by Robert Beers
An iron grip halted the slash and then yanked the sword out of Neely's hand. Eyes glowing with the fires of the pit glared down at him. “Little prey, see, I have regrown the hand you took,” it shook the sword, showing the tracker the restored hand.
The eyes brightened and flashed. Neely dove under the horse and the dark red beams passed over him shattering the tree behind where he stood. Small fires smoldered on the leaf cover around the stump but soon died in the wet. Neely lay in the damp leaves with the horse above him. He turned onto his back and, using his knife, sawed through the cinch strap. “If it worked on th’ one, it should work on th’ other,” He muttered, as he cut.
Charity sent her last arrow into the body of the rider and her fury went along with it. The thing now resembled a man-shaped pincushion with glowing eyes. It turned those eyes upon her and twisted its face into a half sneer. The horse was urged forward and it moved toward her in a slow walk. Her bowels turned to water. The thing had over a dozen of her arrows in it, most of them sticking right through and it still lived. Neely had cut off a hand and it regrew it, and now it was coming for her. She tried to run but her feet wouldn't move. The eyes glowed brighter.
A twisting bolt of blue-white radiance surged past Charity from behind and struck the rider full in the chest. Streamers of lightning arced and crackled throughout the glen, many of them grounding into trunks with the hiss and pop of superheated wood. The rider arched backwards, screaming in agony and fear. Blisters formed and ruptured on its face revealing a dull red glow like that of a dying coal. Charity stood transfixed as she witnessed her salvation.
“Attack it now!” Circumstance came up from behind Charity and stood next to her. “It has to be now while the magik is working.”
Neely, who'd rolled from under the horse after severing the cinch strap nodded grimly and strode toward the rider holding his knife at the ready. Flynn gave one last heave and pulled his ax from the Chestnut. He tested the blade briefly with a thumb and turned to join Neely.
Circumstance's body began to take on the blue glow of the power pouring forth from his hands. “Please, it has to be now.” His voice sounded weak and far away.
“Right,” Neely muttered. “It's us for it, then.” He darted in against the horse and, grabbing the severed strap, heaved it upwards, spilling the convulsing rider onto the forest floor.
“Lemme take it from here Neely.” Flynn stepped forward and, as if he was dividing a joint of meat, cut the downed rider into six pieces, arms, legs, torso and head. The legs took two strokes each. More of the black smoke poured out, filling the area with its stench.
The severed head continued to scream until Circumstance stood over it. “I'm sorry, but you don't belong here. You never have.” He raised his hands. The light that came from them held the brilliance of the sun. When everyone's vision had cleared the head was gone along with the other pieces.
Neely rubbed his eyes to clear the last of the spots and then walked over to stand next to Flynn. He looked down at the scorched spot on the leaves and nodded. “Well, that's that.”
Chapter Seventeen
“I tell you,” Felsten downed the last of his nut brown bitter and signaled for another, “I saw it meself. It were there on his hip the whole time him and that old Wizard was at the Library, hadda be worth a thousand golds, maybe more.”
The Librarian's assistant sat at a table in one of the pubs off the market square. The old man had finally relented and allowed Felsten to make the shopping trip instead of sending the cook. Most of the men in the pub now wore Grisham Guard colors. A few, like Felsten, enjoyed an immunity from such service due to age or disability. He'd finished his shopping and paid a boy at the market to deliver the boxed goods to the dock. The brown ale that slid into place before him would be his fourth. Felsten was feeling quite mellow.
“A thousand golds?” The pensioner across the corner from Felsten shook his head and chuckled. “That's the ale talking lad. Ain't no sword worth a thousand golds, not even the one that Labad hisself carried during the magik war.”
A man wearing a brand new set of Corporal stripes laughed and signaled for a refill.
“You sure?” Felsten took on a stubborn look after downing a good portion of his drink. “What if it was Labad's sword, huh? I live in the library an’ I seen books describin’ Labad an’ his stuff. How many swords you seen with a solid gold dragon comin’ outta the hilt, huh? I seen one an’ it was on that young Lord's hip, what about that, huh?” He belched into his fist.
“Ok, young feller,” The pensioner drawled out the words, “seein’ how you got the whole pub's attention, tell us about this here scion you saw. You telling us there's a new Emperor walking around Grisham? Does the Duke know about this?”
The entire pub erupted into laughter.
Felsten glowered for a moment and then buried his nose into his tankard. When he came up for air the tankard was empty. He carefully put it onto the bar and stood up, weaving slightly. “I think I said ‘nuff.”
The gaffer chuckled while wiping out a glass, “I think you had enough.” There was more laughter.
Felsten left the pub with his face aflame, accompanied by hoots of laughter and howls of derision.
A guard lieutenant watched the Librarian's assistant as he left and continued to stare at the door for a long moment afterward. He lowered his head in thought for a moment, raised it to finish his wine and then left the pub.
The following day a rumor began circulating through Grisham that the heir of Labad had returned.
* * * *
The day before, Sammel had picked up Ellona and took her by cart into the foothills west of Berggren to find the Dwarf Healer. Now the cart jostled over the bumps and potholes that made up the backcountry roads. Sammel's donkey moved at one pace, not quite as slow as a shell crawler but plodding enough to add to Ellona's anxiety.
“When are we going to get there Sammel, Jonas only has so much time and we've used up one day already.”
The old man drew on his pipe and blew out a fragrant smoke ring, “Almost there Ellona, almost there. You see that copse of Cedar above that cliff face?” He pointed with his pipe at a grouping of tall trees jutting above a sheer cliff to their right and about two hundred yards away. Between the road and the cliffs, noble sword grass clumps shared the flat with low scrub and berry brambles. “His hut's behind those trees.”
“But we're moving away from it,” Ellona protested.
Sammel chuckled around his pipe. “Don't know about you but I don't fancy my chances on being able to scale that cliff. This road follows along it for a half mile and then it does a snake dance to the top of the bluff. If things haven't changed much we should be able to get the cart up to his front door, don't you worry.”
True to Sammel's word the road continued straight for another half mile and then began a sharp climb with several switchbacks. Ellona's heart was in her throat for the last few hairpin turns. The road grew narrow enough that it could not be seen under the cliff side wheels. To Ellona's eyes, it looked as if they were riding on thin air on one side and scraping along the cliff on the other.
The scent of Cedar came to them as soon as they crested the top of the bluff. A tree-lined tunnel showed where the road entered the forest. Sammel clicked his tongue and urged the donkey on. Once under the trees the sound of the iron-wrapped wheels died, smothered by the deep layer of mulch on the forest floor.
Ellona shifted in her place on the cart bench. “Oh that's better. My backside feels like it's been paddled from all that jouncing up and down.”
Sammel nodded, “Aye, it's like this now, all the way to the hut.”
That got him an accusing look. “You knew. You knew all the time, didn't you? This isn't a search, we're going right to his front door.”
“Never said I didn't know where he lived Ellona. Just said it'd be a trip getting there. This particular Dwarf lives by his self because he likes being by his self. If you're looking for a hermit I wouldn't suggest s
earching the market square, would you?” He smiled at his passenger.
She smiled in return, “No, I suppose not.”
They rode through the Cedars in silence for the rest of the way, each of them occupied within their own thoughts. Deeper into the wood the depth of the ground cover thickened to where the cart rocked slightly as if on water. Large golden brown mushrooms pushed their way through the leaves, well protected from the sun.
The trees ended at the base of another cliff. This one had the look of a mountain having lost a good-sized chunk of itself in ages past. Above them, the cliff face of The Spine climbed into the clouds.
“There's the hut,” Sammel nodded toward a thatch roof extending from the cliff wall several cartlengths in front of them. Below the roof, a half-circle door, intricately carved and Dwarf-high graced the hut's entrance.
“Is the healer in?” Ellona gripped the cart bench tightly. “What if he isn't in? How will we find him?”
“He's in.” Sammel reined the donkey in just before the door. “He's always in. That is,” he paused to climb down out of the cart, “unless he's in the forest gathering some of those mushrooms we saw.”
At Ellona's gasp he shook his head. “Not to worry. Old Zasloff only ventures out predawn or after sundown. A lot of the old ones are like that, they're not much fond of the sun.”
She got down out of the cart and joined Sammel at the door. “Will he come back with us then? We have to travel straight through to get back in time. That means riding during daylight.”
The door was yanked open before Sammel could either knock or quiet Ellona's concern. An elderly Dwarf stood in the doorway glowering at them. He said nothing but just filled the opening with his broad hands planted on his hips. Zasloff only came up to just below Ellona's chest but he looked more than sturdy enough to her. After a long, long moment the Dwarf blew out his white moustaches and nodded. “Sammel, what brings you here this time, is this some doxie in need of a love potion?”
Ellona bristled, “What?”
“Take no offense Ellona,” Sammel placed a calming hand on her arm, “that's just Zasloff's usual cheery greeting to an old and dear friend. And a bright good morning to you too, honored Dwarf. We are here on a matter of the utmost urgency.”
Zasloff snorted, his hands remained on his hips. “That's what you all say. Most of the time it's a lie. So what is it, a sliver in a toe, a bruised nail, or perhaps my talents are needed for the dire emergency of an upset stomach?”
“It's the Chills.” Ellona stepped in front of Sammel and confronted Zasloff stare for stare. “My son has the chills and he'll die if you don't come back with us and heal him.”
“Ellona!” Sammel blurted out, scandalized. “You don't come right out and make demands of a Dwarf. There are rituals and traditions that have to be followed. Zasloff old friend, please forgive her, she's distraught and her boy is quite ill ... as she said.”
The old Dwarf was shaking. Ellona stepped back, fearing she'd enraged him. There had been stories told of the legendary Dwarfish temper and she did not want to be within reach of it when it blew. Sounds came from Zasloff's beard. After a bit Ellona realized they were chuckles. Soon the chuckles changed into full-throated gales of laughter.
Sammel gaped at the healer for a second and then slowly closed his mouth. He looked at Ellona with something akin to awe. “He's laughing, Zasloff's laughing Ellona! I've known this Dwarf for nearly forty years, and in all that time I haven't even seen him so much as crack a smile.”
“Of course I'm laughing, you old fool. What did you expect me to do, whip out my axe and chop her into mincings?” Zasloff stepped in and away from his doorway, still chuckling as he beckoned them into his house with a sweep of his right arm. “Come in and tell me what you can about this child.”
Ellona and then Sammel entered the Dwarf Healer's house, ducking their heads to avoid cracking them on the lintel.
Unlike his door, the inside of Zasloff's dwelling contained ceilings high enough to accommodate beings other than Dwarves. The furnishings, though rather plain by human standards, were positively luxurious compared to those enjoyed by the average Dwarf. A front room just to the left of the entry held a nicely furnished sitting room with a number of bookshelves busy doing what they do best. A little further along, a door to the right opened onto what was obviously an office. Zasloff took the chair behind the desk and indicated for Ellona and Sammel to sit.
The Dwarf leaned forward on his desk and opened both his hands, “Ok, tell me.”
So Ellona did, starting from Jonas’ first headache complaint through Nicoll's help in nursing the boy to Sammel's offer of help and the trip to the healer's front door. She finished her story with a question. “Why were you laughing, was it at me?”
Zasloff smiled and then he began to chuckle, “No, not at you lassie, because of you. Not in over seven hundred years has a woman of any species come right out and told me what she wanted. Dwarf females are too close-mouthed and Elves, well ... their males have them so beaten down they may as well be herd animals. Humans tend to keep their females away from the likes of me but the ones I have seen, treated me like some rogue Wizard who might steal their soul at any moment. But you,” he chuckled some more, “showed all the fear of a forest cat eyeing a prospective meal. I felt like a rabbit in the snare.” The chuckles became laughter again.
When he could speak again he wiped his eyes and pushed himself up using the edge of his desk as leverage. “I've said enough and you've told your story. Shall we go?” Without waiting for an answer he walked out from behind his desk and into the hallway.
Ellona felt completely at a loss. This hadn't gone anywhere even close to her expectations. She turned to Sammel, “Are all Dwarfs like this?”
Her answer was a shake of the head. Sammel got out of his chair and left Zasloff's office with Ellona on his heels. They made the journey back to Berggren in a day and a half. The Dwarf Healer rode silently with his chin tucked against his chest for most of the journey, only the occasional chuckle told Ellona and Sammel he wasn't always sleeping.
* * * *
Milward stopped and turned to look at the ribbon of highway behind him. It stretched to the horizon. He leaned on his staff and blew out a sigh, Frog droppings, but it was a long road.
It was now two days since he managed to free himself from the Dreamsnatcher's attack and he still had no idea where he was. Part of the problem had to be the time of the year. Along the coast it could be the same temperature from Firth to Southpointe and Wycliffe to Orbis. Another part was the lack of distinct landmarks. It was apparent he was on a coastline, but which one? The ocean he faced was east of him, obviously. Even with the coastal fog only a total fool couldn't tell when and where the sun rose or the fact that he was on Labad's highway, but that still left two coastlines from which to choose. On top of it all, having to walk after the fight wasn't doing his temper any good. With the wall between his world and shadow getting weaker, he didn't dare try another vortex. Plus, he was already tired of seafood for breakfast, lunch and dinner.
Milward blew out another sigh and turned back to his walk. At least he'd had the good fortune to land close to the highway. It would take a bagful of putting one foot in front of the other, but eventually he was going to reach a city or a town and then he'd find out where he was for certain. He just hoped he wasn't walking back to Grisham.
The fog was just burning away when a sense that he was being followed caused him to turn around. Near to the point where the highway vanished over the horizon a dark blot moved. It looked to be coming his way. Milward gathered the power and focused it into a viewing; soldiers, of the Southern Empire by the look of their uniforms. He found a soft spot on the highway and settled down to wait.
His chosen spot placed him dead center in the road. The officer in charge of the troops did not find that at all amusing. “Move old one. I've no desire to trample one of my elders into the highway,” He sounded tired and saddle sore.
“
Well ... at least you've sense enough to know I'm no child.” Milward favored the officer with a level stare as he leaned on his staff. “Perhaps you also have enough to tell me where I'm standing,” he smiled, “other than the middle of Labad's Highway, that is.”
“I don't have time for foolish old men, father. Just move aside and let the army of the Ortian Empire pass and we'll leave you to your ruminations, or whatever it is you've been doing.”
A tendril of gold fire played around the tip of the Wizard's staff. “What I've been doing is waiting for you, child, and you will take all the time I require of you.” The tendril flared into brilliance. “Now answer my question!”
“...protect us, he's a Wizard.”
“He'll have the Captain's liver for sure.”
“...didn't sign on for this.”
The murmurs came from behind the Ortian Captain, audible only to Milward's heightened sense of hearing. He smiled to himself, at least I didn't have to do anything flamboyant.
“You're not answering my question boy, and I don't like waiting.”
There was a noticeable gulp from the Captain. Milward could see beads forming on the man's brow. “Uhmm,” the officer cleared his throat, “you are standing roughly midpoint between the cities of Orbis and Ort on the Southwestern branch of the Imperial Highway.”
“And where do you children happen to be heading?” Milward was pleased to note his insult raised a furrow in the officer's forehead. The man had a spine at least.
A pause and then, “We travel to Ort for muster and then on to the north to join in the fighting.”
The war, he'd nearly forgotten about it and his reason for shaping the vortex in the first place. He leaned forward, “How far to Ort?”
“Master Wizard,” The officer fought to keep his composure, “We can either remain here answering your questions and gain no ground on our journey, or you can ride with us...”
