“You’re right, Tipper. Let’s try something new.”
Brock withdrew his knife from his inside coat pocket. Grabbing Tipper’s hand, he pulled it toward him. Brock sliced across Tipper’s wrist, and blood began to spurt out.
“Ahh! What are you doing?” Tipper yelled, trying to stop the blood with his other hand.
Brock wiped his knife clean on the long grass before sliding it back into its sheath. “I’m motivating you, Tip. You’re about to bleed out. Unless you channel Chaos right now, you’re going to die.”
“Are you crazy?” Tipper screamed. “You’re going to let me die if I can’t make this work?”
Brock glanced toward Ashland, who watched calmly. However, Libby’s face looked pale, her eyes wide with fear.
Brock nodded. “Feel the fear, Tip. Use it and try again.”
Tipper swallowed hard and closed his eyes. After a few moments, his eyes flashed open and he stared at the small rock. In the dim light of dusk, it was easy to see the rune on the rock glow red as it charged, the glow pulsing before fading.
The rock began to tremble and small bits of rock blasted from it as it came to life, sprouting four tiny legs. The legs made cracking and grinding sounds as the stone began walking toward Tipper.
Brock smiled, looking at the girls. Ashland was smiling, excited at the possibilities of this new rune. Libby’s face had somehow become even whiter.
Libby spoke, her voice trembling. “What is it? What is that thing?”
Brock laughed. “It’s the same rock we’ve been staring at for the past twenty minutes. It’s now come to life like a little pet.” He pointed to it as the rock rubbed against Tipper’s boot. “See, it likes Tipper.” He looked at his friend. “Say hello to your little pet rock, Tip.”
Tipper gave a weak grin. “I did it. I really did it.” His eyes rolled back, and he collapsed, disappearing into the long grass.
Brock ran over to him. “Shoot. I totally forgot he was bleeding.”
Kneeling beside Tipper, Brock closed his eyes and found his center. His mind searched within Tipper until he found a cluster of angry red symbols roiling about. He seized upon the Order within Tipper to smother and dissolve the symbols. When they dissipated, Tipper’s body shook, and he gasped for air. The boy’s eyes flashed open as he struggled to reclaim his breath. Brock smiled at the quick recovery, helping him to his feet.
“Sorry, Tip. I forgot about your wrist. You must have passed out from the blood loss.”
Tipper gave him a grin. “It’s okay, Brock. It worked. You got me to feel Chaos. As you described, it was everywhere all around me. I pulled it in until it I thought I’d explode and then I pushed it into the rune.” He looked down at the small stone, circling his feet. “And now the rock can move. I did it!”
Tipper turned toward Libby. “Okay. It’s your turn, Lib.”
She shook her head. “Oh, no. I don’t think so. I’m totally creeped out right now.”
Brock laughed. “Don’t worry about it. You can try tomorrow night. I’ll figure out something less creepy.”
Libby nodded. “And you’re not going to cut me either, right?”
Brock nodded. “Right. We’ll figure something else out for you. Come on, let’s join the others.”
Taking Ashland’s hand, he led them toward the nearby tree line. The orange light of the fire, just beyond the first layer of trees, was guiding beacon. They chose to set up camp in the trees rather than the open fields so they would be sheltered from the wind and have a safer place for a fire than in the long grass. Brock didn’t even want to think about what it would be like if those fields began to burn.
Brock glanced toward the lingering daylight behind the silhouette of the dark mountains to the west. That light would soon fade and stars would appear in the evening sky.
Reaching the camp, Brock walked past Lars, who was running a whetstone over the huge blade of his great sword. The blade sat across his lap as he honed the edge.
Benny was kneeling near the fire, cooking the jackaroo that Parker had shot earlier in the day. The first two birds bursting from the long grass had startled the group. Expecting others, Parker quickly had his bow out with an arrow nocked. When they came across this one, it tried to take flight but crashed to the ground seconds later, an arrow piercing its breast.
Parker and Cameron sat on a log across the fire from where Benny rotated the makeshift spit. As Brock stepped into the light, Benny looked up and greeted him.
“How did it go? Did they get anywhere tonight?”
Brock nodded. “Tipper was able to make it work. Now he knows what to do and just needs practice. Tomorrow, we’ll see if we can get Libby going.”
Tipper walked past Brock with Libby in tow. They both sat on the log next to Cam and Parker.
Tipper sniffed the air, commenting, “Mm mm. Smells good, Benny. When can we eat? I’m so hungry, I’m shaking.”
Benny leaned closer to the fire, examining the roasting jackaroo. “I think I can take it off the fire in a few minutes.”
Brock realized he hadn’t given Tipper anything to eat after healing him. “Sorry, Tip. I totally forgot how hungry you’d be.” He pulled a small bag filled of nuts from his pack and tossed it to Tipper. “Here. This will help.”
Tipper caught the bag, opening it feverishly to flip a scoop of nuts into his mouth.
A few minutes later, Benny declared that dinner was ready. As usual, Lars took the bird aside and began slicing sections off. Although the meat was a bit chewy, the bird was delicious. If they could continue to find fresh meat for dinners, their food supplies would last longer and traveling would prove to be far more bearable.
Lars suddenly yelped and jumped to his feet.
“Argh! What’s that?” He yelled, pointing at the ground.
In the orange firelight, Brock could just make out what had startled Lars. He laughed as Lars backed away from the animated rock, no bigger than his fist, as it shuffled past the massive boy.
As if in a trance, Benny walked over to the living stone, bending low to get a better view. “Would you look at that? Just look at it! It’s amazing!”
“He’s mine. I made him with Chaos,” Tipper said proudly.
Benny nodded as he watched the stone walk over the hot coals as it crossed the fire toward Tipper. “Interesting.”
Libby spoke again. “I still think it’s creepy.”
“It’s super creepy.” Lars said as he shivered with chills.
“If you want, I can make one for you, Lars,” Brock said with a smile.
The big guy shivered again. “No thanks.” Lars patted a large rock as he reclaimed his seat on it. “I prefer my rocks to just stay dead.”
“How do you know yours hasn’t been brought to life?” Ashland said with her brow raised.
Lars yelped again as he scrambled away. Everyone laughed.
CHAPTER 21
Like tiny ships sailing across an open sea of grass, the upper bodies of Brock and his companions bobbed above the long shoots as they journeyed southward. Carrying a biting chill, the blowing wind caused the expanse of grass to dance around them. A gray blanket of clouds that had the look of snow obscured the sun, making the wind feel even colder.
The wall of low mountains that formed the south horizon still appeared distant even though they had been walking for hours. Lacking any feeling of progress made Brock feel as if they were walking in circles though he knew better.
A surge of dread struck Brock, giving him a chill and sending his heart pounding. He stopped abruptly, causing Ashland to collide into his back.
“Why are you stopping?” Parker asked as he walked past.
“We need to turn around. Now.” Brock grabbed Parker’s shoulder and pulled him back.
As he reversed direction, four heads rose up from the long grass, each head shaved bald but for a single black topknot. Spinning, Brock realized that a small force surrounded them. Thirty warriors appeared from the long grass, some with swords drawn
while others had nocked arrows pointed in their direction.
Cam and Lars quickly drew their swords, standing ready as Parker pulled an arrow from his quiver.
Brock shouted. “Stop! Nobody move.”
A man wearing a leather vest stepped before Brock, breaking apart from the others. A brown leather headband with a peak in the front held his long black hair in place. In addition to being the lone warrior with a full head of hair, he had body art covering his tanned face and arms. He stopped a few strides away, crossing his muscular arms as he glared at Brock in contempt.
“You Imperial swine are trespassing on Tantarri land.” He growled in a low voice. “You are under arrest. Surrender your weapons or you die.” His words were thick, with an odd accent.
Brock’s mind raced. With a dozen arrows pointed at him, he would never have enough time to channel Chaos even if he had a plan. If any of them made the wrong move, they’d be dead in seconds. Seeing no other option, he tossed his staff at the foot of the man who addressed them.
“What are you doing, Brock?” Lars asked.
“Look around, Lars. How many can we kill before we die?” Brock replied. “We don’t stand a chance”
Cam tossed his sword and Parker dropped his bow. Moments later, Lars sighed and followed suit.
The man put two fingers in his mouth and whistled loudly. More Tantarri appeared from the tall grass and ran in toward them. Rough hands began searching his body, finding his knife sheath inside his coat pocket and tossing it into the growing pile of weapons. They grabbed his wrists, yanking them behind his back and tying them together. Hearing an approaching rumble, Brock looked to the east to find a herd of horses cresting a small rise a half-mile away.
With Brock and his friends tied, the Tantarri pushed them into a line. The herd of horses slowed as it approached, led by a bald Tantarri warrior mounted on a gray stallion. As the horses came to a halt, two Tantarri grabbed Brock and pushed him toward the horses. He glanced back, surprised to see feminine facial features on one of them. Like the others, her head was shaved other than a single black topknot at the back. Looking about, he noticed that many of their captors were women. She shoved him roughly, directing him toward the horses.
After leading him toward a brown mare with a flowing black mane, two sets of hands hoisted him onto the animal, draping him stomach-down over its back while they tied him to the saddle. From his upside-down viewpoint, he craned his neck around to find two Tantarri strapping Ashland to the saddle of a piebald mare. When their eyes met, Brock sent thoughts Ashland’s way. We will be fine. We’ll figure something out. She smiled, the look becoming a wince as her horse burst into a trot.
Brock’s horse followed the others, his stomach bouncing uncomfortably against the saddle as the grass shoots swatted against his dangling head. The world was upside-down, shifting in a rapid blur. With blood running to his head, the pressure soon evolved into a headache, a headache that was among the least of his worries.
CHAPTER 22
Brock’s ribs were on fire and he felt as if he had been bouncing on the horse for days although barely an hour had passed. With the sun obscured by the gray clouds, it was difficult to know the exact time, but it was definitely still daytime. The ground below his head eventually changed from long grass to green scrub dotting red-tinted dirt. The rhythmic clopping of hooves somehow became soothing, numbing his mind. He’d have fallen asleep if he hadn’t been so uncomfortable.
The ground tilted and gravity began pulling him sideways as the horse headed uphill. Craning his neck, he could now see a drop-off just a couple feet beyond. They appeared to be climbing along the wall of a narrow canyon, the drop to the canyon floor below steadily increasing to an alarming depth. Anxiety twisted his stomach as his mind conjured unwanted images of the horse making a misstep and tumbling over the edge.
When the trail grew wider, Brock craned his neck about and found a rock wall separating them from the canyon. The horses turned away from the canyon and he caught a brief glimpse of a stone city built into the side of the mountain. A moment later, the horses entered a cave, and a rock wall obscured the view.
His horse slowed, coming to a stop. Still draped over the animal, Brock waited as the other horses settled into place. Rough hands untied the bonds that strapped him to the saddle. Those same hands grabbed him under his arms and yanked him from the horse. He was careful to lift his legs when they dropped off the beast, extending them once he was vertical. With his feet beneath him, Brock hunched over with cramped and sore stomach muscles.
He looked around, seeing Benny, Ashland, and Parker standing with Tantarri holding them. Two warriors pulled Tipper and Libby from their horses, pushing them toward the other captives. Due to their size, it took Lars and Cam longer to be pulled off of their animals. With everyone dismounted, the Tantarri guards herded them into a narrow tunnel.
Elaborate drawings decorated the tunnel walls, which stood three strides apart. The scenes appeared to tell a story, but they passed too rapidly for Brock to grasp the context. After rounding a bend, the walls opened to reveal a wide gallery. Torches along the walls cast orange flickering light upon the uneven ceiling. Logs burning in a large stone brazier lit the heart of the cavern, spreading a glow to the surrounding area. The captors ushered them into the heart of the cavern before jerking them to a stop. The man who had led their capture crossed the cavern and disappeared into a torch lit tunnel cut into the far wall.
Brock examined their surroundings as he waited in silence. The cavern appeared natural, the torchlight getting lost in the dark recesses of the ceiling two stories above. Though more than thirty people stood in the cavern, it could hold four times that number.
Turning toward his companions, Brock found fear reflecting in their eyes. He felt the same way. His mind raced, grasping for a way out of this mess. Half of the Tantarri warriors held him and his friends in place while the others stood back, ready with bows and long curved swords in their hands. The odds of surviving any sort of fight seemed extremely slim. They had no choice but to see how this played out.
An older man and the warrior who had led their capture soon emerged from the tunnel, followed by a female Tantarri warrior. Judging the lead man’s build and gait, Brock decided that he must have been a fearsome warrior in his youth. Even now, Brock would not want to challenge the man. Similar to the younger man standing to his side, body art covered the older man’s tanned skin. He wore a leather vest and leather pants like the others, but with the addition of colored strips of cloth hanging down his back like a cape. A jewel-encrusted leather headband held his gray-peppered black hair back. The red and blue gems on the headband formed a symbol that looked vaguely familiar to Brock.
The three stopped a stride before Brock. Brock glanced at the Tantarri woman to the leader’s side, seeing that she also had a pointed leather band holding her long black hair in place. Black leather, cut to fit her form left her arms, mid-drift, and thighs exposed. The hilt of the sword strapped to her back stuck up over one shoulder and a matching hilt jutted up from the dagger strapped to her hip. With dark eyes sporting a hawk-like gaze, she was beautiful and fearsome at the same time.
The man who had led their capture spoke, his voice echoing in the large cavern.
“Father, these Issalians were caught trespassing on Tantarri land. We found them near the wood along the upper plateau.”
The older man nodded, responding with the same odd accent. “Very good, Juran. Were they armed?”
Hearing movement, Brock turned to see four Tantarri step forward and toss the confiscated weapons into a pile. Brock’s staff bounced and rolled across the cave floor before coming to a stop beneath the Tantarri leader’s foot.
The man stared at the small pile of weapons. “Armed and on Tantarri land. They could be spies or perhaps assassins. Regardless, the punishment is death.”
Brock couldn’t hold back any longer. “Sir. We mean you no harm. We didn’t even know we were on your la…”
A explosion of pain struck Brock’s face, his head turning sharply from the force of the slap. Tears from his watering eyes made the room a blur. He blinked to clear them.
Juran spoke angrily, his face close to Brock’s, hatred burning in his dark eyes. “You are not to speak, imperial swine. You have no right to address the head clansman. When the Ministry declared war on the Tantarri, you forfeited any rights to negotiate.”
The head clansman put his hand on the man’s arm. “Peace, Juran. We will not resort to murder. We are not the Ministry. We will lock them away for the night, and they will be executed in the morning, per Tantarri law.” The man addressed Brock. “You see, even if what you say is true and you had no ill intent, we are at war with your Empire. According to the rules of war, as the Ministry has so clearly established, we will execute those who trespass on our lands. Do not blame us young man. Your Ministry is to blame. Their treachery has left us no choice.” He then gestured with a finger. “Put them in the pit. They die at dawn.”
The head clansman reversed direction, the long colored strips of cloth flowing behind him as he retreated into the tunnel. Juran gave Brock one last hateful glare before following his father. The girl eyed the group for a brief moment before turning to follow the others.
The two Tantarri guards who were holding Brock spun him around and dragged him toward a tunnel entrance cut into the side of the cavern. He noticed their packs piled along a wall in the cavern just before he entered the tunnel.
The corridor curved in a wide arc before opening to another gallery, lit by a single torch that made shadows dance on the walls and the high ceiling. A narrow ledge encircled a dark hole in the floor, the unknown depths of the pit consuming any light attempting to enter.
Two Tantarri began to uncoil a thick rope, lowering it into the dark opening. Once unwound, they stepped back from the edge.
“Climb down.” A Tantarri commanded as another cut the bonds from Brock’s wrists.
Brock stepped to the edge, grabbed the rope, and began lowering himself into the hole. He glanced down again to find nothing but darkness below. His heart raced when he thought of falling some incredible unknown distance. He tried to calm himself by shifting his focus, concentrating on the placement of each foot as he descended into the black abyss.
The Emblem Throne (The Runes of Issalia Book 2) Page 10
