Arwhon sagged, stunned by the power of the Ring’s version of the Truth which invaded his mind. Sucked from its source, through the mind of Martine; a mere puppet for some unknown power as Kroy was her puppet. An evil game, on a vast scale, was being played by a malevolence who wanted the Ring for itself and knew how to use it.
For Evil.
Namely ridding this world of Man and M’Herindar both.
Arwhon hailed Martine. “I know how old you are Martine. You’ve struck a deal with an Evil being. I know not the bargain you made but that Evil being plans to rid the world of both Man and M’Herindar. You’ll not be around to collect your reward if it gets the Ring.”
Arwhon sheathed his sword and stood silently before them, praying the Prince and Princess were being spirited away by his friends while this interchange was unfolding.
Martine smiled, just a slight curl at the corner of her full red lips.
“You simple young fool. You have no idea what all this is about. Kroy. Take him.”
Kroy barked a command and he and a horde of soldiers ran down the few remaining steps to the cave floor. Arwhon did not hesitate and spun around to sprint down the length of the cavern, staying just ahead of them. At the yawning black mouth, just visible in the later moonrise of the full second moon, he leapt into space. Kroy and the soldiers scrambled to a halt at the cavern mouth and looking down saw the tumbling body finally splash into the black water of the fast flowing river far below. Kroy swore oath after oath and turned back to the main cavern with his soldiers. They missed the tiny shape which dove off the cliff wall and the small splash it made as it hit the inky water far below.
When Kroy reported back to a fuming Empress Martine what he had seen, she ordered a search of both river banks all the way to the border with Barsoom and beyond if necessary, using every man available. She’d chosen Gildon’s Keep for her hostages as there was only one way down into the cavern beneath and it was kept well guarded. Somehow though, that damn ring bearer and his helpers had effected a rescue. Well, the hostages had either gone with the Mage or jumped into the river, either way they were less important now as finding the ring.
Arwhon had tried to dive but his leap from the ledge was unbalanced and caused him to tumble erratically through the air. He could not see the water clearly as it loomed beneath him. From that height it was almost like hitting a solid wall. The air was driven from his body by the impact with the dark, roiling water and he sank quickly beneath the surface with the weight of his mail and weapons. Luckily, the air trapped inside the well-made padded undergarment provided a little buoyancy and he did not sink like a stone but was carried along in the rush of water. He was semi conscious and dazed from hitting the water. His mind was not working properly and the Ring was trying to tell him something or there was something he had to remember. Martine was a puppet. Martine was a puppet or something like that. He tried to follow the strings up but try as he might, he could not see the Puppet Master.
His lungs hurt and he felt light-headed as he was tumbled along the rocky bottom of the river where it flowed out of the deep pool of the bend. It was all becoming too much trouble. War was coming and he was sick of fighting already. All he had wanted to do was visit his Grandmother. Blackness slid into his brain as he started to lose consciousness from lack of oxygen and the urge to breathe became overwhelming. Martine was a puppet. Martine was a puppet. Who was the Puppet Master?
The Ring was still trying urgently to speak to him but blackness was all there was. Soon he would breathe in the water and that would be the end. A blessed relief from being banged up and bumped around in this cold black hell.
His last conscious thought was regret, at not being able to see little Shiri again. There had been a bond, more than just Shield. He was fond of her and her strangeness.
Time to die.
Again.
His body went limp and his mind slid away as the last of his air bubbled out from between slack lips.
Peace.
How long for he did not know.
Small hands were placed on his cheeks and soft lips met his.
A dream?
No. Those soft lips were forcing air into his mouth and down his throat. Air! He sucked it in greedily, his mind clearing a little and driven by his reflex to survive, he feebly tried to stop the tumbling, assisted by those strong little hands. He felt the bottom with his legs and heaved himself up, breaking the surface of the river to gasp a huge lungful of vital fresh air before being sucked under again by the swirling water. Not die, live. He had to live. There was something he had to do but he couldn’t remember what it was.
His mind was not his own anymore.
Something about a Ring, a puppet and the name Shiri. Arwhon was dragged to the surface again by those strong little hands and remembered to take another breath. He was tired, whoever he was. Ring, puppet, Shiri. He woke briefly on the riverbank, lying on his side, head down hill with water dribbling from his mouth, coughing. Looking up he saw a young girl in a mail hauberk regarding him with consternation.
“Arwhon, we have to get out of here. Can you walk?”
Arwhon? Who’s Arwhon? Who was this girl? He shook his head, unable to speak. Inside his head the litany rolled on.
Ring, puppet, Shiri.
He had to hold on to that at least. It was all he had. He shook his head and passed into unconsciousness.
Shiri was worried, she had thought Arwhon dead when she had eventually been able to locate him in the murky water and blowing air into him was a last desperate gambit. He had survived but only just and now his mind was not working properly and he was unconscious. Search parties could be combing the river banks soon, more at first light and if she couldn’t move him they would be discovered.
She was his Shield.
Think.
There had to be a way.
It came, floating down the river, a tree trunk with a large root bolus and a few branches still sticking from its trunk, drifting along slowly in the swirling water. It was their best and possibly only chance of survival. Shiri stepped into the current and managed to snag one of the leading branches. Using strength far beyond what a little girl should be capable of, she held on while the dead tree lazily swung around her into shallower water where it stopped, caught on the sandy bottom. Pulling reeds from shallow eddies where the water moved more slowly, Shiri quickly plaited them into a primitive cord. Dragging Arwhon back into the water she used the reed cord to tie him to the floating trunk so his face was just above the water level. Better to risk exposure from the cold than being found by Empress Martine’s soldiers. Shiri then dug her feet into the river bottom and pushed the log back into the roiling current, gripping the back of it, beneath concealing branches, keeping an eye on Arwhon while she sent out a silent plea to Fate that there were no waterfalls between them and freedom.
Daylight was now not far away and the water was very chilly but there wasn’t much Shiri could do about that. However, being a Shield, she used a little of her remaining power to set a small glamour over the tree so it appeared to be just a large log, adrift in the current.
Many times during the morning the log floated past small groups of Martine’s soldiers scouring the banks for traces of Arwhon. The further they drifted down the river from Gildon’s Keep the fewer soldiers there were searching. Everyone knew a man in mail doesn’t float very far but Martine, she who must be obeyed, had ordered an extensive search.
As the afternoon wore on, Shiri realised she hadn’t seen a soldier for hours but by now she was shivering uncontrollably from the long immersion in the cold water. She didn’t even know if Arwhon was dead or alive and prayed it was the latter.
Fortune smiled on them before nightfall as they entered a small gorge. About half way along was a gently sloping beach with a small cave in the wall above it. Dry driftwood, left from the receding of the river after the springtime flush, lay scattered along the sand, well above the waterline. Shiri guided the tree trunk to the bank and secu
red the log before unlashing a barely alive Arwhon and dragging him into the small cave. His lips were blue and he lay motionless while she collected a supply of the driftwood, her teeth chattering and limbs shaking violently as she stacked it in a fissure at the back of the cave. A fire of bone dry driftwood shouldn’t smoke too much and it was better to hide the fire so it wasn’t seen from above.
She had just enough energy left for a simple fire spell to spark the tinder and soon a bright fire provided warmth in the smallish space. Arwhon was her first priority and she divested him of his weapons and helm, struggling with the strap beneath his chin a little. Next was the mail followed by the sodden padded undershirt which she wrung out quickly and hung up to dry along with his trousers and underclothes. He was icy cold and barely breathing, so she moved him closer to the fire and massaged his limbs to improve his circulation. She could not ignore his body, even at this dire time and derived a certain satisfaction from the rhythmical motion of her hands moving over him. When one side of him warmed a little she turned him over and heated the other.
Shiri’s own activities had helped her thaw out a little but she desperately needed to dry her clammy clothing. Shucking off her mail and padded undergarment, she wrung it out and placed it by the fire. She also took off her trousers and drawers and hung them on a stick where they soon started steaming, before she once more turned Arwhon back toward the flames.
Lying on his side, he opened his eyes. The first thing he saw was a naked ten year old girl by the fire, getting warm. He found speech.
“Who are you?”
Tears sprang to her eyes but he didn’t know why. It was a simple question.
“I’m Shiri.”
Ring, puppet, Shiri.
“You must be important because all I can remember is; Ring, puppet, Shiri.”
“You remember my name!”
Her face lit with joy and she came to him, giving him a big hug, totally unselfconscious in her nakedness.
“I’m your Shield. Do you remember that?”
“No. All I can remember is Ring, puppet, Shiri.”
“Look at your right hand,” she suggested, pointing at it.
He looked down where she pointed not knowing left from right and saw a Ring with a strange design. When he looked closer, he saw that the Ring had grown into his flesh.
A memory.
“The Ring. It’s part of me. It spoke to me in my mind. What is a puppet?”
“A doll with moving joints and attached strings. When the strings are pulled the puppet moves in response.”
Shiri tried to keep it simple. Arwhon’s mind was damaged but there was something there which had survived his near death and it seemed important to him.
“My stomach is making funny noises. What does that mean?”
“It means we need something to eat but for now we’ll have to do without.”
“Oh. It’s so nice being warm. Are we friends?”
The tears sprang unbidden again in those amethyst eyes but Shiri wiped them away with the back of her hand and smiled warmly.
“Yes, we’re very good friends.”
He smiled. “That’s good because I like you.” He yawned. “I’m tired I think,” he murmured and promptly fell asleep.
Shiri sat and pondered as she tended the fire, banking it up a little against the cool evening air. Arwhon seemed much improved and the whole end of the cave had now become pleasantly warm. Their clothes dried quickly and she woke him briefly to don his dry drawers and padded undershirt, slightly singed by the rapid drying. He promptly fell asleep again.
Shiri couldn’t take Arwhon back to Cristal in this state and there was information in his head which might be extremely important. He was the last to converse with Martine and he wore the Truth Ring. What had he found out and why had he remembered ‘puppet’ of all things? Shiri would take him home to Mother; it was the best solution she could think of. Mother would know what to do.
Somehow she also had to let Cristal know Arwhon lived and was being cared for. Before curling up beside Arwhon next to the fire, ready for sleep, she wondered how the others had fared.
Before Chalc left the cavern under Gildon’s Keep with the Prince and Princess, he warned them to stay close.
“We’ve come to rescue you but it will be all for nought if you slip and fall. The river below is a long way down, very cold and deep. Follow me closely; the track is treacherous but passable. Don’t rush but move as quickly as possible, I don’t know how long the others can hold off Empress Martine’s soldiers. We have horses at the other end. If you’ve any strength left, use it for the path.”
He set off first and checked on them often, looking over his shoulder as the two tired prisoners made their way as quickly as possible along the precipitous track. Chalc was greatly relieved when they all made it to their temporary camp at the other end of the trail and came in sight of the horses. The young Prince was amazed.
“You have two of our Barsoomi horses. How?”
“They are bonded to us. That one there is Darla who used to belong to Reynaldo but chose me after he was killed. Two lonely souls I think we are and that big grey there is Duran. He and Arwhon make a good pairing.”
The Prince looked puzzled.
“Who is Arwhon?”
Chalc looked pained.
“He is the man who organised this rescue and is right now fighting a rearguard against Martine’s soldiers in the caverns. The same person who came to you in his dreams and showed us where to find you. If he is not here in five minutes more, his instructions to me and his horse were to get you out of here. He’s a man who would give his life for you but just over two and a half months ago he was merely a lad on his way to visit his Grandmother.”
Time ticking by, a deeply anxious Chalc approached Rancid.
“Do you think you could carry me you ugly looking mule?”
Rancid nibbled Chalc’s face with big rubbery lips, smelling of sweet grass, then nodded his head.
“I think you’ve been around these Barsoomi’s too long.” Chalc whispered. There was a noise behind them and Chalc spun, drawing his sword in one fluid motion, ready for anything.
“Hold Chalc, I made a noise to warn you.”
It was Kuiran, who looked around the small group.
“Where’s Shiri?”
“Not here and we have to leave,” Chalc replied.
“But we can’t go without her.”
“I am Servant and my instructions have been given to me. I serve and will obey. If only to honour a memory. You are the Arm and are also to do Arwhon’s bidding. We leave now, the Shield acts as the Shield acts. It’s not our concern.”
It was a downcast and resigned Kuiran who said.
“You’re right Chalc. We have to go, for the honour of all.”
Chalc studied Kuiran.
“We must also ride fast and you won’t be able to keep up. Is that a problem?”
“No. I could track you across bare rock if necessary, even in the dark. I’ll be acting as a rearguard anyway but even then you may be surprised at how close I can stay behind you.”
Chalc mounted the Prince on Duran while the Princess climbed onto Darla, both quite at home, having ridden from a time before they could walk. The horses had their instructions and did not object to carrying Barsoom royalty. Chalc climbed onto Rancid’s small saddle and they quickly departed, regretful at leaving Arwhon and Shiri behind but orders were orders and the time was up.
After a lingering last look back across the cliff at the hue and cry of the soldiers beginning their search, Kuiran set off at his fast loping pace, following the tracks of the horses. The ford was soon crossed, found where it had been marked on the map and the horses were given their heads and pointed west. An hour of fast cantering, ten short minutes of walking to regain their breath then another hour of fast cantering, repeated throughout the rest of the night. Luckily, the late moon was bright enough for the horses to avoid the trees in the open wooded countryside the
y raced through.
The Prince and Princess tired rapidly, their adrenaline running out well before the sun came up behind them. They were both lolling in the saddle with exhaustion, in danger of falling off their mounts. The trees were thinning out, so Chalc called a halt before one of them pitched off their horse.
“Two hours is all we can spare. Sleep. I’ll keep watch and care for the horses.”
He loosened the girths of Duran, Darla and Rancid but left the saddles on and slipped the bridles off the two horses so they could graze. As Rancid only wore a head collar he could graze easily. There was a small pool nearby where the horses could drink but Chalc mentally warned Darla about taking too much water on board. The message sent back to him had overtones of scorn in it. As if she would do such a thing, she was old enough to know better but she would warn Duran.
The two hours passed quickly and Chalc woke the Prince and Princess and offered them breakfast from the saddlebags. They ate ravenously.
“I believe we have a half day’s riding due west before we hit Barsoom,” he informed the Prince.
The young royal nodded in agreement and replied.
“The horses will know as soon as we cross the border, it’s in their blood and they can also find the nearest Tribe without difficulty. We’re grateful to you Master Chalc, even though you are just a servant.”
Chalc didn’t correct them, he knew what he was.
Just as the three of them were about ready to leave, Kuiran jogged into the camp. He seemed fit and well and not out of breath at all. Chalc’s respect for the big man lifted yet another notch as he offered him something to eat. Kuiran took only a small amount.
“Your back trail is clear. The horses could be ridden at a slightly more leisurely pace if you wished. The Prince and Princess may appreciate it. I know the horses would. No point in foundering them.”
The Barsoomi horses both nodded in agreement and Chalc was glad for their sake they didn’t have to run so fast. Poor Rancid was still game but really feeling the pace the Barsoomi horses had set.
The Ring Of Truth Page 30
