Stolen

by Adam Collins

  ‘This is a pretty sight,’ announced Brok.

  Brinn got down and examined the tracks in the dirt. ‘There was a hell of a fight. Here, a group made a last stand,’ he pointed to the spot that Grik had rallied his men. Then he walked over to the old cottage and looked inside, ‘The women were kept in here, but then they were removed and brought in this direction,’ he pointed along the edge of the swamp and away from the main battle.

  ‘Who attacked them?’ asked Tam.

  ‘More a case of ‘what’ attacked them,’ interrupted Rat while pointing at a set of large claw prints gouged in the damp soil.

  Brok examined the prints, ‘Never seen its like before,’ he shook his head. Whatever it was, it was big.’

  ‘It’s a Gwergar,’ announced Balzimar.

  ‘A what?’ asked Rat.

  ‘A Gwergar. And a rather large one too by the look of those tracks,’ added the little old wizard, leaning down from the saddle to get a better look.

  The others looked at each other with blank expressions. Rat shrugged his shoulders.

  ‘Would you care to elaborate, old man?’ Brinn finally asked.

  Balzimar sat back into his saddle and blinked rather comically, 'But of course. You'd not have come across this type of creature before, I do apologise,' then he snuffled and nodded but said no more.

  ‘Do we have to drag everything out of you, one piece at a time?’ growled Brinn.

  ‘What? asked Balzimar looking blankly back at Brinn. Then he grinned bashfully as he realised that they were all awaiting a proper explanation. ‘Oh, er...so sorry, of course...it’s a sort of flightless reptilian of the Wyvrn family.’

  ‘Wyvrn...ain’t that a Dragon?’ asked Lom scratching his head.

  ‘Excellent, Lom, that is correct. Very good indeed. It really depends from where you hale,’ added Balzimar very matter-of-factly. ‘I suppose the appellation Wyrm is better known in the East, as is Wyvern. Though I’ve heard it called Wyrm in the North also. Now, down South...’

  ‘Dragon will do just fine,’ interrupted Brok looking more than a little exasperated. ‘Now what are the chances of this thing returning any time soon?’

  ‘Oh I think we're pretty safe. They hardly ever attack humans without just cause,’ smiled Balzimar.

  Lom looked around at the bits of human offal that littered the ground. ‘Hey, Rat, did he just say they don’t attack humans?’

  ‘Hardly, ever,’ Rat gave a nod while grinning mischievously

  ‘Well that’s good to know. I was getting kinda worried there for a moment.’

  ‘You said flightless. I thought Dragons could fly?’ asked Tam.

  ‘Most do. But like everything else there are variants. The Gwergar like water and swim rather than fly. They are among the smallest of the Wyrm species, but don’t let that fool you. What’s lost in girth is compensated in aggression. It’s a fascinating study really-’

  ‘And we can’t wait to hear more. But for now I think we had better get a move on. We’ve wasted enough time already,’ growled Brok turning his horse back onto the trail towards Ash.

  ‘The group with the girls headed into the swamp,’ announced Brinn while pointing into the dense undergrowth.

  ‘Chances are, they looped around and back onto the trail further up?’ said Brok.

  ‘Very likely,’ agreed Brinn.

  ‘Then we should be able to find their returning tracks somewhere along the road,’ reasoned Brok.

  ‘It’s possible. Or, they could still be lost in there.’ Brinn pointed into the swamp’s dense interior.

  ‘What does that stone of yours say, old man?’ asked Brok.

  ‘It points in that general direction,’ he pointed into the swamp. ‘But if you take out all the twists and turns of the road then Ash also lies in that direction. The choice is yours.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Brok smiled then mumbled so that Balzimar couldn’t hear, ‘A bloody great help you are.’

  ‘Not at all, my boy,’ Balzimar smiled, and seemed to be quite oblivious to Brok's annoyance.

  Brok stepped down from his horse and handed the reins to Rat, ‘Carry on up the road, slowly. We will catch up with you before nightfall. Brinn, Tam, with me. It’s time we got our feet wet.’

  As the three men trudged into the mire Rat gathered up their horses, tied them together and so that they made a line behind him as he rode. Leading the little column was Bru, Balzimar's scruffy mule. Balzimar was sat atop the animal's back with his legs crossed and tucked under his body as usual.

  Lom rode up beside Rat as they moved along and whispered. ‘Hey, Rat!’

  ‘Yup.’

  ‘What does ‘appellation’ mean?’

  Rat shrugged his narrow shoulders. ‘Dunno, Lom. Something to do with apples I spose.’

  Lom scratched his big forehead and looked befuddled. It was a long while before he spoke again. ‘I like apples, ‘specially the big juicy red ones.’

  ‘Do you? Me too,’ Rat smiled, trying hard not to laugh.

  Brinn and the others arrived back onto the road come late evening, having followed Megan's trail in a large curving arc through the swamp. Night was fast approaching by the time they found the camp that Rat had set for the night. Brok sat and pulled off his mud caked boots, the others followed suit. They were soaked through and hungry. The small fire was welcome.

  ‘Find anything, sir?’ asked Rat.

  ‘Lots of bugs. And quite a few leaches,’ he blanched as he placed a hot twig from the fire against one of the numerous bloodsuckers attached to his legs.

  ‘The trail wandered about for a bit, but returned to the road as expected,’ said Brinn.

  ‘Are the ladies still alive?’ asked Lom.

  It was Brinn’s turn to wince as he removed the charred body of a half incinerated leach from his calf. ‘Hard to know. The tracks were...unusual. Eight entered the swamp but only five came out.’

  ‘Don’t make sense. Why drag ‘em all the way here to kill ‘em? They could have done that back in Jarro,’ mused Rat.

  ‘True, but that would depend on who leads the group,’ countered Brinn. ‘If the leader died back at the house, there's no guarantee that the women will remain unharmed.’

  ‘They’re still alive. If they were not then the seeker stone would not react. And it points north. Which means that one or both they are still alive,’ nodded Balzimar.

  ‘There were other tracks too. Two others followed the group for a time and it looks like they were carrying something heavy when they stopped,’ said Tam.

  ‘How do you know that?’ asked Balzimar.

  ‘Easy…one set of prints were set deeper in the mud as they moved away,’ drawled Tam.

  ‘Did you follow them?’ asked Balzimar.

  ‘That’s why we were so late getting here,’ Brok leaned forward to warm his hands on the fire. ‘We found a day-old campsite. But then the trail lead back onto the road. The first group followed a small track that veered off to the left of the main road. It lead to a house. The old woman was co-operative after we explained what had happened in Jarro. They’re heading to Ash in a boat.’

  ‘So all roads lead to Ash it seems,’ smiled Balzimar, while puffing on his pipe.

  ‘It seems that way. Can you tell us anything about the place?’ asked Tam.

  ‘It has been some time since my last visit.' said Balzimar. 'But I imagine it’s the same now as it was then. It’s a medium sized town used for penning slaves during round-ups. Men for hire come and go so it should be easy for you to get inside.'

  ‘We’ll split into two groups. Balzimar and Brinn will enter the town with me, the rest of you stay hidden outside,’ said Brok.

  ‘There’s safety in numbers, wouldn’t it be better if we all went in together?’ asked Rat.

  ‘Normally I'd agree, but three extra bodies against three thousand won’t make that much of a difference. I would prefer to have you on the outside in case we need to be rescued later. On top of that, a smaller group will not at
tract as much attention.’

  ‘That makes sense,’ agreed Tam.

  ‘Tam, in my absence, you are in charge. If something goes wrong and we don't return, the decision to continue or not, with the mission, will rest with you,’ said Brok.

  Tam looked grim but nodded in agreement, ‘Understood, sir.’

  ‘Now unless there is anything else?’ Brok looked around at the faces of his men. No-one spoke. ‘Good. Then I suggest we get some sleep. I'll take first watch.’

  22. Bal-Karesh

  Hidden from the eyes of men, a dark evil was gathering strength. High in the desolate slopes of the Wyvern Mountains lay the black-walled fortress of Bal-Karesh. Mawk, a green-hued, Karesh chieftain, stood on the upper gantry of a round tower patiently awaiting the arrival of his master, Ultor Halfbreed supreme warlock, dragon knight, and lord of Bal-Karesh. As the Moon slipped behind a blanket of grey the tower was plunged into darkness. The wind died away and a shroud of ethereal silence blanketed the surround, muffling all sounds to a barely discernible murmur. Huge wings cut the quiet with rhythmic pulse as a young dragon hovered and then landed on the flat granite roof of the tower. A figure dressed in black robes slid down from the beast's back and walked toward the hunch-backed Karesh.

  ‘Welcome back, Master,’ purred Mawk, bowing low. ‘We have missed your wisdom and guidance.’

  ‘How goes our Undertaking?’ asked Ultor, all hints of a countenance hidden by the darkness of his hood, save for the dirty grey beard, divided in two by leather chords, spilling freely from the cowl.

  ‘It goes slowly, Dark One. Our numbers are still too few.’

  ‘Walk with me,’ Ultor headed toward the steps to the lower floors. ‘What is the delay?’ his voice had a deep rasping quality.

  ‘Breeding is slow, Dark One. Gestation takes a month, but when the females are out of season there is nothing that can be done,’ Mawk pleaded.

  ‘I have given thought to this...problem. There is a chemic that can be used. I have found an elixir that will make the females receptive to multiple joinings.’

  Mawk grinned, ‘That would be beneficial, to all. But the young will still take two years to fully mature. Even with increased productivity this, I think, will be a problem.’

  ‘The elixir increases the rate of growth of the young. They will mature to adult in two months.’

  ‘This is a miracle! How did you come by this knowledge?’

  Ultor stopped and turned, ‘Trial and error. Many have died in its development.’ He continued on down the steps and through a door at the end that lead to the lower courtyard.

  Mawk had to run a few steps to catch up with the long strides of the quickly moving warlock, ‘You are truly the master of all, Dark One. When can we expect delivery of the elixir?’

  Ultor stopped again and turned to the Darkspawn chieftain. ‘It will have to be manufactured here. I will instruct your chemics on the extraction process,’ Ultor strode off toward the gates of the fortress. Two huge heavily muscled Argarots, headless hairy beasts their dower faces staring out blankly from the middle of their chests, gave salute as he approached.

  Again Mawk had to run to catch up, his cloven feet clopped across the cobblestones as he pranced along in an ungainly lope, ‘What is this - extraction process - that you speak of, Dark One?’

  Ultor slowed a little to allow the squat, pig-faced, chieftain a chance to keep pace, ‘The elixir is to be found deep within the human brain. Once removed, the subject is devoid of all feeling and emotion.’ Light from a nearby torch caught the warlock's eyes making them glow like orange cinders exposing the flat wide nose overhanging the tusks of his protruding overbite. ‘Not unlike the walking dead. One human will produce enough elixir for three of your brethren. A satisfactory rate of exchange I feel. And their bodies will feed the growing host.’

  The wizard walked over to the large double doors at the main entrance to the fortress and ordered them opened. The two Argarots grabbed hold of the massive iron bar keeping the door shut, slid it back out of the way and pulled the doors open.

  ‘Even so, Dark One, how will we acquire such a large quantity of humans without alerting them to our presence?’

  ‘I have taken care of the matter. Behold!’ Ultor pointed through the open doors towards the barren expanse that stretched out before the fortress. Ten caged wagons came trundling up the rocky road carrying hundreds of human slaves, ‘This is just the beginning.’

  Mawk’s eyes bulged with excitement, ‘Your will shall be done, Dark One. We rise!’ He threw his arms upward in jubilation, while capering with glee.

  As the first wagons passed through the gates, Ultor turned and left. Mawk would see to the caging of the prisoners. Crossing the courtyard, he climbed the stone steps leading to the main citadel. A locked set of double doors barred the way to his council room. With a touch of his finger the lock clicked and enchantments dissipated.

  The doors swung open. Torches instantaneously flared and ignited on both sides of the room flooding the cold interior with yellow light. Ultor strode up the central isle. Dark granite columns lined the way supporting a high vaulted ceiling. At the far end stood his throne. A symbol of both his prominence and power over all of dark-kind. He entered and quickly walked to its base. Beside the throne was a small brass gong. He struck it once, then sat and waited. After a few scant moments several Karesh attendees entered bowed low in cowed subservience.

  ‘You called, Dark One?’ asked a tall green-hued Karesh servant.

  ‘I would speak with the chemics,’ rasped Ultor.

  ‘Yes, Lord. At once,’ answered the servant.

  ‘Also, bring me food and an offering. There should be a suitable candidate amongst the new arrivals.’

  ‘Yes, Lord. Do you require a male, or a female?’

  ‘Either will suffice once the appropriate criteria is met. I must replenish myself.’

  The Darkspawn scuttled off leaving him alone. He rose and walked to his private room.

  The interior was a lavish mix of multi-coloured carpets and gold embellished furniture. In the centre, on a plain silver stand, stood a beautifully crafted crystal circlet. Set in a bed of gold and trimmed with sapphires and diamonds, it overshadowed all other splendours making them seem tawdry and bland by comparison. He picked it up and placed it upon his head. The jewels glowed softly, and a vision started to form in his mind.

  ‘Massster you call?’ came a lisping voice.

  ‘How goes your mission, Lord Alsheer?’

  ‘I have the Princessss in my care. The Lady Anabel is momentarily in the handsss of othersss. But that will sssoon be rectified, my Massster.’

  ‘Good, you have served me well.’

  ‘There isss more, Massster.’

  ‘Continue,’ he rasped.

  ‘There isss one who followsss. He hasss power, Massster. He can wield like no other that I have ssseen.’

  ‘A High Mage perhaps? It makes sense that the Counsel of Mages would send an adept.’

  ‘He isss unique. Hisss power isss immenssse. But with a difference. I could not sssense him before he unleassshed.’

  Ultor thought for a moment, ‘Tread carefully. When you have reached the safety of Shan-Tu I will contact you again with instruction. The Princess is the key if the prophesies are to be thwarted.’

  ‘I underssstand, Massster. I will not fail you.’

  Ultor removed the circlet and placed it back on the stand. He felt troubled. Then he had a vision. He was alone and in darkness. Stretching out his arms he pawed the languid air feeling nothing but void. Two luminous yellow eyes stared from the black, unflinching, merciless, cold. With a shake of his head he returned to the present. With renewed fret he strode decisively toward the door with an urgent need to consult the scrolls. This was a worrisome occurrence. He would also consult the seers. An answer would be found. As he exited his private room the Karesh chemics, escorted by four Spidergelp guards, were filing into the throne room.

  ‘I have brought
the chemics as ordered, Dark One,’ announced one of the six-limbed guards as he scurried across the floor on suctioned feet.

  ‘I have no time for them now. There are questions that need immediate answers. I will speak with them another time!’ Ultor walked past and out the double doors and was gone.

  The Spidergelp’s head turned on its articulated neck toward one of the chemics, ‘The Master has spoken. Remove yourselves!’ he hissed and pointed towards the door. When the room was empty he curled up in a small alcove in the wall in readiness for when his master called again.

  23. Making a Stand

  It was finally morning. Anabel could see natural light seeping under the gap in the bottom of the door. She was tired. Sleep had been hard to find. Grik had been drunk and in very high spirits when he’d returned in the early hours. Grinning lasciviously, he had removed Merrith from the cell, and winked at Anabel as he locked the door again.

  Anabel was distraught for her new friend. It was an hour before Grik’s loud snores reverberated through the structure, but Merrith did not return to the cell. Anabel tossed and turned for the rest of the night.

  Though just after dawn, the heat was already starting to rise in the cramped little room.

  She could hear Grik coughing and groaning as he awoke. No doubt feeling the effects of all the drink that he had consumed the night before. The shuffle of feet heralded an approach to the door of her cell. It opened, the light-burst momentarily blinding her. When her eyes adjusted she saw Merrith standing at the door beckoning her to come out. Anabel's heart sank when Grik appeared behind Merrith’s shoulder.

  ‘Come on now, m'lady, we’ve no time to lose. There’s many a mile to travel today, so out you come.’

  Anabel shielded her eyes as she came out into the light. Merrith didn’t look at her. She kept her head bowed, her face hidden behind her long dark-brown hair. Merrith’s delicate hands were bunching and pulling the material on the front of her grey smock until it twisted into a conical swirl.

  ‘A very good morn to you, m'lady,’ beamed Grik. ‘I hope you slept well, you’ll need your strength for the comin’ journey.’