Godart did not answer Colvin’s sarcastic jibe but continued in seriousness.
“I do hope your captains and the prince will find a way to bring harmony of purpose to the expedition. Indecision or dissention in battle is a dangerous thing. I want you to be careful, son. I am glad that Donovan is going with you, but your brother may not always be there to pull your fat out of the fire. I know it is beyond the point of being able to change your mind, and the high priest seems to think you are walking in the will of the One Lord, so I will not oppose this openly. Know though, son, that if your heart changes, your family is here and your room is always open to you.”
This was the most tender thing Duncan had heard from his father since announcing his intention to join the priesthood. The mouths of his three oldest brothers also hung open in surprise at the words of their father. Duncan knew his father loved him, but Durgak rarely expressed tender emotions between males, even fathers and sons. It was shocking to hear their father speak so warmly toward Duncan.
The grin on Donovan’s face indicated perhaps this was not wholly unexpected by everyone. Maybe his brother had come to the rescue once again and had taken some time to speak with their father after it was known Duncan and the caravan was heading this way. However it happened, Duncan was grateful for the change.
“Thanks, da’. You know I will always do everything to honor the One Lord and to represent the Silvermanes in a manner you can be proud of. Believe me, Father, we will succeed and will restore commerce to Stonehold and to the neighboring nations. I will also keep a watchful eye on Captain Garan. Of that you can be sure.”
The rest of the meal proceeded in typical Durgak silence. What needed to be said had been said, and with the unexpected reversal from Godart, the oldest brothers and their brother-in-law, Banig, dared not reopen a subject that had been so definitively closed. At the end of the evening, Duncan and Donovan gave their father a hearty handshake, hugged their mother and sister, and departed—Donovan for the barracks and Duncan for the manor house, where he would spend the night along with his companions.
Melizar perused the streets of the commerce district. Aside from a strange look or two from a few of the merchants, Melizar’s robed and hooded appearance seemed to be unremarkable to most of the vendors. They apparently were accustomed to caravans filled with strange visitors dropping in. In fact, due to the shortage of caravans recently, many of the merchants were eager to make a sale, and Melizar was able to take advantage of the shortage of customers to strike some excellent bargains.
The Durgak merchants hemmed and hawed and talked about how he was taking the food out of the mouths of their children asking for such low prices, but in the end, Melizar knew that they would not sell him anything unless they could make a profit, and almost always they eventually gave Melizar the price he was looking for.
The sun had long set before shadowy mage completed his purchases and began winding his way toward the manor house. As he rounded one corner, he spotted something odd down a darkened alley. The darkness of the alley would have obscured the happenings from any prying eyes, except for one with the eyes of a D’zarik.
A large figure was speaking with a sneaky-looking gray-furred Fenratu. The frame of the man would have identified him immediately even to one who could only see his silhouette, but Melizar’s impeccable night vision saw clearly the man was Xyer Garan.
Before Melizar could pull out the components for a far-hearing spell, the two concluded their discussions, and with a cautious look around them, the Fenratu left, heading west. Garan crept carefully out of the alley and, after making sure he wasn’t spotted, set off in the direction of the manor house. Melizar’s place in the shadows and dark robes had kept him hidden from Garan’s sight. After giving the Cyrian a few minutes head start, Melizar resumed his own trek back to their quarters for the night.
It was the wee hours of the morning before Duncan awoke to the sounds of Goldain and Thatcher finally stumbling into the manor house. While Goldain likely expected the coming effects of the next morning, young Thatcher would be nearly incapacitated by the hangover heading his way.
Duncan chose to show the mercy of the One Lord to his companions, and as soon as they were asleep on their bunks, he crept up to their bunks and used a special healing oth, which would remove the alcohol from their systems and leave them sober and pain-free in the morning. He did not begrudge them their revelry, but Duncan knew everyone would need to be at their best starting tomorrow in preparation for whatever lie ahead.
Doubtless with the help of Duncan’s healing oth, Goldain and Thatcher awoke early.
“I’ve never woken after a night of hearty drinking with such a clear and pain-free head,” Goldain marveled.
“Maybe there is something magical in the Mountain Spring’s ale,” Thatcher mused.
“No, kid, I promise you something is amiss. Durgak ale will deliver a hangover as stout and unshakable as any Durgak warrior.”
“Let me settle your minds, lads,” Duncan replied. “It was I who used healing oth to settle your heads while you slept last night.”
“For that,” Goldain smiled, “I am sincerely grateful. You know, that’s a useful talent. I might want to have you around next time a festive celebration draws nigh.”
“I’m afraid this was a necessary mercy,” Duncan answered. “I promise, however, that once this mission is over, if you want to experience the fullness of Durgak ale in all its glory, I won’t rob you again of the Dragon of the Morning.”
That was the phrase the Durgak used to speak of the after-effects of too much Durgak ale.
“By the use of that term,” Thatcher replied, “it sounds like something I would just as soon miss. I think this is the last time I let Goldain talk me into such foolishness again.”
“Want to wager on that promise, kid?” Goldain quipped.
Captain Tropham and the troops readied themselves and assembled the wagons. When the company was ready to depart, Duncan led them toward the west gate. Bardrick was still a grump for the first few hours of the morning, but Jeslyn had gotten much better at fighting through her resistance to waking up, and she looked ready and chipper for the journey.
As they did a final check of the provisions of the wagons, up marched Donovan and twenty fierce-looking Durgak berserkers with their beards forked and braided and with fire in their eyes. To either side of Donovan walked two unexpected companions—Field Marshal Bonecrusher, who had come to see them off and a female silver and black Fenratu in chainmail with a longsword swinging at her hip and a longbow in her hand.
As the leaders approached, Duncan saw the hairs on the back of Arreya’s neck stand up and her tail begin to twitch. A low growl emerged from the Fenratu and was answered by a menacing hiss from Arreya.
“What is this?” she exhorted.
“Ah,” Donovan answered, “let me introduce you all to the Third Berserker Company’s best scout and tracker, Sable. Sable has served with us for two years, and I convinced Field Marshal Bonecrusher to allow us to bring her along as her tracking and scouting skills will come in handy for sure.”
“But we already have a scout—me!” snapped Arreya.
Since Arreya had not been present at the council, Donovan was obviously unaware they already had a scout and figured one was needed. Duncan saw the tensions rising and quickly stepped in to head it off.
“Arreya, while there is no doubt your tracking and scouting is without peer, the truth is Fenratu scouts are common with caravans in the pass while few have ever seen a Zafirr outside the Djarmangara. If we are going to look like a typical, easily-plunderable caravan, then Sable’s presence may help to sell that illusion. You could ride in wagon three and be ready as soon as the first signs of trouble appear. Please, lass, think of what is best for the mission.”
All waited to see what Arreya’s reaction would be, but none expected it to be good. She surprised them with how well she handled being replaced by a scout of a race that the Zafirr so obviously distr
usted.
“Well, I suppose if one of us has to be in a cage, it might as well be me. No telling if the Durgak’s pet is even housebroken, and we wouldn’t want a mess in the wagons.”
Sable, showing she too had a spark of wit and a fiery heart, answered for herself.
“Be careful there, kitty-cat. If you talk too much, you are likely to hack up a furball. Wouldn’t want to discourage any potential suitors suffering from jungle fever now, would you?”
It seemed the tension was not about to dissipate anytime soon. Goldain, in typical fashion, could not resist the opportunity to stir the pot with an untimely jest.
“Now, now ladies. We will never get through this expedition if we are fighting with each other like cats and dogs.”
He chuckled to himself, and his wit brought smiles to the Adami, who were in hearing range. The two chats-enash, however, seemed less than amused. Both Arreya and Sable seemed for the moment content to call a truce as they scowled and turned their piercing glances toward the northerner. Goldain looked for a moment as if he may have bitten off more than he could chew.
Duncan had seen Arreya in action against Garan and hoped Gideon’s warning held. Sable seemed quite capable as well. While it was unlikely they would take the northerner’s jest seriously enough to get physical at that moment, Goldain was certain to come to regret that remark.
The issue with dual scouts seemed to be settled at least for now. Arreya would take her place in wagon three, and Sable would take on the scouting for the time being. Gideon instructed Sable not to leave the sight of the wagons. If trouble befell her on the road, they would be able to reach her. If she spotted trouble, she could make it back to warn them and join the fight.
Each of the five non-supply wagons now held four Durgak berserkers and two Aton-Ri troopers. Eight troopers would scatter about and march beside the caravan, and the last two would join wagon four and five. Arreya would ride in wagon three, Goldain in the back of wagon two, and Gideon in wagon one. Donovan would conceal his armor and weaponry under a large riding cloak and take his place beside Tropham as the driver of wagon one.
That would put seven people inside each of the five non-supply wagons, two drivers for each of the total six wagons, eight troops marching, one scout ahead, and Xyer Garan the mounted knight behind. Fifty-seven total in the caravan with only twenty-two showing, and most of those looking like merchants or drivers. Hopefully, the troops showing would prove few enough to entice the attackers to engage the caravan while the total troops would be sufficient to deal with whatever threat manifested. Somewhere between here and the west end of Dragon Pass was the answer to the mystery of the missing caravans. Without further delay, the company set forth from the west gate of Stonehold in search of this answer.
Into the Breach
As the caravan left the west gate of Stonehold headed for whatever destiny had in store, each team of wagon drivers seemed locked in their own thoughts. On the lead wagon, Tropham and Donovan discussed the recent reports of Nephilim activity to the west. They plotted battle plans and recounted past victories. Donovan instructed Tropham in some of the particulars of battling in the narrow mountain pass where most assuredly their enemies would attack from the high ground. Tropham was sure his troops were among the best, but after talking with Donovan, he found himself wishing he had brought fewer infantry and more archers. Taking high ground, especially if held by superior numbers, would be a difficult task indeed.
In wagon two, Thatcher continued Kohana’s lessons in Adami language he had begun on the trail from Aton-Ri to Stonehold. The islander was extremely sharp, and in just the week or so, they had been riding together, he had already improved considerably. Thatcher had some basic knowledge of the Somamu tongue picked up from his guild-mate, Thannos, whose father was a Somamu warrior and whose mother was a V’Arbri, an elvish race closely related to the V’rassi. They practiced discussing in Adami the various knife techniques they exchanged during their evenings in camp. Thatcher felt his knife skills had improved almost as much as Kohana’s language skills, but if they ended up facing the odds Goldain and Gideon expected, it would be Thatcher’s repeating crossbow getting the lion’s share of the workout.
In the third wagon, Melizar learned, in the rare times he coaxed Ohanzee into conversation, that the Shade was a rogue. He hailed from Tynon, a nation to the south of Dotham Woods on the northwest coast of Ya-Erets. Melizar knew it well. It was more of a region bathed in strife and anarchy than any type of proper nation. In Tynon, the Umbra, unscrupulous Adami, and other undesirables settled in bands ruled by warlords or bandit kings, isolated from the outside world by Dotham Woods to the north, the Wild Lands to the east, and the Great Western Desert to the south. Their main egress to the outside world was via the port city of Mardis.
The economy of the quasi-nation of Tynon dealt in slave trading, smuggling, and piracy. Their ships were a constant threat to the honest sea traders of the Sorami Islands, home of the Somamu and other seafaring races each of which controlled their various islands. The D’zarik often traded with the Tynoni for Adami female slaves to serve as amah-em in obedience to the direction of Lord Yolodyr. They had even opened up an entrance within the borders of Tynon to Shadowdeep to facilitate the trade. Shadowdeep was the underground world of D’zarik, Umbra, and several other subterranean races who lived in near perpetual darkness.
Most of the surface dwellers were unaware that the Shadowdeep even existed. It was a world beneath the world. Shadowdeep primary residents were D’zarik, having large cities spread throughout most of Ya-Erets with each city almost entirely beneath the surface with only a small, easily defended exit above ground.
Few other races could exist and function in the near total darkness of the Shadowdeep—the Umbra, a chats-enash reptilian race called the Noni and their gecko-like reptiloid parent race the Schazhari. There were also a few scattered pockets of a Durgak sub-race called the Ephah, and some tribes of the insectoid races, but the near lightless void of the Shadowdeep was an impenetrable barrier to most surface dwellers.
The D’zarik, the reptilian Noni, and the Umbra had vision so attuned to the darkness that the light given off by Shadowdeep’s various species of glowing lichens allowed them to see as well as an Adami in bright daylight. Even in complete darkness, D’zarik could see as well as Adami could at dusk.
The other Shadowdeep races had excellent eyesight in darkness but not quite as perfect as the D’zarik. If the caravan was attacked at midday, both Melizar and Ohanzee would be at a great disadvantage under the full light of the sun. If however any attack or pursuit led them into caves or underground, both he and his rogue wagon-mate would be the best equipped to lead the charge.
On the fourth wagon, Bardrick was chattering away about adventure, booty, cleaving heads, and all such male warrior-type nonsense. Jeslyn pretended to be listening attentively to the young braggart’s tales of adventure and fortune, but her mind was far from her wagon-mate. Jeslyn’s thoughts filled with the many wondrous companions she had met on this journey and with the hope that she would find what had become of her father.
When she set out from her small village in search of her father, she knew the path would lead to Aton-Ri. Not only had that been where her father hired on with a caravan to earn enough money to feed them through the winter, but it also was the place where any rescue force would depart from.
Aton-Ri was formerly a large Rajiki settlement, but many years ago Adami from other places, as well as many other races came to settle in the port city. It grew far larger than any other Rajiki settlement. Her father told her it became an independent city-state only a few decades ago. The first mayor, the father of the current mayor, had put forth a policy that any person of any race who came in peace would be welcome to settle in Aton-Ri. It was a great melting pot of all races and the ideal destination for anyone seeking adventure.
While exploring Aton-Ri and making inquiries, she heard that a caravan would be departing for the west led by a Qarahni p
rince. Goldain had become almost like an uncle to her since she rather insistently convinced him to allow her along for this adventure. He bought her the first properly made Rajiki arrows she had ever owned and assigned Bardrick to look after her. She was not so sure this last item was a blessing, but the young warrior, for all his bragging, did seem to know which end of his axe to hold. She was not worried much about that though. She could take care of herself.
She wished, however, that she could handle herself as well as their scout Arreya could. The way she had jumped that giant brute Xyer Garan was awesome. She moved so quickly and with such grace and ferocity. Jeslyn thought Arreya might be the mightiest warrior in the caravan. She was not sure if Arreya’s offer to teach her some things had been genuine, but certainly hoped so. Jeslyn was as deadly with her bow as any warrior in the company was, but if someone got too close she knew she had a long way to go before she could properly defend herself in close combat.
Then there was that boy. The young rogue Thatcher had hardly said two words to her the entire journey, despite the two of them being the youngest and only two years different in age. He was certainly all googly-eyed over Arreya, but so were most of the males in the caravan. There was just something about him she could not get out of her head.
He certainly was cute enough with his jet-black hair all wild and roguish and his piercing green eyes, but there was something of an old soul about him, which contrasted his actual age. She asked Goldain to tell her more about him and found out he had been orphaned since he was very young. He had grown up on the streets of Aton-Ri. She supposed such a thing would put years on anyone. The grim thought entered her mind that if she discovered the worst about her father’s fate, they would share another thing in common.
Atop the fifth wagon, Kylor and Duncan were a perfect match. Kylor was the quiet type, and Duncan was perfectly content to take more than his share of the conversation. Duncan talked about the mountains, about his childhood, about the finer points of Durgak ale, but most of all, he talked about the One Lord.
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