Mark of Fire (The Endarian Prophecy Book 1)

by Richard Phillips

  Arn found an unoccupied table, wiped the beer off the top with his sleeve, sat down, and whistled for service.

  Across the room, the she-vorg sat next to the stage, her hairy arm around a fair-haired bandit, the other vorgs in her circle clustered in tight conversation.

  Just then, a large and boisterous group walked in through the front door. The room filled rapidly. The bar noise bubbled up as drink flowed from keg to glass to lips. Arn scanned the crowd for the cause of the early-afternoon celebration. A fat, bald man stepped up onto the stage and rang a bell, sending a hush of anticipation through the room.

  “Respected buyers. Today I have a special treat for you,” the fat man bellowed. “A fresh lot of slave girls, recently captured from a passing caravan. These girls have not yet felt the touch of a captor’s hand.”

  “More likely all their captors’ hands and other parts, too,” yelled the she-vorg to a tremendous roar of approval from the other spectators.

  Arn turned toward the stage, a barely concealed outrage lancing forth. Bandits and vorgs bought and sold slaves throughout the outlands, living loot from raided caravans or villages. The raiders generally killed the male captives, unless the likes of the she-vorg wanted them. The women were not so lucky, taken and used by their captors, then sold at auction in the next town, where their new owners used them more.

  “And now for the real treat,” the fat man continued.

  The back door flew open, and a middle-aged woman was thrust onto the stage. Nude, with black hair and a motherly build, she showed signs of the lash on her legs and back. Her unseeing eyes stared out at the hungry crowd.

  The bidding started very slow until an old man bought her for three silver pieces. For the next hour, the slaver paraded women and children onto the stage, selling them to the highest bidder. As time passed, John’s face acquired a pale-green hue, and Arn worried that he might start trouble. In truth, Arn felt his own bloodlust boil up from within as he watched the ongoing atrocity.

  Suddenly the fat man returned to the stage and rang a bell. “We start the bidding for this last girl at ten gold,” he said with a flourish. “I present to you an Endarian princess, captured on her way east under heavy guard.”

  As the door opened, an intake of breath hissed through the tavern. Charna rose slowly to her feet. A one-eyed slaver led a young Endarian woman onto the stage in chains, her head held high and proud, her majesty unmistakable. Her brown face was framed by luxuriant hair that cascaded to her waist. At six feet tall, she stood a head shorter than others of her kin, who had until four centuries ago been the most populous of the races on the Endarian Continent. Since Endarians had twice a human’s lifespan, Arn could not accurately judge her age.

  “Twenty gold,” yelled a bearded man in the back.

  “Thirty,” countered another near the stage.

  “Fifty!”

  The fat man pointed to a tall warrior in the center. “The gentleman bids fifty gold. Do I hear sixty?”

  “One hundred gold!” Charna bellowed.

  A low moan of disappointment passed through the crowd, but no one matched the she-vorg’s offer.

  Ringing the bell once again, the fat man’s voice echoed through the hall. “Sold to Commander Charna for one hundred gold.”

  As the she-vorg walked to the stage and tossed a heavy pouch at the fat man’s feet, John’s hand slipped to his bow.

  Arn stopped him with a hiss. “Not now.”

  Suddenly a big vorg jumped to his feet, his hairy hand pointing directly at Arn, a deep growl rasping his throat. “Blade!”

  Hearing the dreaded name, Arn knew the time for observation had ended.

  When, exactly, he had first acquired the nickname, Arn couldn’t remember. A man did not become a legend without consequences. None would remember Arn Tomas Ericson, but no one would forget Blade.

  The feared name echoed through the room, raining a stunned silence upon the gathering. All eyes followed the pointing hand of the yelling vorg directly to where Arn sat. Men and vorgs scrambled to clear the path between them, overturning chairs in their rush.

  Arn leaned over to John and whispered, “Wait for your chance, then grab the Endarian and head for our spot. I’ll be along shortly.”

  John started to argue and then glanced toward the Endarian. Sending his chair flying, he scrambled back into the crowd.

  A clear path lay between Arn and the angry vorg.

  “Blade,” the vorg repeated, pulling a folded piece of paper from inside his shirt and spreading it out. A remarkable likeness of Arn adorned the wanted poster. “Lost favor with your pissant king, did you? No more killing from the shadows. I stand to claim that reward.”

  Standing almost as tall as Ty with a single fang curling over his lower lip, the vorg drew a long knife, swapping it from one hand to the other.

  Arn remained seated, both feet propped on the table that separated him from the vorg.

  The vorg swiftly threw the table aside. Arn landed on his feet before the table hit the floor, his long blade filling his hand as if it had always been there. His opponent feinted back and forth as he slowly circled Arn, who gripped Slaken for an underhand move. Arn waited, blade down, posture erect.

  Noting Arn’s stance, the vorg lunged forward, driving his knife toward Arn’s stomach.

  Arn extended his hands, crossing them right over left in front of his body, in a block that stopped the vorgish blade an inch from his chest. Arn grabbed the vorg’s little finger, uncrossing his hands as he did so. A loud snap accompanied the arm’s exit from its shoulder socket. The vorg’s scream followed its knife, sailing into the crowd.

  Arn grabbed the vorg by the hair as Slaken ripped through the thing’s throat. Wrapping his left arm and elbow around the dying bounty hunter’s head, Arn gave it a vicious twist as he continued sawing with his knife until the head came free.

  The cacophony that followed came to an abrupt halt as an enraged howl rang out above the noise.

  “Where’s my Endarian?” Charna screamed. “Find the thieves!”

  Vorgs scrambled out of the building. Arn followed the crowd into the street, using the melee to slip into an alley and cross a short open space into the forest. Arn moved quickly, loping up the hill in a ground-burning stride. Staying in the dense brush, he moved silently up the ridge, crossing the slope toward the hidden camp.

  Upon reaching a halfway point, Arn slowed his pace, working his way along the heavily wooded hill. Several times, he was forced to stop as vorgs prowled through the trees close to where he lay. It took him a full hour to cover less than a quarter league to the spot where John waited. Not wanting John to shoot him, Arn approached the thicket with extreme care.

  “John,” he whispered. “It’s me.”

  Arn crawled through the thorny tunnel to find John sitting beside the princess with his bow across his lap. The Endarian woman sat quietly, and all Arn could see was her head, wrapped as she was in John’s cloak.

  “I couldn’t get the chains off her,” said John.

  “Can she speak common?” asked Arn.

  “I think so. She seems to understand me.”

  “Please listen to me, Highness,” Arn said, softly. “If you’ll hold out your hands and feet, I’ll remove those chains.”

  Slowly, the Endarian put forth her arms. Arn found his lockpicks and went to work, quickly sending the chains falling away from her limbs. As if he had undammed a stream, the woman began to cry, burying her head in John’s shoulder. After a moment’s hesitation, John placed his arms around her, holding her with a tenderness that implied he would keep her safe.

  Arn observed his riding companion’s face. The man’s strange black eyes were pools of emotion.

  “We’ll wait until nightfall, then go find Ty,” said Arn. “Better get some rest until then.”

  The two hours until sunset passed slowly. Many times vorgs passed within a few paces of the trio’s thicket but continued on, unaware of their presence. As darkness descended,
the vorgs began to cluster in the valley, campfires springing up across the valley floor. Charna was apparently the commander of a significant band. Worse yet, many more vorgs had descended on the valley.

  Arn debated courses of action. If they did not have the princess to take care of, he would sneak down into the camp and add the oddly familiar female vorg to his hit list. However, that would not stop the other vorgs from coming after them, and with the Endarian, he could not guarantee a successful escape. So they would have to sneak out, find Ty, and then use the horses to make their escape. But how were they going to ride wild horses?

  In the gathering darkness, John took the princess’s hand and led her out of the thicket as Arn brought up the rear. John had given her his long coat, which hung almost to her knees, and she carried his old bow. He had offered, but she had refused his boots. As Arn watched her move silently across the ground, it was evident she did not need them.

  Arn took the lead, moving up the slope, followed by the other two, pausing when John put a hand on his shoulder and pointed. On a ledge up ahead stood a vorg sentry, with another seated ten feet farther along. Signaling John to take the seated one, Arn crept silently up behind the standing vorg, just another shadow in the darkness. Suddenly he lunged forward, clapping his right hand over the sentry’s mouth from behind, his left hand thrusting Slaken into the small of his back.

  A swish and thud toppled the other vorg, a feathered arrow sticking out the side of his head.

  John strode up and pulled the arrow free, returning it to his quiver after wiping it clean. Arn searched the remaining vorg, retrieving a bow, arrows, and a small pouch of coins.

  The Endarian stepped forward, grabbed the quiver, and slung it over her shoulder. John slid into a vorg’s tunic, then turned and resumed his place beside the princess. Once again, Arn took the lead, avoiding the top of the ridge, staying in the roughest terrain available, reducing the likelihood that they would encounter more vorgs on their way south.

  After two hours of travel, Arn could no longer see the fires surrounding Rork. Halting at a place where the valley split, one canyon angling off to the southeast and one to the west, John pointed southeast.

  “I see horses.”

  “I don’t see anything,” Arn said. “You lead the way.”

  John descended the ridge with the Endarian at his side. Reaching the bottom, he turned up the intersecting canyon. Less than a tenth of a league in, John stopped.

  “Ty, step out from behind that tree,” said John. “It’s us.”

  “Damn those weird eyes of yours,” said a voice from the darkness. “What have you got there?”

  “We need to talk,” said John. “There’s trouble brewing.”

  Ty stepped forward. “A girl? You brought a girl here? And an Endarian at that. Let me guess. Someone objects to this new arrangement.”

  Despite his griping, Ty led the way to his campsite. There was no fire, something that pleased Arn immensely. The three men and the Endarian sat down together a short distance away.

  “Okay now, what have you gotten us into?” asked Ty.

  “It seems likely that a couple of hundred vorgs will be on our trail by first light,” John replied.

  Ty dropped his head into his hands.

  “We need a couple of horses to ride,” Arn said.

  “That’s something I can handle,” the Kanjari replied.

  “We’re not talking about wild horses,” said John. “We’re not carnival riders like you.”

  “I’ve taken care of that. I’ve been working on two good-natured mares. Even made halters and reins out of the skin of that buck that John killed. Sorry, but I didn’t anticipate the extra passenger.”

  “I’m impressed,” John said. “I take back some of the things I’ve been telling Arn about you.”

  Ty rolled his eyes. “What’s her name?”

  Arn watched John look at the Endarian questioningly, but the woman did not utter a response.

  “I would say she’s still traumatized,” said John.

  “Not surprising,” said Arn, “considering what she’s been through.”

  “The woman will have to ride double with you,” Ty said to John. “I’ll get the horses.”

  Arn watched as Ty disappeared into the darkness, returning shortly and leading the two mares. Grabbing the reins Ty held out for him, John slipped them over the lead mare’s neck and mounted. The Endarian leapt gracefully astride behind him. The horse sidestepped nervously but settled down. Arn took the other animal’s reins from Ty. He had broken a few horses to the saddle himself, which usually took several weeks. The Kanjari were rumored to be able to train horses for others in as little as a week. As Arn looked at John and the princess sitting on their mare, he did not doubt it.

  As Arn took the reins, the mare laid her ears against her head and backed away from him. Ty reached out and grabbed the bridle, holding the animal still. Arn slipped the reins around the mare’s neck, rubbing her with his left hand.

  “Easy, girl,” he said.

  Leaning his weight against the horse to let it get used to the feel of him, he grabbed its mane with his left hand and swung easily up onto its back. Ty released his grip on the bridle.

  Ty let out a soft whistle, and the stallion came trotting up. The Kanjari leapt onto its back, bringing it to a stop beside the others. “I’m going to run these mares down the valley. We’ll trail along, losing our tracks in theirs, and then peel off at a likely spot.”

  Ty disappeared into the predawn darkness. In seconds, the herd of horses began to move at a steady, ground-burning trot. John and the Endarian woman trotted off toward the south.

  The Kanjari moved in behind the herd, and Arn mirrored him on the other side. As the horses broke out into the main canyon, the first gray of dawn began to brighten the eastern sky.

  Ty kept the herd moving, gradually increasing the pace. Arn found himself having to work to control his horse, which, despite what Ty had said, showed no familiarity with being reined. As day’s light emerged, Arn glanced over his shoulder, certain that the vorgs would be on their trail by now. With the sun high enough to illuminate the top of the western ridge, Ty brought the mares to a run, kicking up a hefty dust cloud behind them, deliberately seeking to draw the vorgs’ attention.

  Forcing the mares into a full stampede, the group raced down the valley, then, rounding a bend, Ty plunged into a side creek and turned away from the running herd, heading upstream to the west. John and Arn followed him into the stream, walking their horses up the twisting canyon.

  For the next hour, Ty led his companions upstream, staying in the water, finally quitting the streambed to climb a steep ridge, heavily wooded in a mixture of juniper, pine, and sage. Gradually the ridge gave way to flat plateaus split by steep canyons. A stiff breeze nipped at Arn’s ears, a reminder that winter had not yet left the high country.

  The hillside was now so steep that the horses slid with almost every step. The party was forced to duck under the tree branches to avoid being scraped off. They found a deer trail and turned, following it high up under a row of cliffs. The trail narrowed rapidly so that Arn found his left leg brushing the rock wall as his right leg hung over a drop of several hundred feet. The rocks took on a reddish hue, and large boulders lay strewn along the canyon floor below, some damming the stream into deep pools.

  Ty continued along the trail, the big stallion displaying the sure-footedness of a mule. Arn’s mare also felt solid, but the horse carrying John and the Endarian was in trouble. Shaking with fear, it suddenly reared, stumbling as its front feet hit the trail again, one of its hooves sliding off the side.

  Ty slipped nimbly backward, sliding off his stallion’s rump to grab the panicked mare’s bridle. Slapping the palomino, he sent the big horse up the trail ahead. The mare steadied, and Ty led it upward around the next bend to where the trail widened. Releasing the bridle, Ty leapt astride the stallion.

  Arn scanned the area behind them, and though he saw no sign of
the vorgs, the memory of meeting Charna on Rork’s main street flooded into his brain. This time it was accompanied by a different vision.

  Once again Arn lay inside the cramped wood box, peering out through the crack at his mother’s body, bound to the far wall by glowing bands as a she-vorg approached. In his mind, the she-vorg turned back toward the cloaked figure, and the memory made his blood run cold.

  Charna.

  He pulled his horse up beside Ty’s. “I have to go back.”

  “Why? We’ve lost them.”

  Arn considered telling his companions the truth but gave another reason. “A group that large will have a wielder with them. They’ll acquire some of the Endarian’s possessions from the slave trader, and then the wielder will find her. He has to be eliminated.”

  “And what qualifies you to do that alone?” said Ty.

  “John will explain. In the meantime, I need to know where we can reunite.”

  Ty hesitated. “There’s a valley three days west of here with a hill shaped like a horse head at its center. You can see it for leagues. We’ll wait for you there.”

  John reached out to clasp arms. “I know who you are, but take care.”

  Arn merely nodded.

  Then Ty wheeled his horse and trotted off into the woods, followed by John and the Endarian. Arn sat astride his horse and watched them disappear into the dense brush. He had saved these three people, but in so doing he had entangled their lives with his. The responsibility that came with that knowledge unleashed a wave of dread.

  The gravel crunched under his horse’s feet as Arn turned back toward their pursuers, having slipped into the Blade personality he had hoped to keep suppressed.

  Arn had one significant advantage. The vorgs would not expect an attack from those they were chasing. He merely needed to intercept them, identify Charna and her wielder, and then, at a time and place of his choosing, usher them into the afterlife. The kill did not worry him. Getting Charna to tell him the identity of her partner in the murder of his parents was another matter entirely.

  The day came like a gray haze, creeping into view rather than bursting free of its nightly bonds. Clouds moved in to cover the sky. Arn guided his horse along the side of the ridge just below the military crest, allowing him to see well to the front without silhouetting himself against the sky. The mare needed no urging, moving with a quick yet measured pace, exactly the gait that Arn wanted, which covered ground rapidly and could be kept up for long periods without exhausting the animal.