Djeri blinked. “But-.”

  “Go.” He turned Djeri around and gave him a shove. “Mule, go with him. Tarah needs you. I would go with you, but I have somewhere to be.” He picked up a small shovel and began burying the cook fire. “Evidently I have a gnome to speak with.”

  “A gnome?” Djeri said. His mind was muddled and there were strange afterimages in his vision. Neddy chose that moment to bite his hand. “Ow!”

  Djeri jerked, startled as if awakening from a dream. John was right. Tarah needed him. He turned away from the Prophet and his enormous rogue horse and hurried away. Tarah was almost directly to the west. He could feel it.

  He clutched her staff in both hands and began to run. He didn’t bother pulling Neddy’s lead, knowing the mule would follow. At times he was slowed by drifts of snow, but he plowed through as fast as he could. Tarah was somewhere straight ahead.

  It made so much sense now. During their argument that morning, he hadn’t understood why she’d run away from the war. He’d been so fixated on the twisted chains of logic she was spewing that he’d looked right past the truth. Tarah hadn’t run because of fear. She’d run because of unbelief. She didn’t run because she feared her death. She ran because she actually didn’t believe herself capable of winning.

  Djeri imagined what his life would be like if he’d believed all the foul things people had said about him over the years. Oh, what that must have done to her. And the guilt afterwards . . . He knew how he would have felt about himself if he had run from the war.

  He began letting out a constant stream of curses. He cursed Tarah’s grandfather. He cursed the people of Pinewood. He cursed all the other men and women throughout Tarah’s life that had made her feel unworthy of her name. Then he cursed Tarah herself. Why had she let them do it? Why had she held on to the belief that she was a fraud for so long? The only thing he could think of was that her grampa had left out a key piece of information in her training. She didn’t understand the meaning of courage.

  He stopped at the edge of the East King’s road. It was one of the major arteries of Razbeck, running from the capitol city of Beck up the bank of the river to the farmlands and holds of the north. It was a heavily traveled road, but right now it seemed busier than normal. Djeri gritted his teeth as he waited for wagons and horses to go by, most of them traveling south.

  Tarah was somewhere across that road, but Djeri needed to cross unseen. The man in the watchtower had seen him cut that chain. People would be on the lookout for the murdering dwarf in green plate armor and it would do Tarah no good if he were arrested before he could reach her.

  Finally the road cleared and he stepped out onto the packed dirt. He made it two steps before he heard the thundering approach of horses. Swearing, he ducked back into the trees and watched as three dwarves rushed by, heading southward. All of them wore wide-brimmed hats and all three had handlebar mustaches.

  Djeri didn’t recognize these dwarves. That meant there was another band of smugglers nearby. It was too soon for these new riders to be there in response to the events of the night before and it was too coincidental that they would just happen to be in the area. Djeri frowned as he considered the possibilities.

  He hurried across the road and into the forest beyond. Tarah was closer now. He could feel it in that place behind his eyes. It was as if there was a rope pulling him towards her.

  He increased his pace, running through the snow and leaves. Djeri was no tracker, but he saw obvious signs of horses among the trees. The soil was churned up and a wide swath of snow was flattened as if something heavy had been dragged along the ground. The track was coming from the direction Tarah was in now.

  He came upon a farmer’s field. A long fence line blocked his path. The horse tracks curled around the outside of the fence line, but Djeri didn’t have time for a detour. He climbed the fence and cut across the pasture, running straight for Tarah’s position. The pastureland had been cleared of trees and as he ran, he saw another set of prints in the otherwise undisturbed snow. His heart skipped a beat as he realized these were Tarah’s tracks.

  A large snarling dog came over the hill, barreling towards him. Djeri glanced at the animal and knew it had been trained to attack. Knowing it would go for his arms, he gripped Tarah’s staff and waited until the last possible second. As it leapt towards him, he turned and struck it behind the ear with the tip of the staff, slamming it to the ground. The dog rolled through the snow a short ways before lying there unmoving, Djeri ran on, hoping he hadn’t killed the beast.

  He followed Tarah’s tracks to the far side of the pasture and at the edge of the fence saw two more dogs. They were standing at the fence line, paralyzed, their jaws open, frozen mid-bark. The smugglers had been this way.

  Djeri climbed over the fence and found the long drag-mark running along the fence line for a short distance. Then it turned and led into the forest right towards Tarah. Djeri started down it and heard the approaching clomp of hooves. He stepped off the trail and ducked behind a tree just in time to see Neddy approaching at a gallop. Being unable to jump the fence with Djeri, the mule had followed the smuggler’s trail around the fence line.

  Djeri stepped in front of the mule, stopping him. He grabbed Neddy’s lead. “Shh! There are smugglers somewhere up ahead. Follow along behind me, but do it quiet, okay?”

  The mule snorted in agreement and Djeri jogged ahead. Tarah was very close. It wasn’t long before he saw two horses tethered to a tree on the si
de of the tracks. He slowed down, being as stealthy as he could in his damaged platemail. One of the tears in the metal caused it to creak.

  He crept between some trees and saw two dwarves come into view. Both of them wore bandages under their hats. Djeri’s lip curled as he realized they were Mel and Leroy. They were squatting over something on the ground. Djeri had a hard time making out what it was. The object on the ground was . . . blurry.

  “What’re you planning on doin’ with that?” Leroy was asking.

  “What do you think?” Mel replied. He was pulling on some kind of lacing. “It’s invisible armor! It’ll sell real good.”

  “It’s only invisible on the front side,” Leroy said skeptically. “‘Sides, we don’t know how long that magic will last.”

  Mel stood, folding his arms and Djeri noticed that Tarah’s bow and quiver were lying on the ground next to him. A few feet away, Djeri saw the hilt of the Ramsetter, seemingly extending out of solid air.

  Mel scowled. “We’ll find out, then, won’t we?” He continued pulling at the laces and then yanked at some invisible material, exposing the pale yellow of a woman’s undershirt. The body inside was limp as the dwarf tried to remove the armor.

  Djeri snarled. It was Tarah. He had no idea why he couldn’t see the rest of her, but that place behind his eyes was screaming that she was right there. More importantly he knew that she was alive.

  “Boys!” Djeri announced, coming out of the trees towards them. He held Tarah’s staff at the ready. “I’m here to kill you!”

  They took a step back, startled. Then Mel let out a laugh. “So there you are! When we woke up on the dock and you wasn’t there, I was hopin’ that gnome’d tossed you in the river.”

  “Idjit,” said Leroy. “I told you he just scampered off.”

  “I was out retrieving this,” Djeri said, spinning the staff in his hands. He charged them, his jaw set, his eyes blazing with anger.

  Leroy reached into his holster and drew his rod. With a sharp pop, Djeri was frozen. “Man are you stupid!”