"Please, kind sir," the merchant said. "Call off your...your...animal!"
"You must give your word that you'll never return."
"Yes. Yes. I can tell by your speech that you're of high born blood, you are. But what is someone of your princely stature doing in this rough wood, and so meanly attired?"
"Spare me your flattery and speculation, lest you try my patience beyond its limits."
The merchant bowed his head.
"Very well, then. You must also give your word that you shall henceforth cease this evil enterprise of peddling flesh."
"Young master," he said, stuttering. "Perhaps your tender age makes it difficult to see the harsh economic realities of it all. This trade of mine gives me no more pleasure than it does you. But I have a family to feed. It's an honest liv—"
"Hold your tongue, lest I cut it out!"
A repentant nod.
Render stepped forward. Slung the cross bow across his shoulder and retrieved the sword which the other trader had dropped. He glared down at the man whose neck now pulsed with trepidation, for Greifer's fangs now pressed into his skin, dimpling his neck with deep indentations.
"Now, arise. As a parting gift, we give you your miserable life. Make all haste and return to your family."
"It is well received, Sire." Greifer released the merchant but stood ready to pounce.
With the point of the sword under the merchant's chin, Render said, "Now go."
"Thank you, Sire. I give you my word, I'll never sell or trade another slave, for all my days."
Clearly, this was not one to be trusted. Render lifted his sword in a threatening manner. "On pain of our extreme disapproval, do not test us."
But the merchant had already begun to stumble down the trail and out of the wood.
"You were remarkable!" Render said, turning to Greifer. But she was not there. Not where he expected her to be, anyway. Render turned halfway to the left. Then the right. Then completely turned around and found Greifer, returned to the form of a small black cat. She regarded him with an aloof gaze, blinked twice and began to walk towards the horses.
"Did that take a great deal out of you?" Render said. "I mean, assuming the form of a Panther?"
// I SHALL RECOVER. BUT WE MUST HOPE FOR NO FURTHER CONFRONTATIONS UNTIL THE MORROW //
She stared up at the saddle of the brown horse. There hung a leather pouch, its flap slung open.
"There's this matter of the panthers I've previously encountered, Greifer." Render stepped up to the black horse which was tied next to the brown one. It blew out a breath and winced as Render stroked its mane. Soon, it relaxed and leaned slightly against his hand.
Greifer did not answer Render right away. Instead, she leapt up and climbed into the saddle pouch. After turning herself so that she faced outward, she draped her paws over the edge of the pouch and looked down at the squirming cloth sack by the tree.
"I nearly forgot." Render stepped over to the sack and knelt. "You in there. Hold still, I'm going to cut you out." He reached up and pried the dirk from the tree trunk. Then he slid the sharp edge under the rope coiled tightly around the gathered opening of the slave-sack.
With two or three attempts, the rope gave. Render pulled the sack down over the shoulders of the boy who had been captured. His face was turned to the ground and Render could not yet see it. Then he cut the ropes that bound his wrists behind his back.
Finally, he removed the gag by undoing the knot tied behind the victim's head. The boy turned around. His indignant and haughty eyes instantly betrayed him. But was this a ghost, or was it actually him in the flesh?
Render blinked to clear his eyes and to make sure he was not mistaken. "I say! Is that you, Branson?"
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
“Oh, it would be you!" Branson said, spitting out dust and shreds from the burlap cloth that had gagged him. "Untie me, at once."
"I've a good mind to put you back." Render stepped over to the tree where smoke still rose from the spot the dagger had pinned the slave trader's sleeve.
"No, wait. Come back here, immediately!"
Render glanced over to the horses and noticed Greifer asleep. "How can you sleep, now?" he whispered. "Aren't you the least bit concerned about this?"
Greifer yawned, lifted and shook her head, then rested it on top of her forepaws dangling over the saddlebag.
// THAT BOY WILL BRING THEE NO GOOD FORTUNE. YOU'D DO BEST TO LEAVE HIM HERE //
"Believe me, I am tempted." Nevertheless, Render did not heed her counsel and returned to Branson. "Hold out your hands."
"Be careful, you'll slit my wrists!"
"With my luck, I won't." With one swift motion, Render cut the chords and Branson's hands were loosed. Without so much as a thank you, he stood, shed the sack and undid the rope around his ankles.
Leaning on a tree, Render shook his head. "Why did you run?"
"As if someone like you could possibly understand."
"Very well, then. Perhaps it's best if we parted ways at this junct—"
"Have you anything to eat?"
Taken by surprise, Render reached into his pocket and produced some cooked fish, wrapped in a green Arcarni leaf. "Here." Branson snatched it from his hands and walked away eating voraciously, with all semblance of civilized manners thrown to the wayside. "You're welcome."
Through a mouthful of food, Branson said, "Do you want some kind of accolade?" He picked at his teeth and spit out a fragment. "Commoner." When he finished, Branson stared up the hill from which Render and Greifer had descended. "How ever did you escape?"
"I'm not certain. But I believe I had some help."
"Help? What help?"
Render stared over to the saddle bag where the black cat slept. Were she a panther now, standing at his side, Branson would certainly not treat him with such arrogance. But alas, she needed to rest.
"What happened to my accursed captors?"
"The slave traders? I sent them off. Did you not hear?"
"I was in a sack."
"What are you planning on doing?" Render asked, not so much because he cared, but because he was curious. "That is, after we have parted ways."
"Not that it's any of your business..." Branson's features softened. "But I am going to... I need to find my father."
Images of Castle Mittelvald, the once proud home of the Lord Agon, crumbling in flames filled Render's thoughts. Again, the faces of Folen and Stewan, of Kaine and Sir Edwyn, all who had died that night during the siege, haunted him. "Aren't you concerned about the fate of your mother? Surely someone had survived that attack."
"Have you ever met my mother?"
"No, I—"
"Then you'd best not speak about things of which you have no knowledge." Instead of haughty disdain, Branson's eyes became bloodshot. His brow crumpled. He turned away and wiped his face with his sleeve.
Render still did not understand why Branson had fled, but it didn't seem worthwhile to pursue the question now. Cautiously, Render stepped over to him. "I didn't mean to pry."
"Just leave me alone, you imbecile!" He continued to mutter angry words as he climbed the hill.
// SOMEONE IS COMING. RESTRAIN THAT BOY OR HE WILL BETRAY OUR POSITION! //
Render turned around. Greifer leapt down and stared intently up the hill, then to Render.
// YOU MUST STOP HIM, I AM TOO WEAK //
Right away, Render went after him. "Branson. Hsst! Branson!" But he did not hear, or had chosen not to. Render dared not raise his voice because of the sound of hooves and men on foot, snapping twigs and dry leaves above and behind the thicket.
Just before Branson could reach the top of the hill, Render caught him by the ankle. Both of them slipped. Branson opened his mouth to let out a cry but Render slapped his hand over it and muffled it.
They stopped at a tree and with a great rustling, Render pulled him behind its trunk. He put his finger over his lips and Branson wisely remained quiet.
Unwisely, Branson stuck
his head past the tree to look.
Render yanked him back and hissed. "What are you—?"
Branson gasped, his eyes wild with fear. "We're going to die."
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
Before Render could answer, a chorus of deep growls had surrounded them. Branson's breathing became frightened hiccups. "R...Render...?"
In all directions, a sea of grey and black closed in. Puffs of white steam floated from the dripping jaws of every wolf in the pack.
"Don't move," Render whispered.
"C....can't move."
Feral eyes. Emanating from ivory fangs, and the smell of rotting flesh wafted over and evoked feelings of death. Brutal death. Some of the wolve’s teeth were crimson-stained with blood.
In his mind, Render reached out to Greifer.
// We're trapped. You must transform //
As if in reaction, the leader of the pack shot a glance down the hill to the horses. Render noticed that the saddlebag was empty.
// Greifer! We need your help! //
Beneath the feet of the horses and from behind the tree to which they had been tied, the tip of her tail, not a panther's but that of a cat, protruded and then disappeared.
The wolf pack leader barked twice and three of the other wolves bounded down to the tree. The horses reared up and screamed at the attack. But why wouldn't Greifer respond?
A horrific cry from Branson turned his eyes back. One of the wolves had clamped its jaws around his neck. Still another bit down on his arm.
At the very same moment, the lead wolf lunged at Render. Out of sheer instinct, Render leapt into the air. To his surprise, he flew past the branches and found himself standing high above the entire scene, his feet planted firmly on a narrow branch.
Then came a dreadful voice. Strange and devoid of humanity.
// THE WAGES OF YOUR SINS ARE DUE //
A shriek from below.
Greifer, still a cat, flailed about helplessly in the jaws of a large black wolf. She hissed and spat, but could not free herself.
"No!" Branson cried out. A spot of blood expanded on his sleeve where a young gray wolf bit down.
And Render stood safely above the snapping, snarling, dripping jaws of the silver coated leader.
// YOU PLUMMET DEEPER INTO DEBT //
Frustrated and full of anger, at the voice, at himself, it was never clear to him, Render gripped the handle of the dagger sheathed in his belt. He let out a shout and flung it at the wolf directly below him with such speed it, the blade would surely lodge itself deep into the dog's skull.
But it didn't.
As though the silver wolf had anticipated this tactic, it leaned to the left and the blade struck a root of the tree, where it flapped back and forth like a fish on the surface of sun-baked rocks.
// THEIR BLOOD SHALL BE ON YOUR HANDS AS WELL //
The voice could be described as nothing else but... evil. At that moment he knew. Branson and Greifer were about to be torn to shreds. A wave of hot desperation coursed through his blood from the center of his chest all the way to the tips of his fingers.
Without thinking Render leapt from the tree and let out a cry that echoed through the wood. Simultaneously, something like thunder boomed all around and a blinding flash filled his vision. Like it had, just before the centurion in the citadel had been struck down. Only this time, there was no question as to its source.
Suspended in the air which crackled and made the every hair on his entire body tingle, Render gasped as bolts of bluish white energy shot out from his hands to each of the wolves.
Painful howls went up.
Then cut short.
The whole thing had taken less than a few seconds, but when he blinked, he found himself standing on the ground, unaware of when his feet had made contact. Now, the blackened remains of six wolves, black smoke floating up from their twitching fur, surrounded him. White tendrils of light flickered and crackled round the carcasses. What remained of their eyes oozed out of their sockets. Red, swollen tongues hung slack from their once threatening jaws.
About eight feet away, Branson lay on his back, panting and stunned. His hair shot out in all directions, his cheek stained with soot. With eyes as wide as potatoes, he said, "What did you do?"
"I...I don't know, really." Render stepped over to him. "Are you all right?"
Branson shook his head. "Stay away from me!" His ingratitude came as no surprise. And there was good reason for him to fear. Render understood now what had happened back in Valdshire Tor at Hawthern Fountain, but this was not possible! There had to be a scientific explanation for this.
The internal discourse, however, was interrupted by the sudden thought of Greifer. Render leapt and soared clear to the bottom of the hill. When he approached, the horses stood bewildered. Instead of reacting with anxiety, as he approached, they bowed their heads as though with reverence, if horses were capable of such a thing.
Several paces from the crisp remains of the wolf that had seized Greifer lay the frail form of the black cat. "Greifer!" Render rushed over and knelt at her side. She was bleeding from a hideous gash in her foreleg.
Not sparing a moment, he tore a strip from his shirt and tied a tourniquet around it. "Why didn't you transform!" Render scolded, tears pooling in his eyes. "Why did you remain so helpless?"
// TOO WEAK... //
She lifted her head slightly, tried to turn her eyes to him.
"Don't." Render sat and gathered her into his arms. "I'm sorry. You needed to regain your strength, I understand. Can you transform now? Perhaps as a panther or a human the loss of blood would be—"
// SO COLD... //
By now, Branson was standing to the side, gawking at the carcasses. With a mixture of contempt and wonder, he stared at Render. "By the firmaments, it's just a cat!"
"Shut up!" Render lifted a fist. Branson stumbled back, arms shielding his face, and fell on his rump. Beneath his forearms, his mouth opened and closed rapidly like a fish, but he could not form any words. Instead he nodded in obedience and sat perfectly still.
"Please, Greifer. Hold on."
// you’ve BEGUN TO MANIFEST //
"Manifest? You mean—?"
// I MUST REST... //
By all Sir Edwyn had taught him about the medical arts, Render knew that he must stave off any possible infection. With the black cat still cradled in his arms, he searched the saddle bags. Finally he came upon a flask. With his teeth, he plucked out the cork and took a swig. Bitter. Strong. He spat it out but knew it could serve as an antiseptic. It would have to do.
"This will smart, just a bit." But Greifer's eyes were already shut. He poured a stream onto the pink and red puncture wounds which contrasted starkly with her sleek, ebony coat. She flinched one. Twice. Then heaved a sigh.
Though the twilight breeze began to chill him, Render sat down, lay Greifer upon his lap and removed his vest and shirt. He tore another strip away and dressed the open wounds. His leather vest provided little in the way of protection from the cold, but he put it back on, nonetheless. With the remainder of his shirt, he swaddled her and held her close to his body for warmth.
"Aren't you being a bit sentimental about that cat?" Branson asked, but this time, without a hint of disrespect.
Gently, Render placed her in the saddle bag, untied the white horse, and climbed into the saddle. "You are welcome to this other horse, Branson. I wish you well."
With surprising alacrity, Branson ran and mounted the brown horse, reached down to untie it. "You can't just dismiss me."
"Say what you will."
"I chose to leave." Branson scoffed. "And don't even think of following me."
Render glared at him. "You needn't fear that." He shook his head as Branson rode back into the wood, as if he'd forgotten the very perils from which he'd been saved. "You're welcome."
With one arm, he held Greifer in the saddle bag close to his side, sharing his warmth, and began riding towards the East. The sun blushed and fled towards V
aldshire Tor and the west. But to the east, behind the zeniths of Handara, an amber glow illuminated the valley beneath the snow capped peaks, as if by a beautiful and terrible conflagration.
CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
“With respect, Sire. Had you told me that your mistress happened to be the Empress Dowager of Tian Kuo, I might have advised you otherwise."
Bile rising to his mouth, Corigan threw a Leit game piece to the ground and it shattered. With a smoldering frustration, he glared at Mooregaard. "By your mouth, you say 'with respect.' But by your tone, your disposition, you contradict yourself."
"I beg your indulgence, Your Majesty. I live only to serve, to offer counsel." He bowed subtly. "Perspective."
Corigan snatched the queen from the Leit board and gripped it as if he could strangle the life out of it. "Then what is your perspective on this? How could I have allowed her to do this? For two years, she has deceived me. Two years!"
"You are but a man, Sire."
"And she has always abided by the rules. Never had she given even the slightest indication that she could be so...so...treacherous!"
"Corigan. No one could have imagined it. No one would dare call you...a fool."
"She promised not to attack the citadel. That is why... it was for that very reason..." Anger gave way to shame. Corigan swept the Leit pieces off the board and sat at the table. He pounded both fists down and the remaining pieces shook. "I stood with all of my active defenses, stationed outside by Puglehurst's township. That was the piece she won!" And they were not there to defend it, but to ensure that the enemy forces abide by the rules and not attack beyond the defined territory.
"Sire, the flag that flew from those cowards that attacked Lord Agon's castle..."
"What of it?"
"Have you not heard?"
"Heard what?"
"Surely you have been told by now."
"I tire of this babbling. Tell me!"
"The flag that flew over the attack bore the insignia of the Sojourners."
Corigan's throat went dry. "So she has finally descended to it. Sending the terrorists, to whom she gives comfort, to violate my kingdom."
Once We Were Kings (Young Adult Fantasy) (The Sojourner Saga) Page 18
