Protector Of The Grove (Book 2)

by Trevor H. Cooley

  Sir Hilt cried out the elf’s name and ran to his side, Jhonate right on his heels. The named warrior cradled Yntri’s frail body close to him. Justan watched them go, but somehow could not make his legs move. He had seen the assassin strike. There had been nothing he could do.

  He lifted his arm and looked down at the wristband Yntri had given him. The wood was cold, the connection dead. Yntri was gone.

  Chapter Twenty

  Tarah crouched behind a bush, watching the dwarf camp and waiting for the steward’s signal. So far Steward Gray had been true to his word. There had been no guards posted at this corner of the camp. Esmine was chained up not far from the edge and though Tarah could not see her from where she crouched, she had heard the rogue horse whinny a few times.

  Willum was crouched next to her. His job was to keep to her side as she snuck through the tents to the wagon where Esmine was chained. This way the imp could warn her if any dwarves approached. Djeri was right behind Willum, ready to use the Ramsetter to cut through the rogue horse’s chains when they arrived. The rest of their party was waiting a little further back in the brush, ready to provide an escape route in case Tarah’s group was discovered.

  Steward Gray had suggested the whole group go in together, but Djeri had countered with this plan. It would be easier for three of them to sneak into the armed camp than eight. Jan and Cletus had argued, both of them upset that they might miss out on the opportunity to fight. In the end, cooler heads had prevailed and Steward Gray had promised to keep the dwarves busy as long as he could.

  Suddenly, a flash filled the night sky, followed by a great thud as a ball of fire rose into the air on the east side of the camp. Tarah’s eyes went wide. The steward had promised a distraction and it was more than effective. Shouts rang out at the camp and the smugglers rushed towards the source of the fire. Tarah made herself count to twenty, allowing as many of the dwarves to desert their positions as possible before she left her concealment.

  Tarah looked to make sure that no one was in sight, then ran for the edge of the camp, Willum and Djeri right behind her. There was a continuing chorus of rough shouts and ruckus to the west as she made her way around the first few tents.

  Tarah stayed low, making as little sound as possible. To her relief, the modifications Djeri had made to the padding in his new armor made him nearly as quiet. The little sounds Willum was making got on her nerves, though. His movement was silent enough, but he kept making grunts and breathing noises. She would have slapped him if doing so wouldn’t have slowed her down.

  Tarah rounded the corner of one last tent and the edge of the wagon came into view. Her heart skipped and she started to run forward, but Willum caught her arm. She looked back in irritation and he pointed to a stack of crates next to the wagon. There was a dwarf standing on top of the crates, his neck craned as he looked to the west.

  He was standing too close to Esmine’s position. He would have to be taken out before they could proceed. Tarah slid her staff into the harness on her back and took her bow off her shoulder, but Willum whispered, “He’s a dwarf. One shot might not be enough. Let me take care of this.”

  “You can do it with one hit?” she whispered in reply. Tarah was fairly sure she could shoot the dwarf through the throat and keep him from shouting.

  “Trust me.” The academy graduate snuck forward, coming up behind the smuggler. The dwarf was standing two crates high, putting his boots at the level of Willum’s shoulder. The academy graduate reached up, touched the blade of the axe gently between the dwarf’s shoulder blades, and mouthed the word, “Slice.”

  With a soft crack, a half moon shaped blade of air magic split the dwarf’s spine down the middle. All Tarah saw was a spray of blood as the dwarf arched his back and fell backward. Willum caught the dwarf’s heavy body and struggled to lay it quietly to the ground.

  With the threat out of the way, Tarah rushed around the wagon and her heart caught in her throat as she finally saw the rogue horse. Esmine stood next to the wagon, a sack draped over her head. The scales on her body were shifting from white to translucent in splotchy patterns as if there was something wrong with her magic. The rogue horse was anchored to the bed of the wagon by three chains. One was clasped around her neck and another one around each of her rear ankles.

  “Hey, it’s okay, Esmine,” Tarah whispered, running a comforting hand along the rogue’s flank. “I’m here.”

  Esmine grew very still. Tarah got a glimpse of Esmine’s thoughts and they were slow and confused. The dwarves had her drugged. She turned and gestured to Djeri. The dwarf came over, his sword unsheathed. Willum grabbed her arm.

  His eyes were concerned, “We’ve gotta go. Theodore says there are dwarves approaching.”

  “Now, Djeri,” she whispered and the dwarf brought his sword down, severing the chains on the rogue’s ankles.

  Tarah pulled the sack off of Esmine’s head. The rogue horse’s reptilian eyes were unfocused and she barely reacted. Tarah’s brow furrowed in concern. “What have they done to you?”

  Djeri raised his sword to cut the chain on her neck.

  “That will be enough!” commanded a familiar voice and Tarah looked back to see Shade walk out of a nearby tent, a loaded crossbow in his hand. He was wearing a dark cloak and white shirt with his customary red sash. He had a pleasant smile stretched across his otherwise bland face. At his appearance, dwarves appeared from several places, each of them with loaded crossbows of their own.

  A loud bell sound rang from Willum’s axe, causing some of the closest dwarves to wince. Tarah counted six dwarves and Shade. Her mind whirred as she tried to think of a way out of this. Why did they have to be using crossbows? The only one of them with armor strong enough to resist a crossbow bolt was Djeri and she knew he wouldn’t move with her in danger. Hopefully Willum’s alert would bring her friends before more dwarves showed up.

  “I take it that sound was a way to alert the rest of your group?” Shade said and with the knowing look on his face, Tarah knew that Steward Gray had betrayed them. No wonder the dwarves hadn’t tried to use freezing spells. “Don’t worry. They are being rounded up as we speak. You know, Tarah. I almost didn’t recognize you out of that filthy armor. Where did you pick up this new set? It’s quite lovely.”

  “You know I really was disappointed when I found out you didn’t die in that ferry crash,” Tarah replied.

  “That was an inconvenience,” Shade said. He gestured to the dwarves. “Tie them up.” He returned his focus to Tarah. “That little incident did upset me at the time, I’ll admit. But little was lost in the end. You still led us to a rogue horse like you promised. If only you hadn’t decided to try and steal it away, I might even have paid you for your work.”

  A dwarf came up behind her and yanked her bow from her hand. He forced her to kneel, then shoved her staff through her elbows and tied them behind her back, anchoring the knot to the harness on the back of her armor. Djeri and Willum received similar treatment, their arms tied behind their backs. The smugglers tossed their weapons into the back of the wagon to fight over later.

  “How embarrassing,” Shade remarked. “Tarah Woodblade, tied to her own staff.”

  Tarah couldn’t think of anything to say as a retort. What she felt wasn’t embarrassment. It wasn’t even fear this time. Not for herself anyway. Tarah closed her eyes, hoping that the rest of the party had gotten away.

  Moments later a larger group of dwarves arrived, dragging more prisoners. Dinnis was pulled in and tossed in front of Tarah. The guard had been hogtied and a gag shoved into his mouth. He shot her a helpless look filled with rage. Swen and Benjo were brought in next, looking battered and bloodied, but not seriously wounded. Jan, on the other hand, had a crossbow bolt sticking out of her chest and was limp. If not for the fact that they still had her arms tied, Tarah would have thought her dead.

  Tarah felt despair begin to overwhelm her as the dwarves tossed her friends’ weapons into the wagon with the others. This was it.
Willum’s imp had been wrong. Not just one of them would die. They all would and Esmine too. Then Tarah realized that she hadn’t seen Cletus. She suppressed a smile. As long as Cletus wasn’t captured, there was still a glimmer of hope.

  Two of the dwarves stepped forward and Tarah recognized them as Donjon and Blayne. Blayne was nearly as tall as Djeri and husky, with a long black handlebar mustache streaked with gray. He also had a bunch of odd trinkets in his hair that she hadn’t seen the first time she’d seen him. He carried a wide brimmed hat in his hands that had been cut nearly in two and he wasn’t happy about it.

  “What happened to your hat, Ringmaster?” asked Shade.

  The dwarf scowled. “Durn helmet girl tried to take my head off with a blasted pike’s what gall-durn happened! Had to shoot her to get her to stop yappin’.” He glanced over at Djeri and his bushy black eyebrows shot up. “Why I’ll be a son of a garl-friggin’ dog! Is that my sweet nephew Lenui here to join us?”

  Djeri didn’t say anything. With his full helm on, he very well could have been the blacksmith and no one would have been able to tell.

  “I dunno who it is,” said the dwarf who tied Djeri up. “I couldn’t get his helmet off.”

  “‘Course not. You can’t take the durn thing off. That’s old Lenui’s hero armor. I’d recognize it anywhere.” He walked over and kicked Djeri in the chest, knocking the dwarf onto his back. He put his foot up on Djeri’s chest and leaned in. “Oh, yer momma’s got a bone to pick with you over that last trick you pulled, son.”

  “Daddy, I don’t think that’s Lenui,” said Donjon. He was shorter than the ringmaster, but had the same bushy black mustache. A lit cigar hung out of his mouth. “I think that’s Djeri. He’s a Cragstalker. Remember? He was with Woodblade before. You know, Rorbley’s kid.”

  Blayne frowned. “That half-human bastard? You sure? But how’d Rorbley’s kid get Lenui’s armor?” He took his foot off Djeri’s chest and kicked him in his helmeted head. “Hey! Speak up you no good son of a half-breed.”

  “I’d rather eat a whole bucket of kobald turds than talk to scum like you, Blayne the Black,” Djeri growled.

  Blayne’s face darkened a bit at that name, but he shook his head and grinned. “Yer right, son. This ain’t yer cousin, Lenui. He thinks up much more elaborate curses.” He licked his lips. “It also means I get to think of all kinds of ways to pry that dag-burned armor off him. Maybe Maggie’ll let me keep it. You know, to sit in my trophy room.”

  “Are these the interlopers you told me about, Student Arcon?” said a new voice.

  Tarah turned her head to see a tall gnome walk past the wagon. He wore a light blue scholar’s robe and had a full head of black hair. A full retinue came in behind him including three men in white robes that followed at his heels. Two of them were beefy and wore red sashes across their chests while the third was thin and wore a sash striped with white and green.

  “Yes, Scholar Aloysius,” said the thin man, bowing. Tarah looked harder at the man. His hair was blond and his skin was paler, but he had the same emaciated look as the steward that had betrayed them.

  “You look different, Steward Gray,” she said with a glare. “Were you wearing a wig earlier?”

  The man the scholar had referred to as ‘Student Arcon’ didn’t so much as look at her in response. The scholar, however, raised an eyebrow and walked over to the prisoners. He didn’t walk like an academic to Tarah’s mind. He had the confident stride of a warrior.

  He peered down at them from above his long, but somehow distinguished-looking nose. “So this is a force from the Dremaldrian Battle Academy, you say?”

  “Yes, Scholar,” said Arcon.

  “Hmm. Well armed, several of them wearing magic armor. I see that they live up to their reputation.” He frowned. “You said that Cletus was with them. Where is he?”

  “I don’t know, Scholar,” said Arcon. “He was with them earlier.”

  “Weren’t no gnome with these folks when we nabbed ‘em,” Donjon said.

  Swen gave Tarah a dull look and she could tell that Cletus’ absence had been a surprise to them too.

  Aloysius reached out and snapped his fingers. Two lanky gnomes stepped forward from his retinue. Each of them was heavily armed, various weapons strapped to different places on their long bodies. “Do either of you know Cletus?” One of the gnome warriors nodded, though he looked embarrassed to admit it. “Good. Go to the west and find his tracks. Bring him back to me. Tell him I demand his presence. Don’t kill him unless you really need to.”

  “Yes, Scholar,” the two gnomes said in unison and they loped off.

  Aloysius glanced over at Blayne. “That is some sloppy work, ringmaster. From what I know of your reputation, I expected better.”

  “I didn’t just ignore it, yer scholarshipness,” said Blayne with a scowl. “I done sent men after him. They’s good trackers. They’ll find him.”

  “They are likely already dead,” Aloysius said with a shake of his head. “Warrior Cletus is somewhat of a special case. He is a savant, some might say. He is incredibly skilled, but far too scatterbrained to be dependable. I had him given to Tobias years ago as a joke. I should have known Tobias would try to use him against me some day.”

  The gnome turned his attention to the rogue horse. “Now for the reason we are all here.” He walked up to Esmine and stuck his hand under her chin, lifting her unfocused eyes to meet his. Her head flickered back and forth between white and translucent under his gaze. “Fantastic specimen. Under different circumstances I would want her as a mount. Her appearance is so . . . intimidating.” He dropped her jaw and stepped back. “Steward Jessica.”

  A white robed steward wearing a black sash stepped forward. She looked to be in her sixties and had a haughty air about her. She carried a wooden chest that seemed to be quite heavy by the way she was sweating, though she tried not to show it.

  She deposited the chest in Blayne’s hands and said, “This is your payment as agreed in our contract.” She pulled a scroll from within her robe and opened it up. “You will need to sign here as proof that you were paid in full.”

  “Seems a little dag-gum light,” Blayne said dubiously, opening the chest.

  “The amount is in precious stones and gems,” she replied. “Their value was appraised before we left Alberri. The jeweler’s statement is in the chest.”

  Blayne smiled at what he saw and shut the chest. “It’s always a pleasure workin’ with a gnome. She’s all yers, Scholar Aloysius.”

  Steward Jessica handed the dwarf a quill and he signed the scroll. When he had finished, she tucked the scroll away and moved back to her place in the retinue. Tarah couldn’t stand how all these people with their fine dress and finer manners could prance about while she and her friends sat bound and beaten before them. The stewards hadn’t so much as batted an eye in her direction.

  “Oliver,” said Aloysius.

  Shade approached the gnome. “Yes, Scholar.”

  “Fetch my leatherworker, will you? I’ve decided not to wait until morning.” Shade nodded and headed for the southern section of the camp. The gnome called out again, “Evan.”

  “Yes, Scholar,” said one of the beefy red-sashed stewards.

  “I’ll need my brazier,” Aloysius said. “Oh, and some salt.”

  “Yes, Scholar.”

  Tarah swallowed as the gnome inspected the rogue horse again. He wasn’t going to wait? Did that mean he meant to kill Esmine now? “Don’t do it!” she said. “Please don’t kill her, Scholar.”

  “You must be the leader of this group.” The gnome looked down at her. “Miss Tarah Woodblade, is it? Oliver has told me of your skills.”

  “Then you know I know animals,” Tarah said, thinking desperately of a way to turn this around. “You own her now. Do as you said. Use her as a mount. I spent some time with her. I-I know what she can do. She’s fast. She’s strong. She is amazing. She’ll make you invisible as you ride. Imagine that.”

  Sh
e thought she saw a flash of pity in his eyes and pressed on. Surely the elegant gnome before her wasn’t the monster of her dreams. “I knew the dwarfs wouldn’t care. They’re just in this for the money, but you. You are a scholar. Think about the history. She is a thousand years old and a survivor. I saw it in her mind when I met her. Her name is Esmine. Please. You know her name now. Don’t slaughter her. Use her.”

  The gnome nodded slowly. “Student Arcon, gag her.”

  The thin man with the blond hair gestured with a gloved hand and Tarah felt something tight clamp over the lower half of her face. She could breathe through her nose but she could not move her jaw. Tarah gave the scholar a pleading gaze.

  The look in his eyes was definitely pity. “You make a compelling case, Miss Woodblade. But you make a mistake when considering me a historian. I study history, not to write about it, but to learn from it. Applied knowledge is something that my people so often forget in their zeal to document the past.

  “Now normally I make it a point not to explain myself in public, but since I am about to launch a new and important age I will make a slight exception.” He reached into his robes and Tarah heard the distinctive twang of steel as he drew a sword from a sheath hidden within. He held it up, turning it in the firelight. The blade was thin and polished to a high sheen and Tarah could see a series of strange runes impressed into the metal. Some of them reminded her of the runes on her staff.

  “This sword has its own bit of history. I received it from the estate of one of my forefathers years ago. You could say that it launched my focus as a scholar. It is made of gnomish steel and imbued with bewitching magic. The plaque it was mounted over called it only, ‘The Sword of Mastery’. There was no other information with it. I have looked far and wide for records of its creation or use, but could find nothing. It was only through extensive experimentation that I discovered what it is capable of.”

  He smiled and brought the blade closer to Tarah’s face. She could see her angry visage reflected back at her in the metal. “When I pierce an enemy with this blade, I gain control over their will. Anything I request, they will do; spill any secret, promise any deed.”