Stolen

by Adam Collins

At least they were out of the barrels now and could breathe clean fresh air. It was good to be able to finally look around at the countryside for the first time. The wagon rattled along the dirt road surrounded front and back by Grik’s men.

  Karem sat beside the driver. He was a likable sort of follow, even if he did work for the devil incarnate. It was he who had decided that there was no longer any need for the blindfolds or bindings, and the two girls were allowed to sit in middle of the wagon surrounded by barrels.

  The land was strange to Megan. There were no familiar landmarks from which to get a bearing. Anabel was no wiser, but guessed they were the far side of the Benteer Mountains. If she was correct it meant they were in Gantu.

  Gantu was a lawless uncivilised place from the stories she had heard. Populated mostly by slavers, pirates, and warlords. It was a place where a friend today could be an enemy tomorrow, and everything had a price.

  Grik pulled his horse in beside the wagon. ‘A fine mornin’ ladies,’ he smiled showing his bad teeth.

  The girls said nothing.

  ‘I thought you might want some water,’ he held up a water skin for them to see.

  ‘No thanks,’ scowled Anabel

  ‘How about you, Princess? Help you to wash the dust of the road out of your mouth?’ his smile widened exposing even more rot.

  ‘I’m fine,’ Megan didn’t look at him.

  ‘What’s the matter, my water not good enough for the likes of you?’ his smile evaporated.

  The girls said nothing.

  Grik was getting more than a little red faced. ‘Well? My water not good enough...is it?’ he asked again.

  ‘We don’t want any water,’ Megan finally said hoping he would take the hint and leave.

  ‘Is that so,’ he sneered. Well now me little beauty. Maybe there’s somethin’ else I can give you,’ he leaned in closer so that his voice didn’t carry. ‘I might just tell Alsheer to keep his gold and choose me own payment,’ he was looking straight at Megan.

  Megan looked away in disgust. A shudder of revulsion ran through her body. Grik spurred his horse to a canter, laughing loudly as he went.

  ‘He’s vile!’ Anabel said quietly. ‘We’re going to have to watch that one. He makes my skin crawl.’

  ‘And mine,’ agreed Megan. ‘I don’t know which is worse, Alsheer or Grik.’

  ‘Different sides of the same coin if you ask me,’ said Anabel.

  ‘I wish I had a knife,’ Megan absently mumbled.

  ‘You wouldn’t need one for him.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘A bar of soap would probably finish him off. The sight of it would give him a heart attack.’

  The two girls giggled quietly into their hands. It was good to laugh again if even only for a moment.

  ‘What’s so amusing?’ asked Karem turning around in his seat.

  ‘Nothing much, just girl talk, certainly nothing we could share with you,’ grinned Anabel.

  Karem smiled politely and turned away.

  It was well after midday when they stopped for a break. Karem was busy giving orders to various members of the small band of Alsheer’s personal guard. This gave the girls a chance to walk down to the water’s edge to clean up. The water felt good after hours of heat and dust on the road. Grik’s men sat about eating, throwing dice, and a few watered and fed their horses. Megan noticed a black carriage pulled in further up the road. It was ornately decorated and looked much like the carriages used by royals or nobility back in Jarro.

  The windows were completely blacked out making it impossible to see inside. Karem walked quickly up to its door and briefly conversed with whomever was inside. After a few moments the carriage turned around on the road and headed back in the direction they had just come. The girls sat down by the stream and dangled their feet in the refreshing waters.

  ‘Well-well! If it isn’t my two most favourite little water-lilies,’ Grik was grinning down at the two young women.

  ‘Oh go away you hairy donkey!’ growled Megan.

  ‘Ain't no way for a fine lady to be talkin’ when I’m just bein’ friendly.’

  ‘What do you want?’ she snarled, and turned her back to him.

  ‘Polite conversation…for a start,’ Grik took hold of Megan’s arm and lifted her up to face him.

  Megan tried to get away but he was impossibly strong.

  He slipped his free arm around her waist and pulled her close, grinning evilly. ‘And then somethin’ more,’ he leaned forward and forcibly kissed her.

  Megan thought she would be sick. She punched and kicked but she couldn’t get him off. Grik’s men stood, laughing and cheering. He stank of every filthy odour she could imagine and others that she didn’t want to think about. Just when she thought she would pass out Karem arrived.

  ‘Leave her be!’ Karem smacked Grik across his enormous back with a large, bleached white, piece of driftwood that shattered on impact.

  Grik released Megan and turned on Karem. The slaver towered over the demure Eastlander. It was a very uneven fight, and it wouldn’t last long.

  ‘Leave him alone!’ shouted Megan.

  Grik just smiled down at the little man.

  ‘Lord Alsheer's orders were clear, the females are not to be molested in any way,’ Karem seemed oblivious to his perilous predicament.

  ‘Where is he then? Far as I see, you're on your own little mouse. Be a good little mouse now wont you…squeak off and find yourself a bit o' cheese, and don't be makin' a nuisance of yourself,’ Grik was toying with the smaller man.

  Karem looked a little uneasy. ‘My Lord is temporarily away, for now my voice is his and you will heed my commands.’

  ‘Or what?’ he shoved Karem. 'I suppose you’re gonna stop me, ain't that right...mister mouse?’ Grik was really enjoying the chance to show-off in front of his men.

  Karem grabbed Grik’s wrist and twisted his fat fingers backwards in one movement. Grik dropped to his knees and cried out in pain. A kick to the chest sent the big slaver flying backwards through the air as though launched from a catapult. He landed with a large splash in the middle of the stream. Grik’s men were stunned into slack-jawed silence. Grik resurfaced gasping for air and crying out in shock as cold ice-melt water numbed him to the bone.

  Karem casually turned to the two girls, ‘If you are ready ladies please return to the wagon we must be on our way.’

  Grik struggled to the shoreline completely soaked. His eyes a mixture of awe and fear. Karem looked at him, sniffed, and walked away. One of Grik’s men forgot himself and started laughing. Grik, infuriated by the humiliation, kicked him as hard as he could up the backside. The laughing stopped.

  9. Dark Emissary

  It was a fine, bright, sunny day, the kind that makes the heart soar. By the time they had reached Archer's Way Balzimar had become an accepted member of the group. Brinn still wondered how the wizard had found them so easily, but decided that it was a question for another time.

  They had crossed the river Duree, using the ferry at Lampike, and were now crossing the Great Northern Plain that stretched all the way from Duree to the snow-capped Benteer Mountains, the northern most boundary of Jarro. After that they would be in hostile territory. There was very little conversation while on the move. All were lost in their own thoughts. Balzimar rode at the very back of the group. Brinn didn’t really know what to make of the odd little man. Sitting, as he was, atop his mount with legs enfolded as though meditating, while simultaneously playing a melancholy tune on a small white flute. Brinn marveled at the feat of balance. The mule’s reigns lay untouched across its saddle. The animal didn’t seem to need his master’s guidance and happily followed the horse in front; stopping, and even turning when required, without so much as a word from the bony little man on his back. Balzimar was a strange looking fellow. Scraggy unkempt grey hair, thinning badly near the crown, stuck out every which way. His long grey moustache drooped down either side of his mouth and well past his chin, and his bri
ght grey eyes had an almost luminous quality, especially at night.

  After hours traversing the grassy plains, the Benteer Mountains were at last in sight. Snow covered their high peaks year round. The Benteers were a vast range that stretched eastward from the Agento Sea and all the way around E-Ben’s northern borders before swinging south towards Anvar. There was only one way through them to Gantu; The Benteer Pass.

  The plain had been devoid of trees but they soon appeared in ones or twos, and later, as the ground started to slope upwards to the foothills, the numbers quickly increased until they were surrounded once more. Brok decided it was time to camp for the night. They found a sheltered spot beneath a leaning boulder and unpacked the animals. A small stream flowed nearby. Rat soon had a fire going and was happily cooking.

  As the first stars started to appear in the darkening blue sky, Brinn took some food up to Balzimar, who was sitting in his usual cross-legged position on top of a large boulder, playing a soft sad tune on the flute.

  ‘I thought you might be hungry,’ Brinn showed the food to the wizard.

  ‘Thank you, my boy. Please join me…sit for a while.’

  The site was elevated, the first steep rise on the mountain's southern base. From up here Brinn could see back in the direction from which they had come. He stared back across the tips of the trees and across the northern plains of Jarro. He imagined that on a clear day they might even be able to see all the way back to the Duree. Balzimar started playing soft notes that were strangely soothing. Brinn took a deep breath and exhaled quickly.

  ‘Your heart is heavy,’ said the wizard.

  ‘We carry a heavy load, old man. Much rests upon the outcome.’

  Balzimar smiled, ‘I was referring to the past rather than the future.’

  Brinn’s brow furrowed and he looked at the wizard.

  ‘She was not part of your future…not this lifetime.’ Balzimar added.

  Brinn was startled by the comment, ‘And what would you know, wizard?’

  ‘I know it's time for you to let go. Let go of the pain. The powers that bind us have other plans for you.’

  ‘You speak in riddles, say what you must, old man, but at least speak plain!’

  ‘I refer to your lost love, of your pain, and your...guilt.’

  ‘You seem well informed for someone I've just met. Has Brok been flapping his mouth? If he has, I’ll--!’

  ‘No. He's not betrayed confidence, nor have any of the others.’

  ‘Then how, old man?’ Brinn was getting very angry. The old wizard had caught him unawares.

  ‘We adepts...have the ability to--’

  ‘What? See the past? Any fool can do that…a coin or two in the right hand usually does the trick! The Anvars have a good name for it…jaw grease.’ growled Brinn.

  The wizard smiled again, ‘But what about knowing without being told?’

  ‘You're not making sense.’

  ‘Let me explain. Our past, and our future, are spun like an invisible web all around us. As we move through life each of us is moving along our own individual strand on the web.’

  ‘Ok I can follow that,’ Brinn nodded.

  ‘To those that have the ability the web can be touched.’

  ‘Is that so,' Brinn was sceptical. 'Well if that’s the case, cast me a prediction; tell me if this mission will be a success?’

  ‘If only I could,’ Balzimar chuckled, ‘how much easier things would be. But no,’ he shook his head, ‘it's not that specific. We can feel the strong emotional events in a life, both, past and future. Though, I have to add, future predictions are not rigid, not definite. They are more a guide to future possibilities.’

  ‘You're starting to lose me.’ Brinn scratched his chin in annoyance.

  ‘The future's not solid; because we have free-will, we each impact the whole, and can change the future by our actions in the present.’

  ‘So what's the point in seeing the future if there’s a chance that it could change and be something completely different by the time you get to it?’

  Balzimar chuckled again, ‘Well, I have to admit, you make a good point. But I would much rather have this ability than not.’

  ‘These...events...do you see them clearly?’

  ‘No. Merely shadows and impressions, but enough to feel your pain, and guilt.’

  Brinn remained silent for a few moments then his eyes watered, ‘I should have been there for her. She was a lady of the court, but she might as well have been a lowly slave for all the good it did her. The powerful pull our strings and we perform as required…chattel for their amusement. He knew she was betrothed, knew how much we loved, knew I was at the front. But with a wave of the hand she was given to a degenerate she loathed by order of the King!’

  ‘It was outside of your control, we are naught but pawns in the great plan. Only the powers that bind us see all the pieces of the puzzle.’ said Balzimar.

  ‘Spare me the sermon! I can’t--’ Tears were starting to form in Brinn’s eyes.

  ‘You can. I can help you if you let me.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘Give me your hands and shut your eyes.’

  The wizard clasped Brinn's hands tightly and closed his eyes. Brinn saw the events leading up to the murder of Darrik as clear as if they were happening that very minute. Then suddenly those memories were gone, replaced now by the smiling face of his beloved Sherii. They were standing in a beautiful garden surrounded by the most wonderful flowers. She put her arms around him and they kissed. It felt good to hold her again. Then she stepped back and smiled, ‘We will meet again beloved,’ she touched his cheek tenderly. ‘I release you.’

  Brinn’s eyes opened with a start. 'Lies!' he said. 'Lies and manipulation! the anger returned and he pulled his hands away.

  'No...not a lie, Brinn. It was as real as day follows night.'

  'Mark me, old man,' he jabbed a finger into the old wizard's chest, 'keep your meddling to yourself. From now on tend your duties and let me tend mine. There's a job at hand, concentrate on that and that alone!'

  'Nonsense, my boy, if I did that, nothing would ever get done.' Balzimar smiled.

  'My past is not open for discussion…am I clear?'

  Yes of course,' the wizard shrugged, 'but be mindful, you walk a precipice, one wrong step and you may fall.'

  'It's my road to travel, and I'll do it my way.'

  There was an odd silence.

  'There's something else,' Balzimar announced rather nonchalantly, ‘it would seem that you have been endowed with some very interesting, if dormant, gifts.’

  ‘Again with the riddles old man,’ Brinn shook his head.

  Balzimar smiled, ‘I could sense it when I touched your hands just now.’

  ‘Sense what?’

  ‘Magic, my boy! It rages through your veins like a torrent.’

  Brinn’s mouth opened but his brain had turned to mud.

  ‘Yes indeed! The vision-dream must have triggered something deep within.' With a shrug, Balzimar returned to playing the flute.

  ***

  As darkness finally crept over the camp Brinn took the first watch, while the others settled down for the night. Clouds rolled in from the north blocking out the light of the Twins, a brace of moons locked in tandem, destined to wander the sky as a pair. He was in his element, nothing would get close enough to the camp to harm them while he stood watch. At least that would normally have been the case, but tonight they were being stalked by a deadly new adversary.

  The Moorg crept undetected towards the campsite. It was a creature born of evil, controlled by an emissary of the Dark. Alsheer watched, with malevolent satisfaction, as the monster inched closer. ‘Thisss will be over quickly,’ he chuckled. ‘Pathetic wretchesss! Death approachesss, be not concerned, sssleep on.’ He wove a sleeping spell and gently placed it over the camp. The Moorg padded silently on, its powerfully built shoulders tensing and relaxing with each carefully placed step. The overlapping scales of its heavily ar
moured skin changing colour and hue to blend with the undergrowth. It stealthily approached without notice, not a glimmer could be seen. Tensing back muscles twitched and quivered as it readied to pounce. A silent snarl lifted lips, exposing razor sharp fangs, dripping warm saliva onto black-taloned forepaws. It was excited at the thought of the kill. Pale luminous eyes pulsed faintly to the beat of its pounding heart.

  Brinn was overcome, his mind locked in a hazy waking dream of Sherii and happier times, his eyes and ears oblivious to death's approach. The Moorg was ready, Brinn felt a little tickle between the blades of his shoulders, but shrugged and returned to thoughts of lost love. The Moorg crouched. The first one to die would be the sentry. That was how he had been trained and that was how it would be executed. The beast sprang and silently flew through the air at Brinn’s exposed back. A sudden explosion of blue light struck the beast in the chest. The blow pushed him sideways forcing him to one side causing him to miss Brinn completely.

  ‘To arms!’ ordered Balzimar. ‘We are under attack!’

  The spell was broken. The Pathfinders were instantly out of their blankets and standing ready with weapons drawn. The Moorg was winded but quickly recovered, scrambling to its feet it roared at the stunned men. Larger than a horse, the monster bellowed with anger and frustration at being denied the kill. With a rolling gurgling growl, he charged. Brok managed to leap out of the way before it was too late. Tam and Rat grabbed up spears and used them to keep the creature at arm’s length. The Moorg lashed out, its sharp claws narrowly missed shredding the two warriors. Balzimar loosed another blue arc knocking the beast backwards. Lom ran at the monster war hammer in hand and slammed its head with all of his strength. The Moorg reared and with one swipe of its enormous paw, knocked Lom backwards. Brinn sprang through the air, landed on its back, and sank his sword deep into the creature’s neck. There was another gurgling roar, as the Moorg reared and bucked. Brinn was thrown and flew through the air landing hard, but rolled and was back on his feet in one movement. The monster roared again and as he did, Tam thrust a spear deep inside its open mouth. Black blood sprayed out in all directions. The Moorg rose again onto its hind legs, quickly turned and crashed into Rat and Tam, sending them tumbling away in a flurry of flailing arms and legs. Brok loosed an arrow but it simply ricocheted off the creature’s tough hide. The Moorg circled looking for a weakness. Three of its prey were down, but three still stood. Balzimar looked tired. The beast could sense the wizard’s fatigue. Its devilish eyes narrowed. With a bound it leapt into the air and sailed towards the helpless man. Balzimar tried to summon his strength, but there simply wasn’t enough time. In a blink he would be dead. Brinn screamed a warning to the wizard and pointed at the leaping monster. As he did, a column of flame shot from his outstretched hand incinerating the Moorg mid-flight. There was a sudden white blinding flash, and then nothing but quiet darkness. The creature was gone. Particles of black soot drifted down all around the encampment. In shocked silence, all faces turned toward Brinn. He stared at his still outstretched hand not really believing what had just happened.