“We will handle the burning of the enemy bodies,” said Tropham. “I know the Durgak have tombs available for situations where allied non-Durgak can be buried.”
“I will speak to the Durgak council,” said Duncan. “I am confident we can gain approval for the internment of the dead in Stonehold.”
“Thank you, Priest Duncan. I will have my men see to the cleanup detail, the removal of the demolished wagons from the trail, and the transport of the dead back to Stonehold. Since several of my living troopers are still in pretty bad shape, we should keep the other hirelings with us as well.”
“Oh no you won’t!” piped a squeaky, girlish voice from outside the tent.
In popped Jeslyn with her hands on her hips and a look on her face like she had just swallowed a toad.
“I came to find out what happened to my father, and whoever is behind these bandits knows that answer. I am going with Captain Gideon. I was born in the saddle and can ride circles around any one of you. If you actually might need to shoot at something while riding, no offense Thatcher, but you don’t seem like you have spent much time on a horse. That heavy contraption of yours is as likely to knock you off one as it is to hit anything while riding.”
Amused smiles crossed all the faces of those assembled except of course for Thatcher who looked as if he were trying to decide whether or not this scrawny youngster had just insulted him. This girl was determined, and truth be told with her being Rajiki, she likely was not exaggerating about her riding and mounted archery skills. Most Rajiki were riding horses before they could walk, and their mobile archers were highly sought as guards and cavalry troops by all the nations of the northwest.
“Okay, kiddo, listen up,” Goldain answered the youngster. “You can come with us because if we didn’t let you, then we likely would have to leave you tied to a tree in the wilderness to keep you from following anyway.”
“You got that right!” snapped Jeslyn.
“This ain’t no kid’s playground though,” Goldain continued. “You come, you keep quiet, and you let us handle the questions and the investigation. I am telling you this for your own good. The first time you lose that little temper of yours and mouth off at the wrong time, I’m gonna tie you, gag you, and stuff you in a burlap sack hung over my saddle, you got me?”
Jeslyn swallowed the lump in her throat as she stared at the northern prince, doubtlessly trying to assess the likelihood that he would actually stuff her into a sack. Gideon could see from her expression she was banking that the odds were fairly good Goldain was exaggerating, but just to be on the safe side, she assented.
“You got it, big guy. But that don’t mean that when we are off on our own, I ain’t gonna tell you a thing or two if I feel you missed something. And you might not find me as easy to stuff in a sack as you think.”
Gideon guessed the girl had added this last bit of bravado, hoping to sound at least a little menacing. The smiles all around the table showed that everyone knew as well as she did the extent of that bluff.
Thatcher found his mood rapidly souring as he pondered how the spoiled girl had gotten what she wanted. She would be going on with Captain Gideon’s team to Cyria, which meant Thatcher would be stuck around her for another week or more at least. Her little outburst about his riding and shooting ability did little to improve her standing in his eyes.
The plans were all set and underway. Arreya left for Aton-Ri as soon as the meeting broke up. At her speed, she could make Stonehold before dark. They had a couple of hours left before sundown, and Sable wanted to waste no time getting after the runaway Orcs. She and the berserkers, led by Captain Donovan and accompanied by Duncan, were already well into the southern slopes.
The adventurers bound for Cyria stayed and helped Tropham and his men with the overwhelming task of cleaning up after the battle. Thatcher, as inconspicuously as possible, had slipped on his eye patch and was scouring the field of carnage, hoping to find any hidden items, which would emit a bluish aura.
He found and scavenged quite a few coins from the fallen goblinoids, but unfortunately, the only blue items were the massive sword of Xyer Garan and a small circular object on the Cyrian’s chest, beneath his armor. Thatcher knew that there was no way Gideon would allow him to get anywhere close to anything belonging to Garan.
The troopers made sure those heading for Cyria were well stocked with provisions before they left. Gideon said there was a river just after the western end of Dragon Pass, which served as the northern border of Cyria. Refilling water en route would be no problem.
They would head out at dawn and should make the west end of the pass by the end of that day. The journey after that would be another four to five days, depending on the speed of the horses. The bandits’ animals seemed fit and healthy, but Garan’s warhorse, bearing its own heavy barding as well as the body of its former master, would slow them down considerably. A massive, armored courser was great for charging into a hostile force on the field of battle, but was not much use cross-country if speed is the overall goal.
Late into the night, the bonfire for the goblinoid bodies burned brightly. After many tiring hours, the troopers agreed to take the watches so that those traveling the long road to Cyria might get what rest they could. The night was not restful at all for the heroes, however, other than Goldain who snored like a thunderstorm as soon as his head was down for the night. Thatcher mused that a day filled with glorious battle was just the perfect prescription for a good night’s sleep for the Qarahni warrior. Gideon, however, looked restless.
“Captain,” Thatcher whispered to their leader. “Is everything all right?”
“Yes, Thatcher,” Gideon assured him. “Just a mind filled with more questions than answers makes a poor preamble to sleep.”
“Don’t worry, captain. I am sure we will find the answers soon enough.”
“I hope you are right, son. I hope you are right.”
Gideon’s weary eyes closed and Thatcher heard his captain’s breathing steady as Gideon slipped into exhausted, restless slumber.
Thatcher found sleep elusive as well. He lay in his bedroll, tossing in his mind between consternation and ecstasy.
First, what did that skinny little girl think she was doing talking that way about him in front of everyone? Her accusation that he was about as sure on a horse as he might have been riding a rolling barrel down a hill hit too close to home. In all honesty he couldn’t think of any way to reload much less accurately fire his crossbow while staying on said rolling barrel, but still to come out in front of the leaders and lay it all out like that was cruel and demoralizing.
There was something about her though. Despite her sharp tongue, Thatcher liked her spirit, and he supposed that she was kind of cute in a freckly-faced, skinny, arms-and-legs-all-akimbo kind of way. She was kind of like a little sister that he had never had or something. With a few changes, maybe she could even be more.
Enough about that girl though. His ecstasy came from his very first real magical item. He knew Melizar had given it to him in some way as a sort of bribe for his silence, but he also knew the mage’s secret was already out.
Guilt reared its ugly head as he felt, since he had no ability to keep a secret that was already out, he should return the gift and own up. He did save the mage’s life, however, and since that was the official reason Melizar had given him the eye patch, why shouldn’t he keep it? If Melizar lied to him about his intentions, why should he be penalized for that by having to return the gift? Surely, he had done nothing to be deliberately complicit in any lie, and he had earned the gift for the reason it was given. By rights he shouldn’t even be wrestling with this question. So why was he?
The toy already proved its worth. Thatcher had gathered several hundred silver pieces off the bodies of the Orcs. No one else seemed to need them, but then again, there was Gideon’s speech back at the raider lair about helping the victims with the proceeds. He began mumbling to himself as if sounding out his thoughts might help him mak
e sense of them.
“Aw, what was the use of being able to find secret treasure if I am only going to be haunted to give it away?”
He determined that he could wait just a little longer for his fortune and would turn the silver over to Tropham in the morning to help the families of the troopers and berserkers who had given their lives on this journey. What in the world was happening to him? He continued his one-sided conversation.
“First, I give away a tenth of my found treasure in the raider lair. Then my own guild leader kicks the stuffing out of me for not giving half of it to the guild and ends up taking it all anyway. Then, as if that wasn’t bad enough, the ridiculous despot kicks me out of the guild and tells me if I am ever caught practicing my trade in Aton-Ri again it will cost me more than coins, it will cost my life. Now, as if that wasn’t enough, here I am again going to give away all of my secret found treasure, which no one has any claim on but me.”
The most disturbing thing of all, however, was that he actually felt good about it.
“I must be losing my mind.”
He ended his monologue on that thought and drifted slowly off to sleep a couple of hours before dawn.
Melizar wondered at the patience of his companions in not pressing him for further explanation. In D’zarik culture, if someone knew something you wanted to know, and you had the ability to make them tell you, then it was a foregone conclusion that it was the right thing to do. These companions certainly were powerful enough and outnumbered him enough to where they could have held him down and torn off his robes and revealed him in all his D’zarik-rooted glory.
They also certainly could have tortured him until he told them he was a necromancer and the extent of his powers. That is exactly what he would have done in their position, and it was what he was indoctrinated to expect should he ever fall into the hands of the followers of the Malakim. Gideon, Duncan, and the other surface-worlders, however, continued to act in complete defiance of everything he was taught to expect. Perhaps Gideon’s offer of trust had been genuine. The implications were unthinkable.
Above all that, however, was his disturbing encounter with the spirit beings that seemed to match the descriptions of the Tsalmaveth. Was it Garan’s evil nature that drew these things devour his consciousness rather than the peaceful slipping away under the gentle touch of the Meorah Melizar had always experienced before? Were the ancient writings about a great war between the followers of the One Lord and those who opposed Him genuine? Perhaps, if he trusted Gideon with some more of the truth about himself, he could trade the information for what Gideon knew of the ancient legends beyond what was written. Secret knowledge was more valuable than gold in D’zarik society, so if Gideon could be talked into sharing some of his, then perhaps this trust idea might work out to Melizar’s benefit after all.
Unexpected Allies
Arreya was the first to leave the ambush site. Her journey was long, and the sooner the word got back to Aton-Ri of the ravaged ambushers the better. She was not as fast as some of her Zafirr kinsmen inhabiting the Sambraturan Savannah. The land to the south of the Djarmangara, across the Galol-Tsarebeth, or Great Scar, nearly cutting the continent in two, was the home of some of her plains-dwelling kinsmen. Some of the savannah-dwelling Zafirr, like the cheetah prides, could sprint much faster than she, but they tired quickly and could not maintain those great speeds over long distances.
Endurance was the specialty of the Zafirr panther and leopard prides. In addition to the strength and speed she inherited from her panther Zafirr mother, she also gained the willpower to drive past normal limits from her Adami father. The ability to push oneself beyond expectations was one of the unique features of the human races, especially the Adami.
Over great distances, like the ones that lie ahead of her for the next two days, there were none that could match her on land save perhaps the giant races of Nephilim or Raphaim who could take one stride to her four and cover the same ground.
She ate little before leaving camp but would heartily feast in Stonehold tonight before setting out in the morning. After that, the only pauses would be for water the remainder of the way to Aton-Ri. Zafirr often gorged themselves after a hunt and then could go up to a week or more before eating again if necessity or scarcity of game called for it. This time, she would not do without for that long.
A rider on a fast horse, lightly burdened, could make the hundred-and-fifty-mile trip from Stonehold to Aton-Ri in about three days without pushing hard enough to seriously harm the horse. She would make it in about twenty-four hours after leaving the east gate of Stonehold, barring any unforeseen troubles. Horses could not normally run more than ten hours a day or so maintaining speed. Arreya did not intend to stop until she reached Aton-Ri.
With the setting sun at her back, Arreya saw the high walls of Stonehold growing out of the horizon ahead. She had made good time. The guards had not even begun to close the west gate as she trotted up toward the city. Stern Durgak held her in the sights of their crossbows until she was within range to shout a hail. The west gate guard captain shouted a cautious greeting.
“Halt. Who goes there?”
“I am Arreya of the caravan that left Stonehold this morning. I have news for the high council and afterward for the leaders gathered in Aton-Ri. I seek shelter and provisions for the evening before I continue my journey at dawn on the morrow.”
“Hail and well met, Arreya. Stonehold welcomes you. I will send runners ahead to arrange for your room and board and to inform the council you have news of the caravan.”
With that, the crossbow-wielding gate guards relaxed a bit and lowered their weapons. These Durgak seemed a overcautious as though she might single-handedly storm the city. Still with the word of increased Nephilim activity, spies and traitors might well be a threat. To top that, there was no doubt that any Durgak who hadn’t seen her as they came through the city would surely not know what to make of a Zafirr chats-enash.
The gate captain dispatched one of his guardsmen to escort Arreya to the high council chamber. En route, however, they met the runner who had been dispatched to announce her arrival.
“Hail, Barmik,” he said with a bow of his head to the guardsman accompanying Arreya, “and to you, lady Arreya.”
She kind of liked being called a lady, even though the title fit her as poorly as a silk robe on a sow’s back.
“Due to the lateness of the hour and the time of day, the council will not see you in chambers tonight, but invites you to join them at the Mountain Spring tavern, where they have taken a private room to enjoy their evening meal.”
With that, the runner and the guardsmen exchanged salutes, and the guardsman changed their direction from northeast to southeast headed for the most famous brewery in Stonehold.
As they arrived, Barmik inquired from the tavern keeper where the high council was located. After gaining the information, the guardsman led Arreya to a room off of the back of the tavern. Upon entering, she saw five Durgak dining and drinking and genuinely enjoying themselves. Although she had not attended the meeting with the high council, she had a vivid description from Duncan of who to expect and of whom to be wary. The Durgak seemed to know her, however, as they bid her join them.
“Come on, lass, don’t be shy,” said a grayish-red-bearded Durgak fitting the description of Field Marshal Bonecrusher. “Come join us for a wee smiting of the finest Durgak ale in the city.”
Arreya did not intend to be rude, but alcohol of any sort didn’t agree with her, and losing control of her senses was not a feeling she was inclined to partake of willingly.
“Thank you, Field Marshal, but my people have a very bad reaction to alcohol, so if you would pardon any cultural slight this may cause you, I would prefer to have plain water if you please.”
The Durgak scowled for a brief moment before considering that her reason for refusal was good enough. She ordered her water and a triple portion of the mountain boar steak the waiter recommended served blood-rare.
/> The eldest-looking Durgak, who announced himself as Chancellor Kenrick Longfather, formally introduced the rest of the council as they waited for the meals to arrive. Odon Longnose, the minister of commerce seemed to turn a slight shade of green at her order for bloody rare pork. This seemed quite pleasing to Farris Stonebender, minister of mining. She picked up from his gloating grin that those two may not see eye to eye on many things.
Longnose’s squeamishness at her ordering the raw meat was amplified exponentially by its actual arrival at the table, and even more so by her ecstatically feasting upon it. Before they had even begun to discuss in detail the ambush and the outcome, the minister of commerce excused himself and told the rest they could fill him in on the details later as he just remembered an important previous engagement.
“Well, I see I shall have to begin ordering rare pork at our dinner meetings,” remarked Stonebender. “It seems that it has the effect of making our meetings both shorter and more pleasant.”
Laughter from the chancellor and field marshal showed that Longnose must often be at cross purposes with many members of the high council. Only Dalwyn Othblest, high priest of Stonehold, maintained his composure at the jest.
“So, Arreya,” the high priest began, “what can you tell us about the fate of the caravan and of young Priest Duncan?” His face clearly bore signs of concern for his young apprentice.
“We found and destroyed the ambushers,” Arreya reported between bloody bites. “The pass should be safe for the time being, but Captain Gideon plans to continue on to Varynia to investigate further and to return the body of Xyer Garan.”
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