Quest's end bk-3
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There wasn’t much to it. Just a few buildings which could possibly be considered the village center and another dozen homes spotted here and there throughout the hills. There was no sign of the group they had been following.
From their position, they could see that the makeup of the town was composed predominantly of Byrdlon stock, with a minority of those whose lineage was that of the Tribes. Bart glanced to Riyan, “Should be alright,” he said.
Riyan nodded. “Maybe,” he replied. “Let’s go find out.” Moving off the hill, the companions returned to their horses and made their way to the village.
The first person they encountered was a man carrying a woodsman’s axe. He saw them approaching but didn’t react one way or another until Bart altered course to intercept him. Then he took his axe in both hands and turned to meet them.
“Good evening,” Bart said in a friendly manner.
Staring at their group, the man offered no return greeting, simply continued gripping his axe.
Realizing he wasn’t going to receive a reply, Bart asked, “I was wondering if you could help us?”
The man shifted his hands on the axe handle. “How?” he asked.
Others from the village began to take note of the man talking with the newcomers. A few began gravitating toward them.
Bart was quick to notice the others on the way. But since they didn’t have a hostile appearance, he dismissed them. “Did a group of thirty or so Tribesmen come this way?” he asked.
“Yes,” he replied. “They passed through on their way up to the lake.”
“Lake?” asked Riyan.
The man nodded. Indicating where the river flowed from the Tinderlock Mountains, he said, “The river flows from a lake high in the mountains.”
“Are you sure they went that way?” asked Riyan.
“They were following the river when they left,” he explained. “No place else they’d be going but to the lake.”
Riyan glanced at Bart. He could see Bart was just as confused by this turn of events. “Thank you,” Riyan told the man. “We appreciate your help.”
The man nodded.
“Come on,” Bart said to the others, “let’s go.”
Moving away from the woodsman, Bart led them north through the village until they were once again moving along the banks of the river. Behind them, the buildings of the village were soon out of sight as the river wended its way between the hills. They continued to set a quick pace as night continued its approach. Once it grew too dark to follow the trail, they found a sheltered area in the lee of a hill to make camp. The next morning, they resumed the pursuit.
Around midmorning, they found where the River Man and his group camped the night before. Coals were still present in the half dozen fire pits, and semi-fresh piles of horse dung dotted the area.
“We can’t be too far behind,” Bart said.
Chyfe was inspecting one of the piles of dung and nodded. “I’d say maybe three hours, four at the outside,” he stated.
“Excellent,” replied Riyan. Looking around the camp, he couldn’t find where the large tent Bart had described had been set up. He finally came to the conclusion that while they were traveling, it must remain on the pack mules.
“If we hurry,” announced Chad, “maybe we could catch them before nightfall.”
“Then,” Bart said as he returned to the saddle, “let’s be on our way.” Once everyone else was mounted, he returned to the trail left by the River Man’s men.
Nightfall found them still some distance from their prey. Though they knew they couldn’t be too far behind since they had come across a pile of horse dung that still held some of its warmth. Encouraged, they continued on well past the waning of the light.
Stars shone brightly overhead giving them some light with which to see. The trees on either side were dark and foreboding, with naught but vague, indistinct shadows. On their left, starlight was being reflected by the surface of the river, enabling them to keep their bearings.
Sometime after the coming of night, light began to be seen through the trees in the distance. Bart had them move ahead cautiously until they knew for sure that they had caught up to the River Man. The light was definitely coming from several campfires, and silhouettes could be seen moving to and fro.
Bart brought them to a stop and turned to face the others. “Up ahead is their camp,” he told them. “I suggest we return back along the river and find a sheltered place to set up camp. Then I’ll return on foot.”
“Not alone you’re not,” argued Riyan. “We can’t afford anything happening to you.”
He could see the seriousness in Riyan’s eyes. “Okay,” he conceded, “I’ll take Chyfe with me.” Riyan was disappointed at not being asked to accompany him, but Chyfe was the better suited for this. He could move much more silently than Riyan.
“Very well,” Riyan finally said.
Returning back down the way they had come, they left the lights of the campfires far behind before finding a suitable spot to make camp. “A fire shouldn’t be noticeable this far away,” Seth said. “As long as we don’t make one too big.”
Soth nodded. “Keep the horses north of the fire and they will aid in shielding its light even more,” he added.
Chyfe worked on building a fire, by himself this time. Bart stopped Kevik from using his sparks spell due to the close proximity of the magic user. “I don’t know if he’s actively searching for magic, or if he’ll even know,” he had explained. “But we shouldn’t take the chance.” Thus, it was some time before Chyfe was able to coax a fire from the somewhat dry kindling.
“Are you going to try to take the key segment tonight?” Soth asked Bart, sitting in the glow of the growing fire, eating cold rations.
Bart shrugged. “I’ll decide that when I get there,” he replied. He and Chyfe had a quick meal and were soon returning to the River Man’s camp.
They moved cautiously along the trail, making sure not to make any more noise than was necessary. When the lights from the campfires were again visible ahead, Bart had them slow to a very slow pace.
His eyes scanned back and forth as they drew nearer. The darkness, the shadows cast by the flicker of flames, all were very familiar to him. Such was the world of the thief. The fact that they were in the middle of the woods was beginning to make little difference to him. Alleys, basements, and sewers could be just as encumbered with litter and debris as the forest was with trees and bushes.
The movement of a darker shadow off to their right caused Bart to freeze. It was a sentry. Not surprising to find one posted here, seeing as how they were now technically within Byrdlon territory.
Chyfe came to a stop when Bart did. At first he wasn’t aware what had caused him to stop, but then the sentry moved again and he saw it.
Without a word, Bart very slowly sank into a crouched position. A moment later, Chyfe did likewise. Leaning close to Chyfe’s ear Bart whispered, “Stay below the level of the bushes and follow me.”
Nodding in reply, Chyfe followed Bart as he walked in his crouched position past the sentry. He was forced to raise the end of his scabbard as he moved, being in a crouched position brought it in contact with the ground.
Bart didn’t go very far. Just far enough so they could better see those in the camp.
Just as they had found in the last campsite they came across, there were six fire pits. Around five of them sat Tribesmen soldiers, anywhere from four to seven at each. It was to those around the sixth fire pit that Bart’s gaze was drawn. There sat Lord Kueryn along with the magic user and two other men, both older than the River Man and dressed in armor as fine as his. Their pit wasn’t close to where Bart hid, and it was hard to see what they were doing. Four tents, each large enough to allow a man to stand erect sat not far from where they were sitting.
“I need to get closer,” Bart whispered to Chyfe. “Stay here and don’t move.” Without waiting for a reply, he moved off in a crouch to the left as he worked his way closer to Lord Kueryn.
Bart continued drawing closer to Lord Kueryn. When he saw the shadowy movement of a second sentry, he stopped. Coming to rest between the bole of a tree and a large bush, he was now close enough to observe what Lord Kueryn and the others with him were doing. Unfortunately, he wasn’t able to hear what they were saying. Making himself comfortable, he waited and watched.
Nothing of interest happened for the first ten minutes. Then, Lord Kueryn came to his feet and walked over and entered the nearest tent. He was inside just a few moments before he reappeared again. In his hand he held a small, ornate chest.
Bart watched as Lord Kueryn returned to his place by the fire and sat back down. Still holding the chest, he set it on the ground at his feet and opened it. Bart grinned when he saw the glint of gold as Lord Kueryn pulled out the final key segment. He watched as the segment was shown to the two older men before being returned to the chest.
With eyes riveted on the chest, he waited until Lord Kueryn returned the chest to the tent before heading back to where Chyfe waited. When he met up with Chyfe, he indicated silently for them to leave. As they began moving away, Bart made up his mind to return this night and get the key.
Chapter Thirty
“Bart,” Riyan said, as he gently shook his shoulder. “It’s time.”
Eyes snapping open, Bart came awake. Three hours of sleep wasn’t much, but it was better than nothing. After what he was about to do, it may be some time before any of them would be able to sleep again.
Upon returning from scouting the River Man’s camp, he had informed the others of the key segment’s presence and of his intention of returning to take it. After telling Riyan to wake him in three hours, he laid down by the fire and promptly fell asleep. Everyone had been amazed that he could fall asleep so quickly.
Now suitably rested, he and Chyfe began the trek back. While they were gone, the others would prepare for a quick departure; the horses were to be saddled and their equipment stowed by the time they returned.
Walking under the stars, Bart went over the placement of the camp in his mind. On his last visit, he had encountered two sentries. He’ll need to take them out first. Tucked within his shirt was the rolled leather containing his darts. The one holding his lockpicks was in his pack.
Three darts were all that remained. He would need to use them sparingly from here on out. One was clutched in his right hand, its tip having been coated with his most potent poison. Another was in his left.
As soon as the lights of the camp appeared out of the darkness ahead, Bart brought them to a stop. “Stay here,” he whispered to Chyfe. “This may take awhile. Don’t worry about me unless you hear all hell break loose.”
Chyfe gave him a grin and nodded. “Good luck.”
“Thanks,” Bart replied.
Moving out, he assumed a crouching position as he worked his way closer to where he had earlier seen the first sentry. Step by slow step, he made his way forward. Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw a shadow move. It was barely perceptible, but to his trained eye, he knew it was a man.
Bart came to a stop and watched the place where the shadow had moved, it wasn’t far from where he crouched. Readying his dart, he waited until the sentry moved again, then threw. The sentry gave out with a barely audible gasp of pain when struck before the dart’s poison began coursing through his system, paralyzing his muscles, stopping his heart. Without another sound, the man staggered before toppling into a nearby bush. The resulting noise of his fall seemed to shatter the quiet of the night before he finally came to rest.
Moving quickly, Bart reached the dead man and retrieved his dart. Glancing toward where the second sentry had been, he held still as he listened for any evidence the man had noticed the first one’s fall. With the second doctored dart now in his right hand, he waited and searched the darkness. When all remained quiet, Bart made his way back to the trail and crouch-walked toward the last known position of the second sentry.
Before long, he saw movement in the trees. A shadow of a man was making its way toward where the first sentry lay dead. Bart had to admit, the guy was good. Not a sound did he make as he worked his way through the brush and trees.
Bart didn’t like what he had to do, but was left with little choice. These men had already tried to kill him and the others on more than one occasion, and he was sure they would do it again if given the chance. He hated to kill when pulling a job. Causing another’s death in battle, or taking the life of someone like Durik, wouldn’t cause him to bat an eye. But this, cold murder in the night was something he never liked. Only the knowledge they would do it to him in a heartbeat assuaged his conscious enough for him to continue.
The shadow was now passing behind a dense stand of trees and he wasn’t able to get a clear shot. Moving so as to have a better target, he paced the shadow on its way to the first sentry. Three steps later, the shadow abruptly stopped and Bart saw its head turn in his direction. He must have made some noise that had alerted the man.
Bart remained frozen all the time the shadow stared in his direction. One call, one shout to those in the camp and it was all over. But the shadow’s head turned away from him as it started moving once more through the trees.
As the shadow moved, so did Bart. When the shadow reached a place where trees no longer obscured it, he threw the dart. No sooner had the dart left his hand than the shadow’s head turned rapidly in his direction. A second later, the shadow jerked as the dart found its mark. A brief cry of startlement and pain was all that emerged before the man succumbed to the dart’s deadly poison.
Just as before, Bart hurried forward and retrieved his dart. He had too few to leave one behind. Once the dart was cleaned off and had been doctored once more, he scanned the forest for any sign of further sentries. Not seeing any, he began working his way closer to the camp’s perimeter.
Men lay asleep around the campfires, huddling beneath blankets to ward off the night’s chill. Standing just within the trees out of the campfire’s light, Bart made sure none were stirring. Snores came from many as his eyes passed over their sleeping forms. Finally, his eyes came to rest on the four tents off to one side. More specifically, the tent which held Lord Kueryn and the key segment.
He began making his way through the edge of the treeline toward the tents. Ever cautious to avoid making noise and wake the slumbering soldiers, he took one careful step after another.
Inside, he felt the rush of adrenalin he always felt at times like these. The excitement, the challenge of pitting one’s skill against an opponent’s, this was what kept many a thief on the Shadowed Path. At times such as this, Bart never felt more alive.
The sleeping men remained undisturbed throughout his trek to the tents. When at last he arrived, he paused to again scan the slumbering forms for any who may be stirring. Not seeing any, he turned his attention back to the tent wherein lay the key. All was quiet. Even the nocturnal creatures of the forest seemed stilled, as if afraid to awaken those in the camp.
Moving from the trees, Bart quickly made his way to the tent. Once at the tent flap, he placed his ear against it and heard soft snores emanating from within. Putting his hand to the tent flap, he paused as he again scanned the camp to assure himself all remained asleep. Then, pulling the flap slowly back, he entered.
As he passed inside and the tent flap settled back to its closed position, Bart paused a moment to allow his eyes time to regain their night vision. Shadows within the tent gradually grew clearer, the form on the cot now unmistakably that of Lord Kueryn, the River Man. Next to him on the ground rested the small chest containing the key segment.
His eyes went again to Lord Kueryn. The details of his face were mostly hidden by the darkness within the tent. But that his eyes were closed in sleep was apparent. Moving toward the chest, Bart stepped lightly. So cau
tiously and slowly did he move, that it was unlikely he even disturbed the air within the tent by his passing.
Coming to stand before the chest, Bart bent over and picked it up. He’ll worry about picking the lock and removing the key segment later. Standing up, he turned his eyes to the still form of Lord Kueryn. Pausing a moment, he waited until another soft snore issued forth before returning to the tent flap.
Once there, he parted it minutely and peered out. The sleeping forms scattered about the camp remained motionless, not a sound other than snores could be heard. Opening the tent flap wider, he passed through to the outside.
Stepping quickly with the chest tucked under his arm, he crossed over to the treeline and entered. After moving several feet into the trees, he paused and glanced back at the quiet camp that was still unaware a visitor had come and gone. Smiling to himself in satisfaction, he began working his way back to where Chyfe was waiting.
“My lord!” a voice cried, snapping Lord Kueryn out of a deep sleep. He recognized it as his magic user Geffen’s. The urgency in Geffen’s voice brought him fully awake.
“Enter,” he said as he came to a sitting position on the edge of his cot.
The tent flap was thrown open and Geffen came in with lords Hurrin and Geop, both long time allies in his rise to Warlord. “My lord,” he said, “the sentries were found dead.”
“What?” exclaimed Lord Kueryn. Immediately, his eyes darted to where he had set the chest containing the golden item that he was certain was somehow related to the King. Anger suffused him and rage threatened to snatch his reason. “It’s gone!” he shouted. Coming to his feet, he turned eyes red with fury toward the two lords.
They didn’t need him to explain what he was talking about. All three saw that the chest was no longer within his tent. “But…” began Lord Geop when he was cut off by Lord Kueryn.
“But what?” he demanded. “Are my men so inept, that they allowed someone to enter my tent? While I was sleeping?” The thought that he could have been killed was not lost on them.