Shadow Of The Mountain

by D. A. Stone

  ***

  The cold trench had little room for movement, but the spot had been chosen with care and was well concealed. Draz was on his side, covering Terra with his cloak, while Jornan lay on his back with Vextis in the middle. All three were facing the clearing and able to peer out through the pine branches covering their hide to watch the Gallan men as they came into view.

  They saw the father pushed to the ground as he grunted with pain. Even in the twilight, you could see his battered face and tunic covered in blood. He was alive, but barely.

  No sooner had the mother entered the clearing than she was spun around and dealt a crushing blow from a fist to her face, sending her down. The daughter cried out in anguish, falling next to her parents.

  “The little runt’s run off,” one of the men said.

  “She won’t make it far,” another answered.

  Draz saw the father roll to his back, coughing up blood. He struggled up to an elbow, but a boot kick to the mouth put him back down.

  “Stop it! Stop!” the daughter shrieked wildly, scrambling over to protect him. “Please! We’ll do anything! Just please stop hurting them!”

  Draz pressed Terra tighter against his chest, covering her face and ears with his cloak. He could feel her rapid heartbeat.

  “Anything?” a man asked. “You’ll do anything?”

  “Yes! Just please stop hurting them!”

  The man took her by the throat, his grip lifting her up to her toes and bringing her in close.

  “You will do everything,” he told her, voice hateful with promise. She wheezed out a frightened breath before being thrown to the ground.

  Draz heard horses approaching the clearing and looked to Jornan. His brother’s face was strained and their gazes met. The other held his hand up in the shadows and signaled, his fingers motioning out the silent question: Attack?

  Draz returned in sign: No.

  Jornan clenched his jaw and turned back to the clearing.

  Two horsemen arrived. One was of the Gallan party, a lean man riding a chestnut gelding and holding a burning torch. The other was the Volrathi tracker atop a dark mare.

  The tracker was garbed all in black, like a shifting shade in the night. He wore a black cloak and dark iron breastplate, gray leggings, and polished, black boots. The thick hilt of a broadsword stuck up from his saddle and a long, curved dagger threaded his belt. He was younger than Draz had thought, early twenties maybe. Draz and the rest had never seen a Volrathi before and being this close to one was chilling. He was part of an army responsible for the Amorian defeat at Goridai, the massacre of Corda, and countless other acts of barbarism against their nation.

  The tracker’s presence quieted the men. He swung down from his saddle, handing off the reins. A large bearded Gallan took the torch from the other rider and approached the Volrathi.

  “We lost one of the daughters,” he informed him. “A little girl, eight years or so. We can head back to camp for the night and pick up her tracks in the morning.”

  The Volrathi didn’t answer, instead stepping away from the group. Kneeling down, he reached out and touched the ground. Draz watched him pick up a fallen leaf by the stem, twirling it between fingers, looking thoughtfully around the small clearing.

  Draz felt his bowels fill with dread. The stars were emerging now, iridescent specks that grew stronger in the darkening sky with a moon that was nothing more than a slender dagger scraping against the horizon.

  Surely this man could not read tracks in the black of night, his mind insisted, even with a torch. Draz had tried to cover his path to the hide, but thinking back he knew the ruse was hurried and slovenly. He hardly had the time to lead the men away, running past the hide just enough to get them out of the small clearing.

  Doubt began to gnaw at his heart. Should the men wait here till morning, Draz knew the Volrathi tracker would find his tracks. They’d be discovered and killed, or worse. This had been a stupid plan, but it was all he had at the moment. Everything now depended on their silence. The dark clad man rose, tossing the leaf to the side.

  “The girl will be close,” he told them, his voice deep and thick, hanging heavily in the air. He looked to the parents at his feet, and then the sister. “Within shouting distance,” he continued evenly.

  The Volrathi moved to his mare and pulled a length of chain and shackles from his saddlebag before returning to the family. The father was barely conscious, but the mother and daughter were huddling together next to him, immobile with fear.

  “Call to your daughter,” he ordered, the chains rattling softly next to him.

  The mother looked up at him through a swollen eye. “No,” her voice quivered.

  The Volrathi turned to the older daughter. “Call to your sister.”

  The girl shook her head, shoulders trembling. “I won’t do it.”

  The tracker pushed the women aside and took the father by the boot, dragging him away from them with one hand as if he were a child. The women began to scream.

  Draz watched the Volrathi pull the man to a tree at the edge of a clearing, shackling the iron clasp around his throat. The chain was then wrapped around the tree trunk and secured with another clasp. The father was coughing up blood, in no condition to resist.

  A long rope was thrown to the Volrathi, and he looped the end of it around the father’s neck several times before tying a knot. The other end of the rope was secured to the Gallan’s gelding, whose rider walked the horse over to the tree and dismounted. The way they moved, it was clear they‘d done this before.

  Draz glanced over to Jornan, his breath halting in his chest. His sword brother’s eyes could hardly be seen now, flickering in the light of the torch that streamed in through their hide’s cover.

  Jornan‘s sign was barely visible, but Draz made it out: Attack. It was no longer a question.

  Draz shook his head. No, his hands signed back.

  There could be no victory here, only escape. They were in no position to handle this.

  “Call to the girl,” the Volrathi ordered to the women again, more forcefully this time.

  “Stop it! Stop!” the daughter cried. “Please don’t! Please!”

  The tracker smacked the horse’s flank and the women cried out in terror.

  The beast reared up, bolting into the darkness. Draz pulled Terra tighter against his chest, feeling the hooves thundering across the clearing from their trench. He watched the line as it ran out, closing his eyes against the horrible sight to come, but nothing could block out the sound.

  The rope snapped tight and the man was ripped apart.

  ***

  Draz arrived to the foot of their mountain early the next morning, carrying the sleeping Terra in his arms. Jornan walked next to him in silence while Vextis was behind a ways concealing their tracks. The air was cold this high up in the ranges, and the Gambit rose before them like a stone colossus, blotting out much of the barren blue sky that peeked through the forest canopy.

  They approached the mountain from the western side, up a rising trail that led to an open patch of land. As the ground leveled, a field spread out beneath the high walls of the mountain where a gaping fissure split the rock face like a jagged wound two stories tall that slid deep into the Gambit’s center. Tall grass grew wild across the open land, dotted with enormous boulders and stones, a few so large they looked like mammoth toys left behind by the child of some ancient giant.

  To the east, the forest wrapped around the mountain for a mile before thinning to steep shelves of crumbling rock and soil. To the west, just a few dozen feet away, the open land dropped sharply to cliffs that plummeted down into a valley floor hundreds of feet below.

  Looking up the mountain face, Draz saw one of their lookout points some sixty feet above. Herkle was perched at the spot and waved down to them.

  Larkin emerged from the fissure carrying a spear, looking as if his large frame were about to burst out of his breastplate of polished iron plates and boiled leather. Trobe
followed him, sword belted to his side and green cloak spread across his shoulders.

  “I was about to send some boys out looking for you,” the instructor told them, his tone relaxing at the sight of the girl in his arms. “But I knew you’d be back eventually. I see we have a new arrival.”

  “Her name is Terra,” Draz said, gently shaking her awake. “She’s had a rough night.”

  Terra woke up and looked around for a moment, but then settled back into his arms and almost immediately fell back asleep.

  Trobe chuckled. “I think you’ve made a friend,” he said, brushing a strand of hair from her face. The instructor’s tone remained easy, but there was no mistaking the seriousness of his gaze. “What happened out there?”

  Draz turned to Jornan. Their eyes met, but his sword brother said nothing. Seeing Vextis approach, he walked off towards the tracker to have a word with him.

  Draz handed Terra to Larkin.

  All alone, he signed with a twist of his hand. “Make sure to give her to one of the women,” he said then. “And she hasn’t eaten all night, so try and find her something.”

  “Sure, no problem,” Larkin said softly, taking her in his big arms. He moved off, disappearing into the fissure of the mountain.

  Trobe watched Draz for a moment, searching for some sign. Some…weakness, perhaps? Draz felt himself growing irritated. He’d done everything right, following Trobe’s orders to the letter. They didn’t engage the enemy and still brought back a survivor, all while hiding in a hole like frightened rabbits.

  “Tell me,” the instructor said.

  Draz threw a hand up, trying to put events into words, but nothing seemed to fit together.

  “We…bumped into the hunting party led by the Volrathi again,” he finally uttered. “Eight of them at first, then two more arrived. They were chasing a family. I could only get the little girl back to our hide. There was a mother and father, and an…older sister.”

  Trobe watched him more intently now. “What happened next?”

  Draz shook his head, hearing the sound of the hoofbeats rumbling across the damp earth, the snap of the rope, the…death of the father.

  And after the women finally stopped shrieking, after the tears and cries of both wife and daughter fell silent, the vile men did things to them that would haunt Draz the rest of his life. There could be no greater evil in the world than what was done to that family. And all the three of them could do was watch, watch and listen.

  Draz locked gazes with the instructor.

  “The rest of the family is dead,” he said breathlessly.

  Trobe held the stare a moment before resting a large hand on Draz’s shoulder. He nodded his head knowingly but said nothing more of it.

  The old warrior’s role with the students had subtly shifted over the last few days from rigid instructor to more of an ill-tempered older uncle. They were in this together now, it seemed.

  “And the hunting party?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. “What of these men who search for our doorstep? Were you seen by them?”

  Draz looked to Jornan speaking with Vextis a short distance away, and just for a moment their eyes met, but the stare was broken immediately.

  “No, they didn’t see us. They spoke of returning to the capital,” Draz heard himself lie to a man with whom he was always supposed to speak the truth. “Said they’d be heading out this morning at first light. Might not be back for a week or so. Something about supplies.”

  “A week or so?” Trobe wondered aloud. “Do you think they‘re giving up the hunt?”

  “That’s what it sounded like,” Draz answered halfheartedly.

  “I asked what you thought!” Trobe’s old temper flared, causing him to stiffen. “Not what it sounded like. You can’t get your emotions tangled up in this shit! Start handling this like a soldier and stop getting down on yourself. You saved a little girl here. That’s a life. Do you understand that? You didn’t just save her day. You saved her life. Now move on from it!”

  Draz felt himself standing straighter, hands gripped to his side at attention. It was all of the damned academy conditioning, he knew. His brain hears a scolding tone from a superior and his body snaps to form.

  Trobe turned back to the mountain, his long green cloak twirling behind him. Draz relaxed.

  “Who’s going out tonight?” he stopped and asked over his shoulder.

  Draz cleared his throat. This was it. “I thought we might go out again,” he said, each word feeling like a step on cracking ice. “Last night was spent mostly in a ditch. I’d like to make sure the Gallans truly returned to the capital and also maybe bring back some game. I think the camp could use some fresh meat.”

  Trobe turned. “Meat?” he seemed to weigh the word, thinking it over. “Are you certain you’re not heading back out in search of bigger game than deer?”

  Draz felt his stomach tighten but pushed forward anyway. “Vextis saw some game trails yesterday that he wanted to follow, but we hadn’t the time. And I’d like to take a few more boys today. Terra’s…Terra’s parents dropped their packs in the woods and it might be nice to gather a few of her things.”

  Trobe considered the proposal before finally nodding his head.

  “Do it,” he answered, gaze turning a familiar cold. “But I want no stupidity from you. We’re safe here so long as our presence is not known. We haven’t the men to defend this rock as effectively as I’d like. You lead these boys when I am not around and that makes their lives your responsibility. I swear that if you get any of them killed,” he spoke harshly, “I’ll hang you from one of these trees myself.”

  Trobe turned and entered the tall fissure, disappearing from them.

  Draz let out a long breath, the conversation feeling as if it had taken hours though he knew it had only been minutes. Could Trobe know of their intentions?

  Of course not, his mind bit back. How could he? If he had, then surely he wouldn’t let them return the forest. Unless…he wanted to see how they would handle it. Draz suddenly felt dizzy. Jornan and Vextis approached.

  “That was very smooth, Draz,” Vextis said.

  Draz merely shook his head. He didn’t like this, not any of it. Jornan had laid it all out on their walk back, but it was still a foul idea.

  “Are you sure you can pick up their trail, Vex?” Jornan asked.

  “Without a doubt,” the slim tracker answered. “Both man and horse. Their camp cannot be that far from wherever we were last night. I’ll find them, but after that? I’m at a loss.”

  “We’ll figure the details out as we go,” Jornan assured them.

  “Details,” Draz said, chewing on his lower lip, clearly not convinced. “I don’t want to sound like the scared little sister of the group, but my stomach is not agreeing with this. I mean, going after these men and not telling Trobe--”

  “He would never allow it,” Jornan interrupted. “And he wasn’t there. You saw what those men did…Trobe didn’t have to watch with his own eyes, didn’t have to listen to…we can’t just sit on this, Draz. I’m sorry. Even now I’m twitching just thinking about it. We need to get this wound off our souls, else it’ll fester and grow into something worse. I know it will, I can feel it.”

  “We have a chance here, Draz,” Vextis put in. “So much is out of our control, but not this. We can do some good here. I know we can. You saw those men. Drunken idiots, and we’ll be tracking them this time, not the other way around.”

  “The Volrathi didn’t seem drunk,” Draz reminded them. “He seemed full of piss and fire.”

  Jornan and Vextis exchanged glances but kept quiet. Their proposal was on the table and nothing more needed to be said. If Draz turned it down, they’d never speak of it again. He was ranking student, and to them his words were law. They’d follow him into the fire, all of them would.

  Draz scratched the back of his head, thinking it over. It was no good and he knew it. But even now he could still hear the screams of the daughter and the pleas of the mother, las
hing against his heart like a nagging whip.

  Maybe Vex was right. Maybe tonight really was a chance for them to turn some of this terrible shit around. Who knew where these men would be in a few days, or a week? They might never get this opportunity again. At least tonight they knew where these rapists and murderers would be: on Amorian soil, free of care and fear, free to do whatever they wanted.

  Draz let out a long breath, his decision made. These men are not free, his mind whispered. Not anymore. These men are dead.

  “We’ll leave in an hour,” he told them. “Fetch Persus, Sedrik, and Bailen. Tell them to bring their bows, and be quiet about it.”

  Chapter 14

  Natalia, Karin, and Argos trekked down the thin alley, swiftly moving through the shadows cast by the high buildings of eastern Corda. The streets they slipped past were littered with still bodies, some dead so long the sun and flies had already begun their work. The one-handed warrior had given up on escaping the city by sunset, their pace nowhere near what he’d have liked it to have been. The intersecting alleyways offered the best concealment, but it was costing them too much time. The hazy sky was already darkening and smoke had settled across several of the streets they passed through. The city that surrounded them was ghostly quiet.

  Argos’s concern grew with each passing minute. They had narrowly missed being seen by large groups of armed men roaming the streets on two occasions. The first time they had heard the Gallans coming and had been able to hide behind a stack of crates piled next to the side entrance of a tannery. The second was nothing more than fool’s luck, with the armed men rushing past their alley on a connecting street, thankfully in pursuit of anyone but themselves. Had one of the rushing Gallans merely tossed a look in their direction, they would have been caught in the open like lame lambs for the wolves.

  It was all too close for Argos’s liking, and the cold awareness of their circumstances settled in the bowels of his belly like a slab of granite. The situation within the capital was getting tight and to fumble around here after sunset would be a dangerous venture. Still, the only option was to press on.