Mark of Fire (The Endarian Prophecy Book 1)

by Richard Phillips

  Arn wheeled his horse around and began trotting across the plain to the north. Dropping into silence, the others fell in beside him.

  24

  Southwestern Edge of Mogev Desert

  YOR 413, Late Summer

  Alan’s words and Liberty had given Carol the will to carry on. And she would do so with good cheer. Anything less would disappoint the man she loved, should he look in on her from the afterlife.

  Even the cooling desert air seemed to exude new meaning. The dawn was still two hours away, but already the lead wagons were beginning to roll. The whoops of the drivers and the cracks of whips blended with the rattle of the soldiers’ armor. Carol was still surprised by how cold the morning air could be in the desert, only to give way to the heat of midday. Hawthorne said it was late summer, but the mornings already felt like autumn.

  The caravan had adopted a routine that consisted of traveling for about four hours in the morning, resting until the sun began to set, and traveling another four hours before camping for the night. The scryer had proven itself repeatedly, often locating water that lay just beneath the surface. Without it, even Rafel’s vaunted rangers could not have gotten the wagons through the drylands. Nonetheless, the caravan had still lost five people. Three rangers from one team had died of thirst trying to locate the first watering holes. Derek had found their bodies and brought them back. Rafel ordered them buried at the watering hole, with Jason and his priests performing the ceremony of the passing. Afterward, Hawthorne placed wards on the graves to keep the animals away.

  The other two deaths had come from illness. A fever had infected many in the caravan two weeks back. Dana, a cook, and Bill, one of their nine carpenters, had succumbed. The consensus among all the leaders was that the travelers had been extremely lucky to have not suffered even greater losses.

  Food was becoming as much a problem as water. They had eaten all the dried meat. The meals now consisted almost entirely of beans, a diet beginning to frustrate most. The worst thing about existing solely on beans was that they did not allow you to forget them between meals.

  The line of wagons came to a stop earlier than usual. Carol jumped from the seat and made her way down the line toward where Rafel was talking to a ranger. The conversation ended before Carol arrived, and the ranger wheeled his bay horse around and rode away at a trot.

  “What is it, Father?” Carol asked.

  “The rangers have found the other side of this wasteland. About three days from here by wagon, mountains rise to the west. Another day’s travel beyond that, and there are streams and game, the like of which we’ve never seen. And more good news: the rangers brought in several deer to supplement tonight’s dinner.”

  A cheer from the nearest wagon indicated that his words had drifted. Within minutes, the rest of the caravan reacted to the news, and a joyous shouting broke out all around. Despite the enthusiasm, Rafel refused to change the established travel schedule.

  “I’m not about to squander our strength now when we’re likely to need it later,” Carol heard her father tell one of the wagon drivers. “When a group of idiots puts you in charge of a caravan, then you can try things your way. Until then, you’ll do as I say.”

  No one else was foolish enough to be overheard griping about the high lord’s decision.

  The two days that followed passed slowly. Carol found herself longing for the sight of trees, streams, and wildlife. She had loved hunting and fishing since she was a little girl and prided herself in being able to outshoot her father’s archers. But most of her time she spent off by herself, practicing her magic. As he had done with Wreckath, Hawthorne had admonished her for what he perceived as overconfidence with Jaa’dra, so she took time to reassure herself of her mastery over that particular elemental.

  They camped that night at the desert’s edge, the mountains rising like a wall before them. The scrub brush growing on the hillsides gave way to juniper as the caravan moved higher up. A good-size stream wound its way down through the valley ahead, backdropped by white peaks reaching toward the heavens like the outstretched hands of worshippers in prayer.

  The mood in the camp was one of elation. Once again, the rangers brought in a bountiful supply of venison and reported no sign of danger to the caravan. Nevertheless, Rafel ordered a double guard posted. Carol, accompanied by Alan, made her way through the twilight to each of these positions, dropping off a portion of venison. They were rewarded by the grateful expressions on the guards’ faces.

  The siblings hurried over to the campfires to get a little dinner for themselves. Rafel dictated that all sergeants and officers ate after the soldiers and their families. This rule applied to his children as well, and Carol regarded it as one of the crucial factors that had enabled the warlord to keep the morale of his men high. These musings died away as Carol’s fork sank into the tender venison steak.

  “Gods, this is good,” Carol mumbled over her fork.

  “I don’t know, sister, I’m kind of partial to beans, myself,” Alan replied, managing to keep his face composed.

  Just then, Jake walked up and sat down cross-legged beside them. The boy’s eyes shone with hero worship as he looked up at Alan. “Do you two mind if I eat with you?”

  “Are you just now eating?” Carol asked. “What happened? Did you miss the dinner call?”

  “No, I just wanted to let the soldiers and their families eat first. I figure it’s about time that I started taking on a little responsibility.”

  “How would you like to ride out beside me tomorrow?” said Alan. “I’m sure we could get somebody else to drive your wagon.”

  “Do you mean it, Lord?”

  “Of course. It’s time you started working on becoming a soldier.”

  “You bet I’ll ride with you!”

  “Well, finish your dinner,” Carol said. “If you plan on riding with Alan, you’ll need all your strength.”

  The boy wolfed down his dinner and excused himself, clearly anxious to tell Lucy all about this happy turn of events.

  Carol volunteered to drive for Jake the next day. As she climbed onto the wagon seat beside Lucy in the cool predawn air, she noted that even the team seemed anxious to get started. The trail quickly became rougher as the wagons passed into the wide valley ahead. The caravan wound its way steadily westward and upward, and although the day was warm, the stifling heat of the desert was a thing of the past, leading Rafel to order the caravan to press on until dark. As they stopped for the night, Carol caught her first glimpse of the pine trees on the slopes above. After eating dinner and settling down in her tent, she stayed awake late into the night, listening to the lonesome howls of wolves.

  The next morning, Carol asked Hawthorne why he had not been drawing upon her strength for some time. She was surprised to learn that the wards he had put in place were now holding without further reinforcement.

  “With this much distance separating us, Blalock has to search a wider area, thus dispersing his powers.”

  Carol nodded. With half of Tal, the outlands, and the desert between them, Blalock could not harm her people if he did not know their precise location.

  “I think I’m ready to try controlling a higher-level elemental than any you’ve thus far allowed,” said Carol.

  “You are coming along remarkably well in your spellcraft,” said Hawthorne. “And you are almost ready. I want you to increase the complexity of your practice before we move on.”

  “How so?”

  “The elementals of the next rank don’t just have more powerful wills for you to overcome. They are highly intelligent, crafty, and will use any distraction to their advantage. In preparation for dealing with these entities, I want you to provide your own distractions. Cast spells while you are fully occupied with difficult tasks. Get comfortable with that, and I will judge you ready.”

  Carol nodded, turned, and walked over to where her father was eating. The warlord stood erect in the flaring light of the campfire, metal plate in one hand, shoveling
food into his mouth with the other. He finished wolfing down breakfast as she approached.

  “I’m going to ride out with one of the hunting parties today,” she informed him.

  “I figured,” he said. “Derek and Jaradin are hunting today. You’ll probably have to hurry to get ready if you want to go with them.”

  “Storm is saddled and ready to go,” Carol said as she kissed her father’s cheek. “You’re in need of a shave if you want me to keep kissing that face.”

  “But I’m not in need of a nursemaid.”

  Reacting with an indignant “hmmph,” Carol turned and walked to the wagon where she had tied Storm. As much as she missed Amira, and as much as it pained her to think of how the mare had died under the knives of vorgs, she was rapidly developing a strong attachment to this new mount her father had given her.

  Pulling the reins loose, she swung lightly up onto the dapple-gray horse, the mare moving as she hit the saddle. Carol wheeled the animal around, leaning out of the saddle to grab her bow and quiver from their place on the wagon, and then trotted off toward the rope corral where her father had indicated that Derek and Jaradin were positioned. She found them just finishing getting their horses saddled.

  “You’ve got me for company today,” Carol informed Derek.

  The two rangers exchanged quick glances.

  “We were actually planning on riding pretty hard today, Lorness,” Derek began. “It might be better if you waited for a little more relaxing hunt.”

  “You do as you damned well please,” Carol said. “It’ll be a snowy summer day when I can’t outride the two of you.”

  With a prod from her heels, the mare erupted into motion, taking the wielder-in-training up the moonlit valley at an easy lope.

  “Looks like we’re nursemaids today,” Carol heard Derek say before she raced out of earshot.

  She soon slowed to a trot, and the two rangers fell in beside her. An uncomfortable silence settled over the group. Despite her annoyance, Carol soon found herself enjoying the ride. The nip in the morning air brought a glaze of moisture to her eyes as she looked back over her shoulder at the light beginning to color the eastern sky.

  The three riders soon began climbing the northern ridgeline. The slope was steep and rocky, with few trees. Carol’s and Jaradin’s mounts had been raised in the rugged foothills of western Tal and had little difficulty with the climb. However, Derek was riding a plains-bred horse, and the bay was panicking in the unfamiliar terrain. Whenever the shale slid beneath its hooves, the horse reared and pitched, forcing Derek to work to avoid being pinned.

  Despite the problems the horse was causing him, the ranger remained calm, gently coaxing the animal with his voice and rubbing its neck with his right hand as he rode. By the time the group climbed to the top of the ridge, his efforts seemed to be paying off.

  As they topped the crest, Carol found herself gazing out over the most majestic scenery she had ever seen. The sun had risen just high enough to illuminate ridge after ridge, covered in pine and spruce, working their way upward toward the white mountain peaks in the distance. Fog flowed down the slopes and into the valleys, partially obscuring a nearby lake.

  Behind her, a glorious sunrise colored the base of the clouds hanging above the desert. Far below, she could make out the moving line of wagons. Her eyes followed Jaradin’s pointing hand to several spots along the opposite rim where scouts were located. Soldiers strategically positioned themselves in a wedge well forward of the caravan, while the majority rode in a file forward and back of the wagons. Startled by a movement to her right, Carol turned to see a flock of wild turkeys emerge from the woodland’s edge fifty feet away. The two rangers sat astride their horses alongside her, also lost in the splendor of this wild place.

  Carol and the two rangers followed a deer trail down a rugged slope. As they approached a clearing, Derek brought his horse to a sudden stop, signaling for the others to pull up alongside him as he pointed out a small herd of deer.

  Carol, Derek, and Jaradin all raised their bows at the same time, sending arrows whistling through the still morning air, each finding its target, dropping three big bucks and sending the rest of the deer bounding away into the forest.

  As they all dismounted, a loud bawl from Derek’s left caused his horse to shy away. As the horse scrambled backward, Derek struggled to hold on to the reins.

  The horse reared, pawed the air, and brought its hooves smashing down into a thicket. A squall rang out as a frightened bear cub tumbled from a low branch of a pine to land with a thump near Derek.

  “Look out!” Jaradin yelled.

  To Derek’s right, an angry brown bear burst from the woods, plowing into his rearing horse. A swipe from its paw knocked the animal into Derek, sending him rolling across the ground. With an ear-splitting growl, the mother bear continued her charge toward the fallen ranger.

  A silvery aura shimmered in the air around Carol’s upraised right arm as she ran between Derek and the mama bear. Her magical block stopped the great paw from striking its target, but the blow sent Carol tumbling across the ground. She came up with a mouthful of grass and mud in time to hear a swish and see two of Jaradin’s arrows sprout from the maddened animal.

  With a bellow, the bear turned to charge him. Carol’s mind cracked like a whip, sending ten glittering streaks flying through the air, striking the bear in the side and sending it rolling across the ground. As the stunned animal tried to resume its charge, Derek grabbed hold of its back. The ranger’s long knife rose and fell, finding the bear’s heart. The beast fell to the earth, unmoving.

  As Carol struggled to her feet, pain shot through her shoulder, evidently a sprain since she saw no sign of bleeding. Though blood ran down the left side of Derek’s face, the wound did not appear to be serious. Of the three, only Jaradin had escaped injury.

  “Is everyone all right?” Carol asked.

  Derek met her gaze, and it seemed that he might utter a thank-you for her helping to save his life. But the moment passed, and he didn’t.

  “Everyone except this poor little fellow,” Derek said as he knelt over the small cub.

  “Is he dead?” Carol felt her throat constrict. The poor little cub hadn’t asked for this. Just pure bad luck, all the way around.

  “No. He just knocked himself out falling out of the tree,” Derek said as he examined the little bear. “Nothing seems to be broken, but he’ll never survive out here without his mother.”

  “We can’t leave him to die!” said Carol.

  The dark-haired ranger gently bent down and picked the cub up in his arms. “I’ll take him with me. I killed his mother. That makes him my responsibility.”

  The trip back to the caravan was long and slow. The mama bear had killed Derek’s horse. They had strapped a deer to the backs of each of the other two horses but had been forced to leave the other buck behind. Derek immobilized the young bear and slung it in a makeshift pack upon his back. The group reached the camp just after dark.

  Carol spent the evening telling the tale to her father and Alan, the latter cursing roundly for having missed all the excitement. Then, having answered as many questions as she cared to, she dragged her tired, aching body to the spot where Jake had erected her tent. As she passed the cook fires, she spotted Derek’s lithe form leaning against one of the wagons, his face illuminated in the fire’s glow. Catching her eye, the ranger raised one hand in a gesture of salute, then turned and disappeared into the darkness.

  As she watched Derek go, a feeling of satisfaction filled Carol’s soul. His small act of approval meant more to her than she would have cared to admit.

  25

  Southern Glacier Mountains

  YOR 413, Early Autumn

  The caravan wound its way through the foothills, climbing steadily toward the pine-covered slopes of the high altitudes. Around noon of the fourteenth day, they crested a ridge to look down over a high-country scene. A fast-moving mountain stream cut a path through a grassy valley to a
point where a beaver dam spread the flow out, forming a large pond.

  Deer grazed carelessly in the tall grass around its edges, occasionally pausing to drink from the water. Pine forests ran down the surrounding hillsides. The high-mountain pass toward which the caravan headed was so close now that Carol could make out patches of bare ground showing through the snow. To think how the desert several thousand feet below still clung to its warmth made Carol marvel at all the snow in the high country ahead.

  Rafel decided that everyone needed a rest and the wagons and equipment needed maintenance. The caravan would stop here for a couple of weeks. Welcome news. Drivers parked the wagons in large, concentric circles in the center of the valley. The people made camp close to the stream, and above the beaver pond, a heavy guard was posted along the surrounding ridges. Broderick ordered the rangers to begin scouting the way ahead as well as mapping the surrounding lands to their north and south.

  Hawthorne utilized the peaceful surroundings to begin teaching Carol a new spell. This time the entity to contend with was Jaa’dra, one of the greater elementals that controlled fire. Carol found Jaa’dra to be much more difficult to control than any of the elementals that she had contacted so far.

  Even Lwellen, the lightning master, was more tractable. With the lightning spell, Carol found that she could make Lwellen form a great attractive charge in the ground where she wanted bolts to strike. Even though this burst of energy sometimes flowed outward, the bolt would generally strike within ten feet of her desired target.

  The problem with the fire elemental was that his will was stronger than Lwellen’s, and he relied on a combination of subtle and direct assaults. Even though Carol could precisely control where the fire started, the blaze often spread in unforeseen directions. Controlling the spell was very much like fighting a grass fire.

  Due to his familiarity with the intricacies of the spell, Hawthorne had Carol practice well away from the wagons, on a small island in a shallow portion of the beaver pond. Carol devoted all her energies to mastering this challenging new spell, and within a week, she was able to control the elemental to such an extent that she could write her name in flames. To reward her efforts, Hawthorne gave Carol time off from her practice to enjoy her surroundings.