The Jewel of Turmish

by Odom, Mel

  “The balance you’re seeking to protect is false, druid,” Druz said. “We seek a wolf that has developed a fondness for human flesh.”

  The druid shook his head slowly and carefully, without any emotion. “I don’t care. A wolf will hunt those that hunt it.”

  “This wolf attacks children, druid.” Druz made her voice hard and challenging. “Is that the kind of beast you would protect?”

  “Children are lost every day. That is part of nature’s balance. Only the strong survive.”

  “The strong,” Druz agreed, “and the clever.” She paused for the briefest moment, knowing her decision, but not knowing how the druid would respond. “I won’t suffer to let that creature live. I saw three of the children who were mauled by the wolf. They are neither strong nor clever. That’s why the wolf has singled them out.”

  At Druz’s side, Kord shifted nervously, anticipating the scimitar’s stroke that would open his brother’s throat.

  “Damn it, woman,” Kord snarled anxiously.

  The druid’s eyes remained locked on Druz’s, and for a moment she thought he was so cold and intent that her words wouldn’t touch him.

  Druz placed her hands on her hips, only inches from the hilts of the throwing daggers she had hidden under her leather armor behind her back. If the druid walked away, she intended to try to kill him. Maybe killing the other wolves they’d encountered hadn’t been on her agenda, but slaying the one they’d come to find definitely was.

  The time passed almost unbearably.

  Druz was acutely conscious of the small sounds in the forest around them. She couldn’t help wondering what kinds of creatures might be there, and if they were under the druid’s thrall. Warriors who lived outside forests and drank in taverns told horrible stories about the vindictive ways and practices of druids in general and the Emerald Enclave in particular.

  “One wolf?” The druid spoke softly, his attention riveted on Druz.

  “Yes.” She held his gaze full measure.

  “He has a pack at his heels,” Tethys said.

  “But there’s no evidence that any wolf except for the one has been part of the attacks,” Druz said. Tethys was striving to keep the scalps they’d taken, as well as freeing up the way to more. “One wolf.”

  “Has this wolf harmed any of your kith or kin?” the druid asked.

  Druz considered the question, knowing it would be easy to lie, but she felt certain that somehow the druid would know. She’d never been that accomplished at lying.

  “No.”

  “You hunt this wolf for gold,” the druid stated.

  “That’s not the reason,” Druz replied. “I saw those children. Their lives will never be the same. No matter what else happens to them, they will live with fear. I believe the wolf needs killing. Perhaps the wolf’s death will give them some measure of peace.”

  The druid cocked his head slightly. “There is more.”

  “I gave my word to the shepherd when I took his gold,” Druz said, not knowing if the druid would even understand the concept of payment for services.

  “One wolf?” the druid said.

  “Yes.”

  “Do you know which wolf it is?”

  “He’s full grown, starting to age. He has an old wound on the side of his muzzle.” Druz touched the right side of her face, dragging a finger from the corner of her eye to the corner of her mouth. “It was made by a blade—”

  “Or a trap,” the druid suggested. “The shepherds and stockmen put out traps. A few years ago, they were successful with them, but wolves are clever and patient. They soon learned how to trip the traps then take the bait.”

  “Perhaps,” Druz agreed, because she didn’t know and because agreeing with the theory was the easiest course to pursue. “At any rate, the scars left by the wound still show, and white hair has grown from it.”

  “I will kill the wolf,” the druid stated simply. “All of you can leave the forest.”

  “The hell we can,” Tethys blustered. “The man who hired us expects to see proof that we carried out our assignment.”

  “I will kill the wolf,” the druid repeated. “Not because you say it is necessary, but because the wolf may teach the rest of his pack to start hunting humans.”

  “You’ll protect people?” Forras asked, gazing at the elf druid in open distrust.

  “Not people,” the druid admitted. “The wolves. If the wolf that has done this teaches his pack to yearn for human blood, they won’t live long. Warriors will hunt them out of fear, or if the gold is right. There could be good traits—size, strength—that the wolf leader and his pack could pass on to the next generation if they’re allowed to live. I won’t have that chance lost if I can prevent it.”

  Tethys and Forras cursed belligerently.

  “Don’t act like you’re doing us a damn favor,” Tethys snarled.

  “It would be easier for me,” the druid stated, “to kill all of you than to kill the wolf.”

  The lantern light flickered in the silence that followed the elf’s words.

  Druz knew the warriors among the group would have a hard time accepting the challenge that the druid’s mere presence offered, much less the sting left by the elf’s words.

  “What will it be?” the druid asked.

  The warriors shifted.

  Arvis spoke next, his voice hollow and filled with fear. “Kord, I am tiring.” His blood seeped slowly down the druid’s scimitar. The druid held his position.

  “Let him go after the wolf,” Kord said.

  “You don’t speak for all of us,” Forras said.

  Kord turned to the smaller man, who wasn’t small at all. “I will in this matter, or I will stand with the druid.”

  “Against your own?” Tethys asked. “I’ve fought with you, Kord—you and your brother. I can’t believe that you would—”

  “If we live,” Kord interrupted, “we’ll have the chance to fight together again.”

  “He won’t kill Arvis,” Tethys replied, glaring at the druid. “He won’t dare. He knows we’ll track him down.”

  “Track a druid?” Druz said. The tone of her voice mocked them. “I’ve been told that even rangers can’t track druids through their homelands.” She took a step toward Tethys. “He will kill Arvis.”

  “You’re afraid of his words,” Forras accused.

  “Only a fool wouldn’t be afraid of the promises the druid has made tonight,” Druz said. “Kord and I will side with the druid.”

  “Traitors!” Tethys snarled. “All we have to do is stick together and this dandelion-sipper will back down.”

  Something large shifted in the forest at the tail of Tethys’ words. The men looked behind him, turning slowly.

  Though Druz felt relatively safe standing in front of the druid, the skin across the back of her neck tightened and prickled, and it felt like ice water ran down her back.

  A huge brown bear followed its nose from the brush at the back of the clearing. The animal looked ponderous and heavy, but Druz knew the mud-splattered brown pelt covered rolling muscle.

  Once, when she’d been in Chondath—protecting, under protest, a shipment of exotic wines bound for the Crying Claw—Druz had seen a bear and a bull fight to the death. She’d felt certain the bull would easily disembowel its opponent, but she was amazed by the speed and power of the bear. As it had turned out, the bear had beaten the bull as well as a pride of war dogs that had been loosed on it afterward.

  The druid’s bear growled, and the barking, howling sound echoed through the forest. It surged to its hind legs effortlessly, standing almost twelve feet tall. Druz guessed that the animal might weigh a ton.

  Cocking its head, the bear seemed to glare at Tethys in particular. Its black lips twitched back from fangs white as pearls. Massive claws glinted dully in the lantern light.

  Tethys flinched and stepped back involuntarily.

  “I already have someone who stands with me,” the druid stated quietly.

  The
bear roared again, and birds settled in the trees for the night took flight around them, daring the darkness rather than stay in the vicinity of the great creature.

  “I will go now to kill the wolf,” the druid said. “If I find you here in the morning, I will kill you as well.” He drew the scimitar from Arvis’s throat and slung the blood onto the dirt.

  Almost completely exhausted, Arvis collapsed to the ground. Kord started forward, but Druz stopped him, catching his arm with one hand.

  “Wait,” she urged quietly. “Arvis is still alive. Work to keep him that way.”

  “How do we know you’ll keep your word about killing the wolf, druid?” Forras demanded.

  “Because I gave my word.” The druid halted at the clearing’s edge, almost out of sight in the shadows. “Just as I give my word that I will kill you if you’re still in this forest in the morning.”

  “Your word isn’t good enough.” It wasn’t until after she’d spoken the words that Druz realized how barefaced they sounded.

  The forest seemed to grow still around her. The druid stared at her. Druz stayed ready to move, realizing that she was trapped between the elf and the bear. Her throat felt cottony and dry.

  “You doubt me,” the druid stated flatly.

  “The shepherd who retained our services,” Druz said quietly, “isn’t a man who’s going to be easily satisfied. His oldest son was horribly disfigured by the wolf’s attack. Even with clerics and healers, it’s going to be years before the boy is returned to his full health. The shepherd wants revenge for that.”

  “This is not about revenge,” the druid said.

  “That’s what I was paid for.”

  Druz held her head up defiantly. She stepped toward the druid.

  Arvis glanced around quickly then pushed himself along the ground as if afraid the druid would punish him first. He stayed down as he moved.

  Druz kept walking, closing in on the druid. He flicked his eyes past her warily, looking to see if the others would come to her aid. Druz wasn’t surprised when they didn’t. The bear was easily the biggest she’d ever seen.

  “I’m coming with you,” Druz said.

  Swift as a bird on a wing, the druid brought his scimitar up to Druz’s throat. She steeled herself, stopping her immediate response to draw one of the knives hidden behind her back. She thought she might even have had a chance at blocking the scimitar, but she knew she couldn’t allow the confrontation to come to that. If it had, one of them would have been killed.

  The blade lay coolly against her neck but didn’t bite into her flesh.

  “You could kill me,” Druz pointed out, knowing she was treading thin ice, “but if you did, perhaps you would rob my species of good traits for the next generation.”

  Even as she said that, she realized she might have thrown the druid’s own beliefs back in his face too hard.

  The druid cocked his head. “Perhaps … and perhaps there are traits in you that would be better weeded out to increase the longevity of your species.”

  “I’m coming with you,” Druz repeated, though less forcefully than she had the first time.

  “For the gold?” the druid asked.

  “Because I want the wolf dead. I saw what it did to that child, and I know how I would feel if I was the boy’s …” Druz swallowed hard. “You don’t have a choice other than to let me go. The shepherd who hired us has deep pockets. His stock has done well, and the recent war in the Sea of Fallen Stars has insured that he gets the best prices for his livestock.”

  The druid waited, his eyes flicking to the other hunters.

  “I can tell the shepherd that the wolf has been dealt with,” Druz said. She swallowed hard and felt the scimitar’s edge bite more deeply. “Otherwise, the shepherd may well fill these forests with hunters.”

  “It would be bad for the hunters,” the druid promised.

  Druz glared at him. “Could you kill them all?”

  “Perhaps. Patience is its own reward, and I am very patient.”

  “You couldn’t get them all,” Druz pointed out. “Not before they did considerable damage to this area’s wildlife. Besides hunting and killing wolves, they’d also be living off the land. If we didn’t come back, the shepherd will put even more men into the hunt. Those men would wreak havoc in these forests. Is that what you want?”

  The druid’s eyes locked with hers for a time, and for just a moment, Druz thought her life was forfeit.

  The scimitar flashed away from her neck, returning to the druid’s side.

  “Then come,” the elf said. “Keep up, because I’m not going to wait on you.”

  “I need my gear,” Druz protested.

  Without another word, the druid turned and vanished into the forest.

  Druz cursed, calling on Tyr to guide her and Mystra to watch over her as she foolishly followed her own sense of duty. She sprinted back to the group, snatched up her sword belt, then fisted her personal pack from the ground.

  “You’re a fool for going with him,” Kord said as he helped his brother to his feet. “That man will cut your throat and feed you to the wolves we’re hunting.”

  “He didn’t kill your brother,” Druz pointed out.

  “He knew he would have the rest of us against him if he did.” Kord’s youthful pride wouldn’t let him entirely accept the defeat he’d just been handed.

  “From what I’ve heard about the Emerald Enclave,” Druz said, settling the pack across her shoulders, “the druid would probably have made good on his threat to kill us all, even without the bear.”

  The bear, too, had disappeared back into the forest.

  “Don’t overlook the druid’s generosity.” Druz started for the clearing’s edge.

  “Then why are you going with him?” Kord asked.

  “Because I have to.”

  “That’s not it,” Tethys put in. “Druz has heard the jingle of the shepherd’s money bags. If she goes with the druid and brings back proof of the kill, she’ll claim the bounty for herself.”

  “No,” Druz said. “That’s not what this is about for me.”

  Tethys laughed mirthlessly. “We’ll see, girl, but if you try to cut us out of what’s lawfully ours, I’ll slit your throat myself.”

  Druz shrugged off the threat. She’d been around men like Tethys nearly all her life. In the next instant, she plunged into the forest, following the small, wiggling bushes that marked the druid’s passage. She lengthened her stride, hoping to catch up.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Do do you think he has something worth taking, Cerril?”

  Angry and paranoid, Cerril turned to the speaker, a small boy of about twelve—a year younger than Cerril. Before the other boy could move, Cerril cuffed his head.

  “Ow!” the other boy complained, wrapping his fingers and palms around his head in case Cerril decided to try his luck again. He ducked and took a step back. All of them knew to expect violence when Cerril got upset.

  “Whyn’t you just announce to the world what we’re after here?”

  “I’m sorry,” the younger boy said ruefully.

  “If one of these sailors overhears a question like that,” Cerril promised in a harsh whisper, “you’re going to have to learn to breathe through your ears because he’ll cut your throat for you.”

  “Not if we cut his throat first.” The young boy took a handmade knife from his ragged breeches and dragged the ball of his thumb along the uneven blade’s edge. Blood dotted his flesh and he licked at it with his pink tongue.

  “Oh, yeah, Hekkel,” one of the other boys sneered in a harsh whisper, “and how many throats have you cut this tenday? Or any other tenday? You still ain’t killed that man your mama’s taken up with this last month.”

  “Shut up!” Hekkel ordered, taking a small, defiant step forward.

  Cerril cuffed the small boy on the head again, eliciting a cry of pain this time.

  “Gods’ blood, Cerril!” Hekkel cried out. “Stop hitting me.”

&nb
sp; A passing sailor from one of the ships docked in Alaghôn’s harbor glanced over at them. He carried his duffel over his shoulder, a jug of wine in one hand, and had his other arm wrapped around the ample waist of a serving wench Cerril recognized from Elkor’s Brazen Trumpet.

  “Hey,” the sailor grunted, coming to a halt and staring into the shadows of the alley where the seven boys took shelter from scrutiny. “What the Nine Hells are ye children doing out here at this time of night?”

  “We’re not damned children!” Cerril snapped.

  He turned to confront the sailor. Anger burned along the back of his neck. His own mother, like Hekkel’s, oft times lived with sailing men on leave from one ship or another that put up prolonged anchorage in Alaghôn’s port. He’d never known his father.

  The sailor laughed, already three sheets to the wind. The serving wench wasn’t in much better shape.

  “Ye’re children,” the sailor argued. “Maybe ye’re mean, nasty, Cyric-blasted children, but ye’re still children.”

  Cerril’s knife leaped to his hand and he started forward. He was big for his age, almost as tall as the sailor and easily as heavy with the broad shoulders and thick chest he’d gotten from the man who’d sired him. He’d also gotten the terrible temper that filled him now. At least, that was what his mother told him when she yelled at him.

  “Ye going to come at me with that little tooth, boy?” the sailor taunted. He released the woman and stepped away from her, then drew the cutlass at his side. Moonlight silvered the blade. “If’n ye do, it’ll be the last thing ye do this night, I’ll warrant ye that.”

  Cerril stared at the thick blade and felt cold fear twist through his bowels. In stories he told the others in his pack, he’d confronted grown men with weapons before and bested them. Of course, in reality he’d only dealt with men too drunk to defend themselves.

  “Oh, leave off these children, Wilf,” the serving wench said. “They’re just out for a bit of fun. Boys playing at being fierce men, that’s all.”

  The sailor treated Cerril and his mates to another black scowl. He cursed and spat, and the spittle splashed against the cobblestones near enough to Cerril’s feet to make him take an involuntary step back.