Nick stirred and wiped away the chunky crust that had formed in the corners of his eyes. A haze of images prevented him from organizing his thoughts. What happened? His head ached.
Once more on solid ground, he brushed his hand through the grass. He stood and inhaled the chilly, crisp air, which invigorated him. A pair of hills emerged to his right, and beyond it swirled the remainder of an orange and red sunset. He lumbered toward the dwindling sundown, rustling his hair with both hands. The pain from the ice pick to his stomach grew dim, as if he'd only dreamt it.
Had he fallen asleep? Had the kidnapping been a dream?
He trekked awhile, sticking to the flat parts of the countryside. The twilight made it too dark to view his surroundings for anything familiar. Grass and sticks crunched underfoot and echoed around him, but didn't offer any clues. Light emanated from over a hill, and he quickened his pace.
As he drew closer, crackling sounds and voices rose ahead. He crawled through the mossy, wet grass, and stayed as low to the ground as possible as he scaled the embankment. When he reached the top, he peeked over the hill.
Several shapes hovered around a campfire, holding out long sticks over the cozy flames. The scent of roasting meat filled the air. His eyes adjusted to the light, and.... Am I going insane? The figures below were wearing armor like Arthurian knights.
One man, draped in a cape, darted over to a horse tied to a nearby tree. He was dressed in a rich violet and red, and a large sword hung from a sheath at his side. On his cloak was a lavender bird of some sort.
Nick considered approaching the fire, hoping they might be a traveling circus. What else could they be? He circled the encampment and tried to maneuver closer to better survey the strange men. Bobbing up from nowhere, in the middle of the night, probably wouldn't be a good surprise for the warriors. Their weapons dangled as though real, and testing them would be foolhardy. After all, if someone came after him from the dark, he'd want to defend himself.
A sharp object poked into the small of his back. Nick stifled a yelp, thinking for an instant of the ice pick slamming into him.
"Where do you think you're slithering off to, little spy?" said a raspy-voiced man behind him.
Nick jumped up. "Uh, w-who are you?" The words stumbled out of his mouth.
"Who am I?" the man mimicked. "Well then, that is quite a question to come from someone lurking around our encampment like Malefic's spy, now isn't it? If you weren't unarmed and so frail looking, I would have slit your throat eons ago. To your feet, snoop, and be glad I don't stick you through."
The surly-sounding figure shoved Nick ahead. As the glow of the campfire cast on them, the man behind him moved around and into view. The stranger was tall, slender, and fair-haired. His armor sparkled, and several weapons hung from his waist and shoulder. He, too, wore red and violet. The sharp object that he poked into Nick's back was a long, thin blade.
"Speak quickly, outlander. I won't waste time on meddlesome spies. What is your business and who sent you?"
Numb with shock, Nick didn't respond. He searched for words to explain everything, and found none. An honest answer was best, he decided at last.
"My name is Nick Casey. I woke up on the ground nearby, and I've been having trouble remembering how I got here. I'm definitely not a spy, and I mean you no harm."
"Harm? My, my, now Mr. Casey," the warrior said, as he studied him up and down in the better lighting. "You're certainly not from Azimuth, and you're a bit too old to be one of the six Kin. And you're absolutely not in a position to harm any reconnoiters of the First Brigade of Meridia. Of that I can assure you. I'm Captain Spiro. You're fortunate I was walking in your direction to relieve myself. If I had not stumbled upon you, one of my sentries assuredly would have cut you in two without asking any questions. Walk now." Captain Spiro held his blade out and motioned toward the fire.
They reached the bonfire, and the men sitting around stirred, muttering under their breath. Each and every one wore uniforms similar to Captain Spiro's, and all struck Nick as fierce and unforgiving. He swallowed a lump rising in his throat. Unlike Captain Spiro's thin, young face, many of them had weathered skin and were unshaven.
"Clayborn," Spiro boomed, "fetch me some handcuffs for this intruder."
"Well, what have we here?" Clayborn rose, a massive man, and towered over Captain Spiro and the rest. A full beard and long, braided hair made him look more like a Viking than a knight.
"One more traitor from Malefic's legion to carve up?" another soldier seethed and drew his sword. A mole sprouting black hairs hovered above his eye, and when he smiled, Nick saw his teeth were yellow.
"Simmer down now," Spiro retorted. "We do not harm free independents, and I need to determine what side this oaf is on."
Clayborn hissed as he turned and stormed off. "Aye, methinks he reeks of Malefic's soldiers. Malefic has cost me my ship and crew, stranger. The gods be with you if you are associated with that lowdown."
A few of the men sitting around the campfire stood and walked toward Nick. They examined him and appeared only mildly interested in him. By their glares, he noted they had already decided which side he was on. It seemed not to be theirs.
"Tolbert, Molson, keep an eye on him till Clayborn returns," Spiro ordered.
Nick shifted from foot to foot and wrung his hands until Clayborn arrived with rusty handcuffs. The hulking figure passed them off to Tolbert and Molson, whispered something, and headed back to the fire to talk to Spiro.
Tolbert, the man with the mole, fastened the ice cold shackles to Nick's wrists.
"We're doin' ye a favor, spy," said Molson. "Ye will be less sore with the cuffs in front."
They forced him down near the warmth of the flames, not far from Spiro and Clayborn, who engaged in a heated conversation. The captain seemed to be explaining something when a small troop of men trotting down the hill interrupted him.
Spiro shouted to them, "Where is Canter's patrol? They are a fortnight late."
"Sorry, Cap'n, things look bad. Zumbaki have turned up out there," one of the men reported.
Spiro hissed and spat on the ground. "Zumbaki? Painted tribesmen. They shouldn't even be on this side of the forest!" He sighed and rubbed the bridge of his crooked nose, which looked as if it had been broken in the past. "I intend to retire for forty winks. Be sure to alert Clayborn of anything suspicious. Be wary in the field. Malefic and his troops could be close," he cautioned as he marched to a small tent.
Nick stared at the fire, licking his dry lips as his stomach rumbled. His back ached and his feet throbbed.
After some time passed, two men came running down the hill, glistening with sweat. They wore lightweight armor and carried fewer weapons than the others.
"Canter, you should signal us with flares," Clayborn declared as he rushed to meet them.
Canter panted, barely able to speak. "The f-flares... l-lost. W-we're lucky to make it back. We ran into a pack of Zumbaki. We lost Landon and Maniker."
"Bloody savages," Clayborn muttered.
Nick's head spun as he struggled to follow their dialogue. He didn't know how he'd arrived in this nightmarish land, but he would have to adapt quickly if he wanted to survive.
Shelby decided Sculptor wasn't so bad after all. On the journey back to their division, Sculptor briefed her and Mr. Dempsey on their predicament, while Barrick rode ahead of them to scout for trouble.
The shrubbery around them burst in odd colors. Bushes blazed bright blue and teal next to flowers flaring yellow blossoms with violet leaves.
"Shouldn't be too bad," Barrick proclaimed from ahead. "We're on the southern side of the forest. No Zumbaki around here, and Malefic's patrols haven't been sighted. Over the eastern fringe, near the Cark Woods, I wouldn't be caught without an entire division."
"Um, what are Zumbaki?" Shelby asked.
He called back, "Savage tribesmen, cannibals who roam the Cark."
Sculptor sighed. "Ah, poor Vilaborg and Casselton. They had a Ki
n to fetch in the Cark Woods. I do hope they're all right."
"No better pair than that one to be in the Cark," Barrick said. "Borgy grew up there, and don't forget, both have intercepted before. I spoke to some Tuskarians who told me the Cark is infested with evil souls and vile monsters."
"You can't control where that portal of yours opens up, can you?" asked Mr. Dempsey.
Sculptor nodded. "Alas, although the device is efficient and transports our subjects safely, we cannot harness the powers needed to provide a specific location. The mentors bestow the coordinates where we can open the mobile portal. If an area doesn't consist of the proper nutrients and energies in the air, this may harm our passengers. We'd love the ability to utilize the portal with an entire brigade present, but the entry cannot operate with more than one or two living beings in the area. Hence our duty as interceptors. Do not fear. We aren't far from camp. We'll meet with our division in less than an hour."
"Let us ride now in silence while I find a safe spot to take a break," said Barrick.
Shelby stretched one of her legs. Both of her knees were growing stiff and sore from sitting so long in the hard leather saddle. Riding was new to her. She had imagined as a little girl how one day she might own a horse, but she'd never ridden one.
Barrick slowed down and dismounted. He waved a glowing compass along the perimeter, and then sniffed at the air for some time.
"The Tuskarian race is part ogre," Sculptor whispered. "They can smell a cigar a few miles away."
"We're close to the others now. We'll be safer when we join them," Barrick said as he returned to his mount. He grabbed something from his satchel and passed it back. "You must be hungry."
Shelby accepted the offering from Barrick and examined a hard strip. She sniffed it and debated taking a bite, as a growl from her stomach reminded her how famished she was.
"Very nourishing—chud. They're the roots of a druid." Barrick shoved a large hunk in his mouth.
Shelby took this as welcome news. "Oh, a root. I don't eat too much meat, so that's good."
"Aye, and I knew the druid we're eating—taught me to read the trails up in Tuska. Close friend for most of my life, he was. Name was Janor."
She glared at Barrick, unsettled. They were devouring a man? "I thought you said this was a root!"
"Aye, the root of a druid," he yammered, puzzled.
"Barrick, you ape," Sculptor shouted. "She has no idea what a druid is. Why, our own youth barely met live ones." He turned to her. "My dear, druids are tree people. They are mostly plant life, but with the soul of a person. They have become rare of late."
Mr. Dempsey said, "Tree people?"
Sculptor nodded. "Why, yes, they are part tree. Nearly all tree, in fact. The wood south of the Eridanus River had a village of druids at one point. The forest there is moist and lush, quite a salubrious setting for druids."
"We're eating tree people?" Shelby scrunched up her face and stared at the chud.
"The roots, my dear Shelby. Druids' stems can be found deep in the ground after they die. They last forever and are in abundance. Takes a while to dig them up, though. Old Floater Clancy is a rich man, since his family began excavating druid roots for a living. They are excellent for long road trips and the sort, because they don't rot and are full of nutrients."
Mr. Dempsey inspected the chud, turning the slice over a few times. "Druids, you say. In our history, druids are ancient sorcerers who appeared in Welsh and Irish lore. I believe I remember reading that the druids were renowned for their power to transform trees into warriors and send them out to battle. Dryads were considered tree spirits. I wonder if that legend has any connection to your druids, the tree people."
Sculptor and Barrick shrugged, each of them chewing on the chud.
Mr. Dempsey took a bite. "Hmm, not bad. Actually very tasty."
Shelby took a small nip. She didn't relish the thought of eating something that had been alive at one point, even if it wasn't meat. Mr. Dempsey was right, though. The roots were flavorful. The chud was tough, like beef jerky, but it didn't taste bland or stringy. Instead, it yielded a salty-sweet effect.
After a few minutes of eating chud and swilling some water, Barrick remounted his horse, and they proceeded.
Shelby rode with Mr. Dempsey, if one could call it riding. Lenore needed no guidance from her. She smirked. Rather than trying to make the mare follow Barrick and Sculptor, she thought of their experience so far. This world was similar to Earth, with plants, animals, and society, but everything was skewed—strange underbrush, people who were part ogre, and food made from sentient trees.
"Whoa," Barrick called as he halted his steed ahead of them. "Presage and the rest of the Kin should be camped just down this path."
They trotted along and soon entered a large campsite. Several soldiers resembling Sculptor and Barrick stood as sentries.
Shelby shrank a little in the saddle. Hopefully these men were as kind as her new companions.
"Barrick, Sculptor... rookies no longer," bellowed one of the guards.
Another said with a snicker, "Well, well, broken in now, are we?"
"Aye, Sol, you're just jealous Achernar didn't send a grizzled veteran like you out, aren't you?" Barrick chided.
Sol cackled. "You can bet a hundred coogles I'd rather be with division, my dear Barrick."
"Coogles are hard to come by these days, Sol. Or haven't you heard we're in an economic contraction?"
"Oh, contraction, extension—balderdash! I'm just a soldier for division. I wouldn't know how to invest a coogle in the Companies Square if you gave it to me for free. Though I might spend some in Vixen."
A fellow with a stethoscope around his neck said, "The Square sank another five percent today, boys, so perhaps you should get on after Malefic before we lose our solitude savings, eh?"
"I made quite a bunch of coogles off of Floater Clancy's place last quarter," Sculptor boasted as his horse cantered forward. "They dug sixty acres of chud right outside Prickly Peak."
An older man wearing a well-tailored leather suit lurched up. "You speak of coogles and the Square, fooling around and bragging. Do you understand Malefic is gaining power, and that we'll be fighting for our lives? The time for gibberish and joking is gone. Peace has made you soldiers soft. I pray you'll soon grasp the circumstances. Lord Achernar has called the Kin to Azimuth, and if Biskara is involved, many lives will be lost."
The old soldier bowed before Shelby, then gave a scowl to the officers and trudged away. The troopers stood in silence for a few seconds, their expressions sobered by shame.
Barrick turned to Shelby and Mr. Dempsey. "He's Rufus Morder, a colonel in the Meridian Army. The last time Biskara gained power he lost one of his sons. Forgive me for my rudeness." He motioned Sol closer. "This is Shelby, and this here is Mr. Dempsey."
"I am honored to meet you. Name is Sol." He nodded his head once. Sol, taller than Barrick, was not as muscular and appeared more human than most. "Isn't he a bit on the gray side to be a Kin, Barrick?"
When he spoke, Shelby saw he had a gap between his teeth.
"Aye, he entered the portal with 'er," Barrick said.
"Such a thing ever happened before?"
"Pal o' mine, I sure hope so. I don't want to be the headmost interceptor in history to bring in a free independent from the mobile portal."
"Uh, no, no, Barrick," Sculptor said. "I believe I remember a reconnoiter telling me something about a whole bunch of independents, animals, vehicles, and the like advancing through the portal before. I'm certain we aren't the first ones." He peered over to Sol for reassurance.
"Oh, yes, fellas," Sol said. "I'm sure something similar to this has happened before. I do pray so for your sake, because you would never live this down. Bards will be singing rhymes and stories about your blunder for eternity."
Sol broke into a hearty laugh and then caught himself, as if recalling Rufus's comments just moments earlier. He looked off into the distance where the veteran h
ad disappeared.
Shelby followed his gaze and gaped. She had not anticipated such a large camp. White canvas tents sprouted from the muddy ground. The pungent air smelled unusual—a mixture of horses, campfires, food, and people—but it felt almost familiar, as if she'd been in a place like this before.
Several soldiers jogged by. A few stopped and bowed to her. A couple even took their helmets off. Each had dirt on his face and armor, mud on his boots, and many of them were unshaven. Time out in the field had not been kind.
Apparently, few hot baths could be had. She felt a little sad, having hoped for a rinse after riding for so long.
Something nagged at her. "Sculptor, where are the cities?"
"Meracuse, Meridia's capital, is several hours from here. We may pass through a few villages, but we plan to avoid most in order to avert any detection of the Kin."
She frowned.
Mr. Dempsey swept his hands across the vista. "This camp is something else, don't you think, Shelby?"
"Sure is. Aren't people going to be worried, Mr. Dempsey? I mean, didn't we leave the library wide open? And it must have been hours since we left."
"Alas, dear Shelby, we can do nothing. When we return, I'm sure I'll have a fair amount of explaining to do. No sense worrying about things out of our hands. Who even knows how time passes between here and Earth."
While she and Mr. Dempsey spoke, Barrick and Sol also exchanged a few words. Barrick, though short, still towered over Sol atop his charger. The two comrades conversed in low tones, and Sol pointed across the camp to a small hill.
Banners fluttered above some of the tents, their colorful fields igniting a sudden passion within her. Mr. Dempsey was right; she couldn't control getting home. Lord Achernar had brought her here for a reason, and no one had treated her unjustly so far. While she missed her father, she knew these people needed her and the other Kin more.
"How nice to meet you, Miss Shelby, Mr. Dempsey." Sol gave a nod to them and then scurried away.
The Silver Sphere Page 5
