The half-elf frowned at the idea. She trusted in her abilities, and doubted the others could stay as well hidden. Finally she nodded her head, seeing the dwarf’s determination. “I will take one of you.”
Trestan watched as Cat looked them over and struggled with the decision. Petrow volunteered to go, but Cat didn’t answer his pleas. Even as she looked him up and down, Trestan saw the answer in her eyes. Petrow was inexperienced, though he probably could attempt it. Yet, he dressed in flashy clothes. Of all of them, Petrow stood out against any backdrop. Cat then looked to the dwarf, and the answer was as plain as day. Cat would not take Salgor. Not only was he more of a straightforward person, he wanted a fight with the elf wizard. For all the adventuress knew Salgor might rush forth and attack. For their safety and the noble’s own good, she could not take the dwarf. Mel stood tall as she looked at him. Even though Cat was silent, Mel talked about how he used to play games of hide and seek as a kid. Although gnomes might be good scouts in the woods on that plateau, Mel’s personality was a big strike against him. While Cat would try to sneak around, Mel might be talkative and not very keyed in on the task at hand. The half-elf would not ask Mel to go with her.
Cat turned her green eyes towards Trestan. Trestan was young also, but cool and thoughtful. The young man wasn’t very apt to do something rash, other than leaving home to start the quest in the first place. From the very beginning the young smith wanted to make a difference, but he never got very distracted or went against Cat’s wishes. As she looked into his eyes, he saw the answer.
She was going to pick him.
CHAPTER 9
In the blackness, Trestan tried hard to follow the dark figure ahead of him and yet still keep silent. Every now and then Cat would wave for him to stop, or crawl forward, but mostly Trestan stayed several paces behind her. She occasionally whispered, keeping him informed about their surroundings. She told him this plateau overlooked a beach along the seashore. Cat also spotted more than one campfire, but she hadn’t yet seen details of the camp. Although Trestan was a little disoriented due to the darkness, he figured they had swung towards the north side of the bluff before circling south and climbing.
Once again Cat waved for him to wait where he was, then crawled ahead and out of sight. This left Trestan alone in the dark, lying on his belly amidst some trees and bushes. The elvish sword weighed on his back, though he had left his quarterstaff behind. Petrow had pointed out to him that the long staff might snag and make noise. Trestan hoped he would have no need of the sword this night. As he waited and listenened, he could hear quite a few sounds. Off to his left waves crashed against the beach. An owl hooted from somewhere above. Trestan heard the first sounds coming from the unseen camp in the form of a couple sneezes. Trestan hoped the owner of the sneezes was human. He heard a light tap of a stick, in a pattern that signaled Trestan to crawl forward again. As he did, he became aware the trees thinned out ahead, although not disappear entirely. He began seeing more stars through the leaves above. One of the moons reflected some light on the area, though it was poor.
Trestan didn’t mind the darkness in some ways, for it kept them hidden enough to sneak close. At the same time, he was frightened to be out here almost alone when faced with unknown danger. When charging the strange group in Troutbrook alongside Sir Wilhelm, there had been little time for apprehension. On this night he had plenty of time to feel nervous. As the young human snuck forward, he winced at every little sound he made. His hands and feet always seemed to dislodge a pebble or push one leafy branch into another. Cat moved with much less noise than he could achieve. Trestan got to see Cat in her infiltrator element, scouting out enemy camps with utmost secrecy. As Trestan listened, he heard voices from the area up ahead. Cat was not far from him now. He crawled beside her as she peered over a fallen log. The distant campfire light accentuated her elvish features. Trestan could make out a frown on her face.
Cat lowered herself behind the log and looked at him. “Gods, Trestan. What are we dealing with here?”
Trestan frowned also, not sure what she meant, but knowing she should be able to read his expressions in the dim light. She motioned with her hands that he should rise and take a look for himself. Trestan raised himself over the log. He did it painfully slow, afraid that whoever was out there might see him. The scene before him was unexpected.
There was a larger party here than what they expected. Six tents of mixed sizes and shapes sat amongst a break in the trees. A couple of tents were large enough to sleep small groups of people comfortably. Several young trees dotted the campsite. Three fires lit the area; two existed as small cooking fires. The largest fire actually burned very high and hot, and would be visible for some distance at night. To the east of camp, a steep bank led to the shoreline below. The bluff offered a good view of the beach and the sea. They saw no horses or animals, but there were several people scattered around the camp.
Trestan counted the occupants of the camp. He could see at least four men moving about the clearing. They didn’t seem to be doing anything except chatting around the fires. They had the look of hard men, each one armed to some degree. He examined each one; sure that Cat did the same. The two silent observers sought any symbols or trappings indicating to whom the residents of the camp declared fealty. The smith and the half-elf sought anyone that they might recognize.
Some of the men passed a bottle between themselves as they chatted. The closest two were talking about the women in some tavern. The little bit of conversation that reached the woods was not enough to get details. Another man cleaned cookware at the far campfire. He was scrubbing at some pots with a small amount of clean water and a large amount of spit. Another seemed to be playing the part of sentry, throwing wood on the already large, main fire. They were not really armored. Their weapons consisted of daggers and small, curved blades. Cat noted something about the way they talked and moved, so she leaned closer to Trestan and whispered.
“They are mostly sailors.” Katressa observed. “They might be working as mercenaries or such, but they walk like they spend most of their time on a boat.”
“Maybe pirates? Or smugglers?” Offered Trestan.
A person emerged from one of the tents. He dressed in finer clothes than the others. A saber at his side looked like it had been conscripted by some country as a naval officer’s side arm, though the man wearing it did not look to be from any organized militia. The man had bright reddish hair, and he moved with a lot of confidence. The men around camp seemed to take a respectful notice of him, though they didn’t interrupt anything they were doing. A bottle was offered to him, but the red haired man declined. Cat and Trestan watched as the man went to another tent and entered it. Whatever his purpose in this new tent, the two nearer men sharing the bottle chuckled over some kind of ‘privileges of rank’.
A short time later he re-emerged from the tent, and this time he had someone with him. Trestan and Cat both looked with wide eyes as the dark cleric of DeLaris, Savannah, stepped from the tent and shared some words with the red-haired man. Both eavesdroppers shared a small grin at finding the group they had spent the past few days tracking. That grin was quickly erased. As Red-hair and the abbess talked, the saber wielder held a length of rope. The rope stretched to something still inside the tent. He gave it a rough tug, and from the other end someone stepped into view.
Trestan stared with startled sadness. Lady Shauntay was recognizable, though very unkempt and dirty from traveling. Her knee-high boots were missing, leaving bare and blistered feet. Scratches from walking through tall grass and brush marked her from knees to ankles. Her corset and ruffled skirt were the same clothes worn since the day the battle took place. Mud marred her appearance. Her hair hung unbraided; the silver clasps that had held it in place stolen. The young noble still had flecks of dried blood in her tangled blonde hair, from when she had fallen off her horse that same dreadful night. Her hands were bound by the rope Red-hair held, though her feet were not bound at all. The young nob
le gazed downward, avoiding any direct looks with her captors. Savannah and the other man talked, though their words could not be heard. Red-hair seemed to be enjoying himself, laughing often and jerking hard on Lady Shauntay’s rope. The young woman winced at the rough treatment.
Trestan unconsciously rose. He wanted to charge right across and test the sword’s magical blade on that evil face. Cat placed a restraining hand on his shoulder, bringing him back to the reality of the situation. If Trestan charged into that camp, he would probably just get himself killed. He lowered himself back to where he could barely peer over the fallen log. The young smith wanted to wish all sorts of bad things upon that man, but he reflected such thoughts of revenge and violence weren’t really in line with Abriana’s philosophies. It was better to hope the young noble would not have to endure this hardship much longer.
It appeared she had one person watching over her. Savannah pointed a finger and seemed to threaten Red-hair right after he had his fun tugging on the rope. The man didn’t show fear in front of his men, but he did seem to back down from any other bad actions against the lady. The abbess of DeLaris gestured to one of the cooking fires, accentuating one more threat before turning her back on the man and re-entering the tent.
More respectful with how he treated his prisoner, but still less than nice, the saber wielder led the young noble towards the cook fire on the far end of camp. The two eavesdroppers from Troutbrook watched as he sat her down near the fire and handed her a plate of food. Red-hair tied off the trailing length of rope to the trunk of a young tree. They showed a lot of confidence in their watchfulness by allowing her hands bound in front; they likely had a number of people to dissuade any attempt at escape. Lady Shauntay tore into the food with her tied, bare hands to feed her hunger. The way she handled the food and plate indicated to the others that she had been used to eating like that the last few days. Red-hair sat down next to the spit-and-polish pot washer and they talked. Soon both men broke out a set of dice and started tossing them on the ground, taking turns keeping an eye on their captive. She continued to do nothing more than eat her fill.
Trestan looked to Cat for guidance. On a night such as this, they might have a chance to grab the noble and flee into the woods if they acted quick and quiet. There was no way to tell what surprises the rest of the tents held. Trestan also realized, as Cat did, they would have to take out several guards quickly in order to get her out without rousing the whole camp. Cat seemed to change expressions as she looked over the camp and went over several plans in her mind.
Suddenly, the half-elf stiffened in surprise. Cat stared intently at something, pondering a curiosity of some kind. Trestan tried to follow her gaze, but he didn’t see anything at first. He threw a questioning look at Cat and she responded, “From where Lady Shauntay and the others are sitting, look to the right. There is a depression with some thick bushes in it. Someone is there.”
Trestan looked and saw movement coming from where she indicated, but his eyes couldn’t see as well as hers. The young human saw movement and some color, but he couldn’t make out a shape. The figure rose a bit, watching the cooking fire where the noble and her two guards sat.
“Oh gods!” Cat hissed, “Its Petrow! What’s he doing?”
Trestan saw Petrow move closer to the campfire. Petrow wasn’t very far from where the noble and her captors sat. The smith saw his lifelong friend raise a throwing axe, preparing for a shot. Trestan reached over his shoulder to the hilt of the elvish sword. He looked to Cat and whispered, “I can’t believe he’s that stupid. We have to help, it’s now or never.”
Cat already had rapier in hand, but Trestan sensed she didn’t share his feelings. Cat stuttered a response. Suddenly, she looked past Trestan with shock. “Look there!”
Trestan turned his head to face the trees on the other side of him. He saw and heard nothing, but he froze with his hand on the hilt, ready to draw the sword if anything appeared. A sharp pain exploded in the back of his head and neck. He was barely conscious of the hit before his vision darkened. He slumped over, his vision and thoughts slipping as he lost consciousness.
* * * * *
Petrow had no idea where Katressa and Trestan were, but luck was with him. He had crept up the hill and into the brush at a spot near where Lady Shauntay sat. A short distance away, Red-hair and the pot washer started a game of dice as the noble’s daughter ate. Petrow could see the other men of the camp, though it appeared they were drinking or minding their own business. The handyman feared who might be in the tents, but he had the opportunity of a lifetime in front of him. Lady Shauntay was tied to a small tree with only her hands were bound. Only two guards were on this side of the camp, and yet they sat with their backs to him. If the young man could hit both men fast, all he needed to do was sever the rope binding noble to sapling, then run off into the dark with her. It could be quick and easy. Petrow didn’t really care as much for the lady herself. He sympathized with her, but he never liked how she had used all the young men of the village. He was interested in being the hero, though he didn’t care to be the one to whom the young lady would be indebted. However, her father would also be indebted, and he had money. Petrow relied on the fact that Cat and Trestan had to be somewhere around the camp. The adventuress was deadly enough with her crossbow.
It seemed simple when Petrow thought it over. He would have liked to do something to the minotaur or elf as well, but he respected them enough to fear their capabilities. Ahead were only two mercenaries. They might run rather than face a surprise charge. Petrow had hit targets the size of the Red-hair’s head in axe-throwing competitions. The young man merely needed to take a breath and focus his shot. He laid the waraxe in front of him, ready to pick it up after the throw. He took out one of his four throwing axes, and then took out a second. For a short while he tested the heft of each, making sure he had a good feel of the weight.
He raised one overhead to prepare the first throw. His left held the second, ready to switch hands for another throw as he charged. He picked a spot on Red-hair’s head and focused on it as the target. Out of the corner of his eyes he saw Lady Shauntay licking the last scraps from her plate. Red-hair handed the dice back to the other man for the next throw. While the other man shook it, Red-hair sat still…making a nice target.
Petrow brought back the axe and then threw it in a smooth, practiced motion. He switched the other throwing axe to his right hand even as the other flew in the air. His aim seemed good.
“Oww!”
The throwing axe hit the back of his head with the blade and then bounced off into the grass behind him. The other dice roller looked on dumbfounded as Red-hair clutched his head and fell into a curled-up position. He and Lady Shauntay realized there was blood seeping through the clutched hands. From the main fire, one of the other men looked to the source of the exclamation with no particular alarm. He had trouble seeing in the dark after looking directly into the large bonfire.
Petrow charged, waraxe held in the left hand even as the right hand cocked back for another throw. The pot washer dropped the dice in surprise as he saw the threat coming, too shocked to utter a sound. Petrow slowed only long enough to throw a second axe. This axe also went end over end directly at its target. The other man panicked and threw up his arms for protection. The axe hit a flailing arm but only with the handle and deflected off harmlessly. The man lost his seating and fell on his back as Petrow rushed in. So far, hardly a sound had been raised to wake the camp.
Then, a startled Lady Shauntay screamed in terror at the sight of this strange man attacking so near to her.
Voices called out from the tents. The two drinking sentries drew weapons and looked toward the source of the scream. Various shouts and questions echoed from the camp.
Petrow held the axe in both hands and hurried to finish the job so he could run screaming for his own life. Red-hair was still moving on the ground, but he seemed unable to put up a fight. The wounded man groaned in pain as he pressed against his bloo
dy wound. The fallen pot washer grabbed a pan but was forced to roll aside as Petrow’s axe came down. The waraxe bit into the earth and the young man pulled it loose. The pan swung around and nailed Petrow with a loud clang. The young handyman stumbled and went to his knees, but he swung blindly at the other man. Another loud clang rang as the axe knocked the pan from the former washer’s hand. Both men scrambled about on their knees as the noble continued to scream. Petrow readied his axe for another swing even as the other man grabbed the only other weapon within reach…a pot with a handle. This seemed a small weapon in the face of the axe he faced. Weapons collided as Petrow tried to smash through the other man’s arsenal of cookware. The blow backed the other man up into a bad spot. The pot washer only had sandals to protect his feet, which didn’t offer much protection when he stepped back and slipped on the burning logs of the campfire. The man screamed and fell, kicking about with his burning sandal.
Petrow saw several camp people looking his way. Tent flaps opened as armed men ran out or peeked out at the commotion. Loung Chao stepped out of a tent. The Tariykan stood imposing even without weapons. The threat of the martial artist paled when he saw who stepped out of one of the other tents. His remaining horn gouged a hole in the tent flap as Bortun the minotaur emerged. Neither wore armor, though the minotaur carried the large battleaxe that dwarfed Petrow’s axe.
Petrow hoped a bolt from Cat’s crossbow would fly in and take out any of these new opponents. He began to panic at the growing danger he now faced. He turned towards Lady Shauntay as she continued screaming and yelled in her face. “Shut up! I’m trying to rescue you! Let me cut this rope and you run into those trees. Run like your life depends on it, because it does!”
The Earthrin Stones 1 of 3: Inheritance of a Sword and a Path Page 21
