The Coastal Kingdoms of Olvion: Book Two of The Chronicles of Olvion

by Larry Robbins

  “Rumors tell of plans of a special election for the purpose of unseating King Minos. The stated charges include dishonesty, deceit and misappropriation of designated treasure. We, the warriors of Northland, wanted you to know, Good King.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

  The sun was hanging low in the sky. The insects in the swamp were denser in this part. Taggart swatted at them to no effect. He looked behind himself at his people. They were near the point of exhaustion. They had been slogging continuously through the knee deep water since their only stop for a rest was on the patch of dry land they’d seen earlier. Since that time there had been no more high places where the water did not reach. Taggart strained his eyes ahead of him, almost willing a dry place to emerge. The light was just starting to dim, and he figured they had no more than an hour before darkness descended. Then the swamp-crocs would probably emerge.

  He looked at his people and saw the different weapons that each of them carried. He called for a halt and put both hands to the sides of his mouth as he shouted orders.

  “All warriors bearing spears and javelin move to the outside. All archers take up positions directly behind the spear bearers. Archers string your bows, and nock your arrows, and be ready to respond. Warriors bearing swords be ready to support and defend.”

  The warriors shifted positions and arranged their weapons so they would be better situated should they be needed. They had all noticed the failing light, and they knew what it was likely to bring, but they were warriors and accepted their situation stoically. They also recognized the logic in the way Taggart had arranged them for defense.

  A young woman moved up to Taggart’s left side. She was an archer, and she carried her bow with a confidence that Taggart admired.

  “Are you any good with that weapon, Warrior?” he asked.

  The youth regarded him calmly. “Yes, Sub-Commander. It was I who killed the other swamp monster last night.”

  Taggart recalled that the last swamp-croc that was trying to drag the female warrior away was killed by two well placed arrows to the head. At the time he had assumed the shafts came from two archers because of the speed in which they struck. Now seeing this young warrior at his side he realized it had been the work of just this one.

  “What is your name, Warrior?”

  “I am Tay, Sub-Commander. I have orders to protect you.”

  “Orders? From who?”

  “From my King’s Sword, Lord Jo-Dal, Sub-Commander.”

  “Well, Warrior Tay, I must say I feel much safer now that I can count on your protection.”

  Tay searched his face for an indication of whether she was being mocked. “I know you are a powerful warrior, Sub-Commander, but even the most powerful of us can benefit from another’s skills.”

  Taggart put a hand on her shoulder. He towered over the young archer, but remained impressed by the manner in which she returned his gaze. By this time he was accustomed to others being slightly intimidated by his size and muscularity. “Rest assured, Good Warrior, that I value your skills, and I do feel safer at your presence.”

  Tay saw the truth of his words in his expression. She simply nodded and moved to a position behind Lyyl who was on the outer edges of their group.

  Taggart saw the shadows growing deeper and darker. His feet ached from being waterlogged and blisters were forming on his right heel. He needed to get somewhere dry where he could attend to it before it became a serious problem. He wondered how many of his warriors were having the same problems.

  “Sub-Commander,” Lyyl shouted and pointed. “Is that dry land ahead?”

  Taggart raised up on his tiptoes. About two hundred yards in front of them he saw a swath of green and yellow. “I think it may be.” He turned his head to shout to the warriors behind him. “Dry land just ahead. Walk faster but remain vigilant.”

  The group almost doubled its speed, anxious to be out of the water before the swamp-crocs emerged. Taggart stood to the side and waved everyone forward. He noticed that Tay, Lyyl, Geraar and Toria stayed by his side. He smiled at the thought that these young warriors had decided to become his personal bodyguard.

  When the procession began climbing up out of the swamp and onto the newly-discovered patch of dry land Taggart followed the last person in the group. He moved everyone as far from the water’s edge as he could. He was encouraged to see that there was enough room to accommodate the entire compliment of warriors from the four kingdoms.

  He checked the angle of the sun and was dismayed to see that darkness was almost upon them. He heard splashing and saw the second group of one hundred warriors approaching. He shouted and waved at them, encouraging them to hurry. They did but Taggart realized that the following groups were not going to make it before dark fall.

  Taggart reached behind his shoulder and drew his sword. His efforts against the swamp-crocs on the previous evening showed him that blades would be more effective against them than his mace.

  He called Lyyl to his side, and spoke loud enough so that the others could hear. “I am going to help the others. I am placing you in charge. Keep everyone far from the swamp edges. Make certain that everyone gets their feet dry, and have the healer check and treat any injuries or sores.” Lyyl tried to convince Taggart that he should accompany him, but Taggart told him he had been given an order and was to obey it. The lad was disappointed, but he saluted and turned to the others to carry out Taggart’s instructions.

  When Taggart was climbing down and back into the water he heard additional splashes and looked to see Tay, Toria and Geraar jumping in also. He almost ordered them back onto the little island but stopped himself. He could quite possibly need their support. With the exception of Toria, they were all warriors and he decided to pay them the compliment of regarding them as such.

  Together the four of them made their way quickly back in the direction from which they had come. They passed the second group and assured them that dry land was near. The smiles lifted Taggart’s spirits. There was approximately ten minutes of separation between the ten groups of one hundred, depending on how quickly each group traveled.

  Taggart intended to find each group and inform them of the presence of the dry land ahead and urge them to move more quickly. He also thought that he and his “bodyguard” might be able to help them each fend off any attacks from the swamp-crocs and any other nocturnal predators.

  About three minutes after they passed the second group they saw the third. That was good, they all seemed to be moving quickly. They passed them and informed them of the good news.

  The fourth group was not far behind the third. Jo-Dal was leading this component, and he sent the others ahead while he joined Taggart and his people.

  The fifth and sixth passed them by, and Taggart began to think they were going to be okay. The sun was almost fully below the horizon now with only a thin glowing slit of an arc showing.

  The shadows in the water and foliage grew darker. Taggart saw serpents emerging from burrows dug into muddy bogs. He prayed they were neither poisonous nor large constrictors.

  Their luck ran out just before they reached the seventh group of warriors. Tinker, who had been riding on Taggart’s shoulder sent him a wave of warning and urgency. Then she crawled quickly down his vest and climbed into the sling that he always wore. With her safely tucked away it left Taggart free to engage any enemies he might encounter.

  Next to him, Pan also scrambled down from Toria’s shoulder to the leather bag she had obtained for the same purpose.

  Taggart knew that Spall was leading this party, and he heard his voice shouting as he organized their defense.

  Taggart started running as fast as he was able in the knee-deep swamp. He heard the sounds of battle ahead of them. There were several loud shouts, but, at least thus far, no screams of pain or terror.

  They rounded a turn in the swamp’s path and directly ahead saw Spall’s troupe. Around them was a cluster of approximately fifteen Swamp-crocs. They were standing fully erect on the
ir hind legs and darting in and back as they attempted to snag a warrior with their long mouths or their odd looking claws.

  Spall’s warriors had been prepared. Their commander had arranged his warriors in much the same manner as Taggart had his. Each time one of the reptilian monsters would dart in toward them it would receive multiple spear thrusts and the piercing of arrows.

  As Taggart and his team caught up to them he saw several crocs floating lifelessly on their backs or half submerged, displaying the effectiveness of the human’s defenses. Taggart raised his sword and waded in, intending to sever the head of one of the monsters as it was turned away from him. The reptile heard his splashing approach and turned. It raised both clawed hands and charged. Just before it reached Taggart an arrow pierced its eye. It shuddered and seemed to be trying to continue its attack, but the shaft had buried itself deeply into the creature’s brain. The beast slowly fell backward and slid lifelessly into the water. Tay stepped up even with Taggart and quickly nocked another arrow.

  There were still plenty of targets to attack. Taggart found another croc that had grabbed a warrior’s javelin in his jaws and was shaking its ugly head in an attempt to steal it away. He came up behind the animal and grunted with the effort as he swung the heavy, sharp blade. The sword entered the croc’s body at what would be the shoulder of a human. The weight of the blade, aided by Taggart’s otherworldly strength traveled through the torso until it hit the spine. The creature fell into almost two separate pieces.

  Others were having a similar effect upon the creatures. Tay’s arrows were finding numerous targets. The accuracy of the young warrior was almost inhuman. Geraar, who was uncommonly strong for an Olvioni, had already launched his spear to deadly effect and was now hacking away with his sword. Toria still carried the odd, wide-bladed sword that she had gotten from Taggart. When he had recovered his own weapons he had given it to her. Taggart watched as she came up behind one of the crocs. With her impressive speed she delivered three deep gashes into the animal’s back. When it turned and swiped at her she jumped backward just out of its reach and hacked at it below its jaws. Her weapon cut a large artery, and the predator fell, spewing its life blood into the swamp.

  Then there was almost a silence. The warriors turned around and around searching for other dangers. There were no more. Taggart counted eighteen dead and floating reptile bodies. It seemed that the warriors of Olvion, Aspell and Archer’s Gate were capable of repelling the attacks of the swamp crocs if they were aware of the threat.

  Spall sent his group ahead and joined Taggart’s party as they found and urged the remaining groups onward. There were a few more scattered attacks. One warrior was dragged under water and never seen again. Another suffered a fairly serious gash on his upper arm, but that was the extent of it. The survivors all eventually reached the raised island and climbed out of the smelly mud. Most climbed as far inland as they could reach before collapsing. Dozens of fires pushed back the gloom and vigilant warriors stood watch near the water’s edge.

  Toria sat resting next to Taggart on a small, grassy hillock. She had removed her boots and dried her feet as best she could. The fire was drying her boots and socks which she had placed on a set of sticks pushed into the ground. Between them, Pan and Tinker played and wrestled. Toria watched their antics for a moment.

  “Tag, does Tinker ever speak to you with words? I mean, Pan is able to make me aware of whatever he chooses by sending me feelings and images, but I heard she can actually talk with you.”

  Taggart reached down and scratched Tinker between her shoulder blades. The beautiful animal temporarily ceased her play with her mate to close her eyes and enjoy the attention.

  “She does, but it’s painful for her. I don’t know why that is. She seems to have no problem translating Olvioni into English, my native language, and back again, but to form and project her own words is simply too painful for them to do it for very long. I think also that the connection between you and Pan needs to have time to grow a bit more before he can try. Whatever happens you must understand that using words should be reserved for the rare occasions when their common means of communication is not adequate.”

  Toria studied his face for a moment as if she expected the big man to say more. Then she reached down and scratched Pan under the chin.

  Geraar approached them. He had recovered his spear and carried it under his arm. He saluted Taggart.

  “Sub-Commander, I tried to follow this island back as far as it runs. It stretches out in the direction we are heading for nearly a half mile. We can be dry tomorrow for a little while, at least.”

  Taggart regarded the young powerhouse. He seemed to always be doing what was needed without direction.

  “Excellent. Now listen to me Warrior. I need you refreshed and rested tomorrow. I count on you and I need you ready. You are off of the watch schedule for tonight, and I want you to get some sleep. Starting now.”

  Geraar looked from Taggart to Toria. He saluted again and turned to walk away.

  “Wait Geraar,” Toria said. She turned to Taggart. “I have a few things to discuss with Warrior Geraar. I won’t be long.”

  Taggart returned her look with a half-smile that showed his understanding. “Of course. Discussions are important.”

  While watching her catch up with Geraar, Taggart spied a young man shaking out his socks which had apparently dried by his fire. Something about the man was familiar, but Taggart was unable to place him even though he had a feeling that he should be able to.

  Leaving his boots by the fire to dry he tiptoed barefooted over sharp pebbles and sticks to where the man sat with three other warriors. Taggart saw by their uniform colors that they were part of the small force from Olvion. They saw him approach and started scrambling to their feet in order to give him a proper salute. Taggart waved them back down and told them to relax.

  He looked to the familiar man. He was some thirty summers in age and had a short, neatly trimmed beard which was unusual for a warrior. His belt had only one weapon on it; a thin dagger, slightly longer than normal.

  “I know you, Warrior,” Taggart told him. “Were you one of my Rangers?”

  During the Great War Taggart had been tasked with leading covert nocturnal raids against the camps of the Grey Ones. In order to sow terror among the enemy, Taggart’s teams would silently remove any sentries then slit the throats of the grey fiends as they slept. Their efforts were extremely effective, and they somehow began calling themselves the “Rangers”. Taggart had wondered many times what had become of them once he left.”

  The designated warrior smiled. “Indeed, Sub-Commander. I was among your group of knifemen.”

  It all came back to Taggart then in a rush. There was one man whom he always sent in to slice the throat of any unfortunate sentries. He was as silent as a shadow and never failed to remove the guards before they could raise an alarm. This was that man.

  Taggart stepped over to him and leaned down to offer his hand. “Yes, I certainly remember you. You were the most competent and dangerous man with a knife that I have ever met. I am happy to see you survived the final battle of the Great War.”

  The man blushed a little as he grasped Taggart’s wrist to return his handshake. “Kind words, Sub-Commander.”

  “True words, my friend! In all of our missions I don’t believe I ever heard your name.”

  “I am Markex. It has been a long time, Sub-Commander.”

  Taggart fought away the urge to tell the man to dispense with titles because, in a military situation such as this, discipline was crucial. He was so happy to see one of his Rangers that he flopped down next to him and began a conversation with him and the others that lasted late into the evening. Tinker even endured several rounds of touching and petting, obviously intuiting that this man was important to her Tag. Tinker was not usually so accepting of the attentions of others.

  When their fire burned low, Taggart bid the four warriors a good evening and returned to his own fire. He
stirred the glowing embers and added several sticks to get it going again. He was happy to see that his socks and boots were warm and dry. He pulled them back on and did a quick check on the posted sentries. He made certain to spend a small amount of time with each one, asking personal questions such as from where they hailed, what their families did and whether they were married. Once he was satisfied that all was well he returned to his pile of blankets. He was a little surprised to see that Toria had not returned. He looked about his area and finally saw her sitting at a fire with the archer, Tay, and five other women warriors. He was happy that she was being accepted by the warriors. They were usually a little exclusionary when it came to others. Her athleticism was appreciated by the warriors and her courageous fight against the swamp-crocs earlier that day had not gone unnoticed. Of course all of them knew that her nearly impossible climb up the face of the cliff had made their mission possible. Pan was entertaining them all by balancing rocks on his nose and making the dozens of endearing sounds made by his kind. It was good to hear the laughter that resulted.

  Taggart lay back and rested his head on a sack of provisions. He took a deep breath and looked straight overhead at the stars. The night was clear, and they looked like floating fireflies drifting above him. For the fiftieth time that day he thought of Dwan. Where was she? What was happening to her?

  He wondered if she was in pain. He knew she would be praying for him to come for her. She did not even yet know that he had returned. He hated that she would be sad and was probably being mistreated. He took one last look at the stars above before closing his eyes. He said a prayer that God would keep her safe until he reached her. Then he promised himself anew that anyone who had dared to hurt her would pay dearly for it.

  ***

  Dwan was dragged from the pen by two of Morlee’s men and pushed up on the raised platform. People crowded in around the semi-circular dais, but not all were there to watch and participate. Several men and women tried to step up and condemn the sale of slaves, but they were pulled back by others who were there to watch the show. Some people from the rear of the crowd tossed trash at Morlee. He sidestepped the larger articles, seeming to enjoy the commotion. Finally, he raised both hands and called for quiet. The people who were in opposition to the proceedings continued to shout their objections, but more and more they were being drowned out and pushed away by the supporters.