“No, he will not.” replied Yully flatly.
“You’re one of his longest serving and most trusted advisors.” stated Manfir. “I’ll wager you consider yourself a fair manipulator of my father.”
“That I do.” smiled Yully.
“Then use those talents now to make him see the sense behind these plans.” requested Manfir. “Make him understand that we are in a fight for the lives of all and not just the preservation of his beloved city. Make him see that this battle is about so much more than Macin of Zodra.”
Yully bowed deeply.
“I will, my lord.”
CHAPTER 18: THE ICY GRIP
Vieri scouted the foothills of the Scythtar Mountains. The Great Northern trade route diminished to a simple path twenty leagues from the mountains and disappeared within ten. Zodrian forces normally spread East and West by this point.
The Northern plains rolled up to the mountains and ended abruptly at a roaring torrent known as the Frizgard River. The Frizgard was a confluence of the many icy cataracts that fell from the melting snowcaps of the great mountains. The river ran erratically from West to East along the bluffs and foothills of the Scythtar, before turning South and entering the Erutre grasslands.
The Scythtar Mountains rose directly from the river’s frigid waters. Massive granite slabs leapt one giant step up to the bluffs and cliffs of the foothills then they rose in another great leap to the snow covered peaks.
The Borz assassin scouted up and down the river for a suitable crossing. She found one slightly East of the boy’s projected course. The old man’s group must be bringing the boy North of the river to rendezvous with the Ulrog. Rada said Amird wanted the boy. The Ulrog were the quickest way to deliver the lad to Kel Izgra.
Certainly the Elven girl would scout the crossing area first and possibly contact the Ulrog. More importantly, the Elven girl would need to expose herself to make contact at the river. If the Ulrog were properly motivated and deceived concerning the Elf’s actions, this would be the perfect time for them to strike.
Vieri’s plan was dangerous. She needed to cross before the old man and his scouts arrived at the fjord. She desired to rouse the Ulrog. The assassination of a priest would properly incite them. Then, Vieri wished to lead them back to the crossing and offer evidence that the assassin moved freely in and out of Ulrog territory.
When the Elf girl attempted to cross, the Ulrog would strike. The girl’s death would be the perfect conclusion to Vieri’s plan. In time, the Ulrog would discover that they eliminated an ally, but by then it would be too late for the boy. Vieri would see to that.
She frowned. The gray haired Guardsman was a problem, but Vieri hoped to avoid him altogether. The boy was a wanderer. He proved that time and again. He stumbled through life completely unaware of the danger that followed him. The Windrider glanced at the churning rapids in front of her. What Southern boy could resist staring at the surging water of a wild northern river? Vieri looked up to the bluffs opposite the river and smiled.
“We must move on.” said Ader. “We’ll travel to the Frizgard, then head East once the Sprites leave us. At some point we will come across Temujen’s people.”
The group headed North. The white faces of the snow covered mountains stared down upon them as the peaks leapt higher and higher above the horizon with every stride. It amazed Kael how something seemingly so near was actually so far away. The more they traveled the larger the range loomed, yet the base of the mountains never came into view.
The group traveled another full day before they started to climb the rolling foothills that lay at the base of the great range. As evening came, the riders approached a wall of granite that echoed with the sound of rushing water.
“The Frizgard.” stated Ader. “It flows from within the Scythtar and cuts a gorge across a good portion of the range’s face.”
The group made camp just South of the charging currents in a grove of stunted trees surrounded by thickets. Just beyond the thickets to the North, the Frizgard rushed a few yards below a long barren slab of stone. As usual, Kael set about collecting firewood and caring for their mounts.
Eidyn spent the entire ride in sullen silence, and as he approached Kael to share in the task, the Elf still seemed as if talk were the last thing on his mind. Kael watched Granu approach Cefiz near the fire.
“A good camp this close to the Scythtar.” said the giant. “The river protects us to one full side.”
The Guardsman grunted and nodded his agreement, but Kael saw something else enter his face. Cefiz rose. The lieutenant retrieved a small crossbow from his belongings and wandered toward the sound of the rushing water. The sound of the torrent intrigued Kael ever since they arrived. He finished working on his mount then slowly trailed after Cefiz.
When the boy reached the edge of the grove he forced his way through a thick line of brush. He untangled himself and stood twenty yards from the churning rapids known as the Frizgard.
Cefiz stood at the edge of the river on a huge granite overhang. The rapids churned several yards below. Kael watched as the lieutenant scanned the river. Its black face erupted here and there with foam. The water powered its way past partially submerged boulders. Kael was both drawn to and fearful of the river. Its power struck him with awe. Nothing could navigate such a force. The boy glanced at a huge white swirl, bubbling just beyond a great black hump in the water. How many hidden dangers lurked just under the surface of this snake?
The lieutenant finished his inspection of the river’s surface and felt satisfied. He turned his attention to the bluffs and cliffs rising up into the night sky across the river. Cefiz eyed the cliffs for a moment then tossed a handful of dried leaves into the air above the torrent. The tiny brown blades flipped and danced in the gusting winds before they slowly fell and settled in the river below. Immediately, the blades spun and twisted down the waterway, disappearing from view.
Cefiz turned his attention once more to the cliffs above then turned East and slowly picked his way along the river’s edge moving away from the camp.
Vieri waited on a small outcrop of the soaring cliffs and smiled to herself. She liked the North. These cliffs and rising plateaus were something she possessed little experience with in her life amongst the sands, but in many ways they suited her abilities even greater than her homeland. She felt safe and secure in her location knowing neither Zodrian nor Ulrog would look for her on the dark, treacherous ledge, let alone attempt to reach her.
Vieri spent the day hidden in the shadows of the ledge and waited patiently. Rada first counseled patience. An assassin who could not master patience was a dead assassin. The trick, Rada instructed, was to make yourself useful to the clan for years, not a single assignment.
The river crossing lay in perfect view from her perch. A plunging cataract and time had sculpted a long, narrow ravine reaching from the heart of the Scythtar. Debris, washed from the ravine, lay strewn about a shallow, flat area where the river slowed and sluggishly pushed around a great spur of the mountain.
The Ulrog came at dusk. The bulk of their force hovered just inside the tree line while their scouts roamed both sides of the river. Vieri smiled. She knew exactly what they would find in their search. Usually, the Windrider meticulously kept signs of her passage to a minimum. However, she used no caution at this crossing. She crossed the fjord many times over the past several days and left ample evidence of her travels.
The scouts returned to their masters with this information. Someone made several journeys across the shallows of the river. The traces were the same as those near the camp where their priest lie dead. This assassin, small and fleet of foot, used the crossing as a conduit into the Scythtar. The Ulrog leader growled a few orders and the pack quietly bled into the surrounding forest.
Vieri sat amazed. The Ulrog were masters of stone and rock. The beasts huddled just inside the tree line against the broken rock and fallen timber of the mountain slopes and disappeared from the eye. Vieri was painstaking
ly careful in her work, but watching the Ulrog gave her a greater appreciation of the danger she put herself in.
It took the Elven girl an hour to appear. Once again Vieri gave credit to an adversary. The Windrider concentrated hard on the river, yet didn’t see the girl until she was nearly half way across. Remarkable , thought the Windrider.
The Ulrog made their move once the girl committed to the crossing. The Elf crept nearly three quarters of the way across when huge figures broke from the tree line and splashed into the current. They ran hard to prevent the Elf’s escape then slowly drew in around her. The Ulrog believed the Elf to be the assassin of their priest. Her supposed handiwork from the previous evening left them with equal parts caution and aggression.
The Elf didn’t panic. She stood mid river and drew a small tube from inside her garments. The first Ulrog to step within three yards of the girl immediately clutched his throat and fell to the ground choking. The remaining Ulrog hesitated for a moment, but a giant priest broke from his cover in the tree line and barked a guttural order to the Hackles. They rushed the Elf and overwhelmed her.
Vieri felt satisfaction. She successfully planned and implemented the removal of one of the vessels most crucial supports. He would be that much more exposed when the girl died.
Suddenly, the priest jumped from the river’s edge and charged the group. A scuffle took place among the Ulrog as the priest used the blunt edge of his cleaver to beat some of the Hackles back.
Vieri had taken great pains to eliminate a high ranking priest in the area. She hoped the remaining Ulrog craved immediate revenge, but this priest held authority and apparently intended to question the girl. Vieri cursed her luck. If allowed to speak, the girl might change everything. Several Hackles pointed to their fallen comrade and howled for vengeance. Vieri saw possibilities in her favor. The Hackles were growing more vocal and called for blood. A larger member of the pack held the girl tightly in his arms, ready to tear her apart.
Another large figure crashed from the tree line. However, this Ulrog moved from south of the river. Vieri blinked as she recognized the huge Scribe that followed the boy’s group. He was an Ulrog for certain, but Rada had sworn all Scribes, no matter their background, were free from any affiliation in the great struggle. Vieri frowned. She wondered if even the Scribes played a hand in the conspiracy surrounding the boy. This whole business was bound to end badly for the Shan tribe.
The Ulrog pack surrounding the Elf girl froze as the Scribe waded into the shallow river. The group spun in unison and faced the Scribe. They visibly tensed. The huge, gray robed figure approached to within two yards then dropped his hood.
Vieri cursed her positioning. The sound of the flowing river coupled with the distance hampered her ability to hear the exchange below. The Scribe appeared to be directing the Hackles. The Ulrog priest stared at the Scribe then barked orders to his underlings. The Hackles quickly gathered the girl in and fled from the river into the ravine to the North.
The Scribe followed their progress from his position mid river, then turned and reentered the tree line from which he had appeared. Vieri waited a time then stood and slowly stepped from her spot on the cliff. The silken wings snapped open and the Windrider floated to the ravine’s opening below.
Vieri was confused. Her plan for the girl’s quick death had failed. Certainly the girl revealed her identity and affiliation with the boy by this point. She must have told the Hackles that the old man and the boy were within their reach. They would release her and seek out the boy. Perhaps they were unwilling to believe her tale and waited for corroboration.
Whatever the reasoning, Vieri saw her opportunity. The Ulrog held the girl. This situation would satisfy Vieri’s needs as much as the girl’s death. The Elf girl’s smaller counterpart was somewhere out there, but Vieri would risk it. She determined to follow the Ulrog into the mountains to ensure they held the girl, then she would finish her plan. Vieri turned from the river and slid in amongst the pines moving North up the ravine.
Had the Windrider remained only a few moments longer, she would have seen a gray haired Zodrian picking his way along the river’s southern edge looking for a suitable crossing.
Cefiz kept one eye on the woods to the north of the river and another on his footing. The river swirled two yards below but slowed and grew tamer a league East of the campsite. Ahead the river widened and slowly churned around boulders and debris washed in from a northern ravine.
This would certainly be an access point to and from the Scythtar for the Ulrog. The ravine climbed steadily to the heights of the cliffs towering above the Frizgard.
The Guardsman slowly worked his way along the rugged embankment then halted in a clump of thickets just West of the crossing. In the low light he intently surveyed both shorelines, then the river itself. His eyes locked on movement in the middle of the crossing. A boulder rocked gently back and forth, buffeted by the current. Cefiz crept from his cover and moved into the water. It wasn’t a boulder. A large Hackle lay face down in the icy flow. A brightly feathered dart protruded from the thick neck of the beast and the hide around the dart discolored to a purplish black.
Cefiz’s eyes shot up to the northern shoreline. He sensed no movement or sound. If the Ulrog watched him, surely they would have set upon him by now. Cefiz assured himself of his momentary safety, then inspected the crossing.
Tracks were everywhere. Overturned rocks, their slime covered bottoms turned up to the moonlight were strewn about the center of the river. Some of the rocks were rather large. Cefiz found it hard to believe anyone other than an Ulrog’s big clumsy feet could have stumbled through the river and created such disarray.
The dart demonstrated explicit evidence that Lilywynn passed this way. The Guardsman didn’t want to jump to conclusions, but he feared the worst. He moved to the southern shore to get a better read on what occurred. There he found the fresh delicate tracks of Lilywynn slowly creeping into the crossing. However, he also found nearly identical tracks from a day or two previous. The tracks were old yet were surprisingly vivid. The person who made these tracks came and went several times over the last few days and appeared to move without a care of discovery. The Windrider.
Once again Cefiz turned his attention to the northern tree line as he made his way across the river to the shore. The embankment was less pronounced here and the wash from the ravine created a sandy shoreline. The Ulrog had entered the crossing from the ravine and dragged Lilywynn ashore. The erratic gate of the delicate footprints showed Lilywynn’s struggles.
Cefiz looked deeper at the signs and again discovered older, almost identical tracks from the Windrider throughout the area. They led into the mountains and out again several times. These tracks also bore the attitude of surety, as if the assassin didn’t care if she were discovered, or held the Ulrog’s blessings for her movements.
Cefiz could only reach one conclusion. The Windrider moved in and out of the Ulrog’s territory with their approval. Perhaps the Windrider met the Ulrog here to help guide her. The Ulrog probably captured and killed Lilywynn then retreated.
Either way, Cefiz settled on one conclusion. The Windrider would make another attempt on Kael’s life, possibly tonight. The assassin craved the kill herself. Teeg said they never gave up, and this assassin followed her orders. The Windrider was nothing if not thorough and her preparation was something to be admired. Cefiz looked to the south shore where the group’s encampment lay, then to the cliffs rising above the Frizgard. He prayed he wasn’t too late. He prayed the Windrider once again waited on the dead of night to make her assault from the cliffs above.
Nostr stood in a grove of trees on the southern shore of the Frizgard. The Scribe stood impassively watching Cefiz scale the slope of the northern ravine heading to the heights of the Scythtar. The Guardsman struggled over a few steep patches, but within the hour he reached the ravines top and moved into the trees along the cliff line. Nostr turned and hefted a small bundle that lay at his feet over his shoul
der. The Ulrog Scribe turned West and headed from the crossing.
Vieri tracked the Ulrog for several leagues into the mountains. The beasts neither posted sentries, nor did they leave Hackles behind to cover their retreat. They were within their own territory and showed no fear. They assumed they captured the assassin who killed their priest and eliminated any threat. Vieri came close enough on several occasions to witness the retreat. The Elf girl was bound and gagged to stop her struggling. This suited Vieri. If the Elf could not talk, she could not reveal her role in bringing the vessel to Izgra.
Vieri turned from her path and moved back toward the river. If the Windrider executed her plan correctly, the vessel would be dead before the Ulrog ever had time to properly question the girl.
CHAPTER 19: FREE FALL
Cefiz heaved from the exertion of his climb. The steep grade proved difficult and even more so with the unsure footing of the broken rock. The cliff top ran East to West into the blackness of the night. No trees grew on the granite surface of the cliff’s ledge. Instead, the pines and spruce huddled thirty yards from the drop-off on slopes rising toward the mountain’s peak.
Cefiz crept along the edge of the cliff trying to hear any sound of danger. This proved nearly impossible. The wind stripped the Guardsman of his ability to hear anything out of the ordinary. He gauged that he traveled far enough West to be approximately due North of his group’s camp. Cefiz turned and looked to the churning ribbon of black and white below. The wind whipped and the moon shadows of the clouds raced across the treetops. Cefiz strained his eyes. There in the distance, on the floor of the plains below, he caught a glimpse of twinkling flame from the camp.
A trio of large boulders lay a few yards from the cliff’s edge, the byproduct of some massive landslide ages ago. The weather scarred their surface and left them cracked and torn. Cefiz wedged himself between their broken sides and hunkered down. If he were right, he need only wait.
The Pool And The Pedestal (Book 2) Page 24
