by GARY DARBY
Her voice trails off for moment before it grows firm, “Borm did say he was of the Kall family, right?”
“Is that important?” Cara questions.
“Yes, if what I’m thinking is true,” Marce responds, “and utterly fantastic if I’m right.”
“You’ve got our attention, Marce,” Phigby replies, “go on.”
“It was in the far past,” Marce explains, “when the Uhlan roamed Erdron. There were always deaths during our sojourns, and there were also those who went missing but they were usually few in number.
“However, there is one notation in our Historica about a whole family, over two hundred Uhlan who disappeared without a trace. The Historica refers to them as the Vanished Ones, or the Lost Family as some call them.”
“The Lost Family?” I ask.
“Yes,” Marce replies, “you see, in the old days, there were four Uhlan clans, each made up of a number of families. Once the clans left center point, they would spread out, each family taking a certain path.”
“To cover more ground,” Tavin states.
“Exactly,” Marce replies, “and there was one family, they were called the Anchor Family who acted as a moving center point for the others. The families would communicate with each other by sending runners to the anchor which in turn would send out messengers to the other families.
“The Historica records that the Ubek clan lost an entire family, the Myskalls.” She turns slightly and gestures toward Borm and Ralos. “And Borm indicated that he and his father were of the Kall family.”
“Ah, I see,” Tavin muses, “Kall—Myskall. It could be a coincidence, you know, but you’re suggesting that these could be the descendants of your Lost Family from long ago.”
“Yes,” Marce replies. “It would make the most sense even though it’s almost too incredible to believe.”
“These Vanished Ones,” Amil questions, “just how did they vanish and go missing?”
Cara turns to Amil. “If you knew how they vanished, they didn’t exactly vanish, did they?”
Amil opens his mouth as if to speak and then closes it while scratching at his head. “I suppose that’s true.”
Marce puts a hand on Amil’s forearm. “I understood what you meant and what I can tell you is that the Ubek clan was in these lands but much farther south when the Myskalls went missing.
“The clan searched for them but never found even a trace. It was as though they were lifted into the clouds and never seen again. From then on, whenever an Uhlan clan came this way, they always inquired and searched, but nothing ever turned up. There came a point that it was just accepted they were gone, never to be seen again.”
“Until, perhaps, now,” Pim says.
“Until, perhaps, now,” Marce nods.
“That could answer who they are,” Snag says to Marce, “but it doesn’t necessarily mean we can trust them. After all, you said they weren’t your countrymen and you really didn’t know them. For all we know, they could be in league with Vay.”
“That’s right,” Amil agrees. “So, it’s really a question of believing them and trusting them.”
“Isn’t that more like two questions?” Cara quips.
“I suppose so,” Amil agrees. “All right, the two questions—”
“We get it, Amil,” Alonya grunts and then adds, “No offense, Marce, but it seems that the first time we trusted the Uhlan it didn’t turn out so well, for us, or for them.”
“No, it didn’t,” Marce acknowledges and I can see pain on her face, most likely from remembering the treachery of her brother and how he and others of their Uhlan party died under Prince Aster’s hand.
“So,” Alonya speaks up, “we only have Borm’s word to go on. Do you find him trustworthy, Marce? He hasn’t given us much to go on and remember, it’s not just our lives that we risk here, it’s Golden Wind’s, too.”
“I know,” Marce answers, “and yes, I believe him. And as far as being in league with Vay, how could that be? They fought the Blackguards and only two survived of their whole company!”
“Yes,” Snag accedes, “but from what I can tell, this was a small scouting party of Blackguards. Vay wouldn’t have any concern sacrificing that many on either side if it suited her purposes.”
“Could be a well-thought-out deception,” Tavin ponders as he rubs at his chin. “And you’re right, Snag, I wouldn’t put it past Vay to have the two go at each other just to win our confidence. They show up with just enough force to act like it was an all-out attack but don’t risk their main body. A nice touch if it was a ruse.”
He turns and makes a sweeping hand gesture across the hillside. “And do you not think it was rather convenient that they chose a spot to fight where the Fire Hounds’ flames would be seen for a long distance?”
“Meaning,” Amil growls, “we would be sure to notice and come investigate.”
“You’re making it sound,” Marce huffs, “as if these Uhlan are setting a trap for us! I can’t accept—”
She stops with her mouth open before she slowly closes it as she stares at our faces. She drops her gaze for an instant before she says in a husky voice, “Sometimes it’s too easy to forget that we did the same thing to you.”
I put a hand on her shoulder. “Easy, Marce,” I respond, “we understand your feelings, especially if these two are indeed from this Lost Family of yours. But remember, we have to protect the golden as she is more important than any of us.”
A dark blush creeps up Marce’s face. “You’re right, Hooper. I’m sorry, for a moment there I forgot that my first obligation is to Golden Wind and this company. And you’re also right that we need to be suspicious.”
She again lowers her eyes and whispers, “Where the Uhlan are concerned it would seem the best course.”
“A noble sentiment,” Phigby utters, his face scrunched together as he tugs on his beard thoughtfully, “but in this case, I’m beginning to believe we can trust Borm and we may well be chasing shadows where none exist.”
“But—” Amil begins, only to have Phigby stop him with a raised hand. “I suspect that the Uhlan chose this hill to make their stand, not because we would see those Devil Dogs’ flames but because the sturdy trees are spaced close together, thus breaking up the Blackguards’ attack up the slope.
“Plus, the crown of this hill, which is quite steep, leads up to a natural fortress of boulders and rocks which gave the Uhlan not only excellent cover from which to fight but slowed their attackers down considerably, making them easier targets to hit.
“And there is the matter of Borm and Ralos. It is in my mind, from their significant wounds, that if we hadn’t shown up when we did, both would be dead. Wouldn’t be much of a trap if you kill off all the bait, would it?”
Scratching at his cheek with one finger, Amil slowly says, “I guess we jumped at those shadows.”
“It’s jumped to conclusions, Amil,” Tavin returns, “but it does appear that we’re guilty of throwing stones at the innocent.”
“No need to apologize for our suspicions,” Phigby replies. “In these times, it is difficult not to be overly concerned, and as we travel with the golden, I would say it is wise on our part to always question and never assume.”
“So, that means we’ll go with Borm?” Marce asks.
“Yes,” Phigby nods, but with lowered eyebrows says, “but that doesn’t mean we let down our guard. Remember, he has not said why we should go with him.”
He draws in a deep breath. “But from his tone I suspect that danger lies ahead, perhaps such peril that he is afraid to voice what it is in fear that we would turn aside.”
“And he would be right,” Amil grunts and glances around at us. “Right?”
Phigby puts a hand on Amil’s shoulder. “My valiant and brave friend, since when have you ever shied away from a good fight?”
“Since I signed up with this outfit,” Amil growls, “that’s when.”
“So,” Marce asks, “we’ll go?”
“Yes,” Phigby nods to Marce but then says to all of us, “but keep your sword hands free, you may well be using them before this day is done.”
CHAPTER NINE
Just then, Snag snaps his head up, whirls around, and drinks deeply of the night air. “That may be sooner than you think,” he snarls as he lets out his breath. “The Blackguards and their hounds return, this time in larger numbers!”
“Alonya,” Phigby directs, “carry Ralos on Regal—”
“Borm goes with me on Wind Walker,” Marce states.
“Then we’ll follow you,” Phigby responds before ordering, “to your dragons, everyone, and make haste. We don’t want to be caught on the ground like the Uhlan!”
He starts to turn, then stops, his face contorted. “Phigby, what’s wrong?” I ask.
“The Uhlan bodies,” he states. “We haven’t the time to properly bury them.”
“It can’t be helped,” Amil replies.
Snag growls, “Even if we buried them, the hounds would . . .” his voice dies to a whisper but we understand all too well what he’s left unsaid.
Phigby rumbles low in his throat, his lips pressed tight. “You’re right. It can’t be helped. To your dragons!”
It doesn’t take us long before the company is mounted on their dragons. Wind Walker is the first to sky and soon after the company is following the big emerald.
I have the golden pull up alongside and glance over at Marce and Borm. I can see from the anxious expression on his face and the way his arms wrap themselves tightly around Marce’s waist that he’s a bit apprehensive.
“Don’t worry, Borm,” I call out, “Marce and Wind Walker won’t let you fall off. Just do everything Marce says and you’ll be fine.”
He seems to be afraid to move even a little but calls back, “I’ve never ridden anything larger than a horse before, but I feel as if I’m sitting atop a dozen winged horses and ten times as high.”
From just behind, Amil calls out, “Oh, we’ve just barely gotten off the ground, just wait, we’ll go much higher.”
“You’re not helping,” Marce replies over her shoulder.
“Don’t worry, Borm,” I encourage, “you’re doing fine. Besides, Wind Walker is an old dragon, so he can’t go very fast or very high.”
Wind Walker swings his head just a little toward me, one eye narrowed and glaring as I smile back.
I urge Golden Wind to go a bit higher to where I can look down and survey the whole company. “Well, it would appear we have a bit of a mystery on our hands. A band of Uhlan that Marce knows nothing about but who came searching for us to ask that we go to this Hidden Haven of theirs. Care to shed some light on all this?”
“I would if I could, Hooper,” the golden replies, “but this is as much of a mystery to me as it is to you, though being in danger isn’t much of a mystery these days, is it?”
“No, it’s not,” I agree.
“Then, I suggest you sit back and let the answers come to us as I suspect they shall soon enough.”
I take her advice and settle deeper into her neck saddle while I stroke Scamper’s soft fur as he sleeps. The wind is cool and the air soft but I have no trouble staying awake as the thought that we face some unknown danger keeps my eyes wide open.
The forest flows in an unending dark stream below us and the King and Queen stars begin their slide toward setting when Marce straightens and points ahead. To my eyes, the horizon is little more than a blank darkness when I suddenly realize that the ebony curtain that I see is a range of high mountains.
Moments later, Marce puts Wind Walker in a long, shallow glide and the rest of us follow him down. After a bit, the trees flash by just below us and then an extensive break in the trees appears.
Wind Walker flares his wings and settles to the ground as I put Golden Wind alongside. In a few moments, all of the company is down and we gather between Wind Walker and Golden Wind to stare upward.
Part of my “ebony curtain” is a towering cliff that seems to rise so high it brushes against the stars. Off to each side, stretching out before being lost in the darkness are rugged, towering mountains, and at first glance, too tall for a dragon to sky over. Borm turns to us to say, “Wait here while I inform the outer guards of our arrival and get help for my father.”
“Outer guards?” Phigby questions.
“Please, just wait here,” Borm answers. “I won’t be long.”
Having glanced around to find that we’re hemmed in on three sides by tall trees while the fourth side is open to the enormous cliff wall, I ask Borm, “Do we need to set a night watch?”
He nods at my question. “Since we’re on the outside, I would highly recommend you do so.”
“Outside?” Amil questions but Borm doesn’t answer. Instead, he lopes away, headed directly toward the towering massif.
Amil turns to Phigby. “What did he mean, on the outside? Outside of what?”
Phigby pulls at his beard for a moment before he frowns and observes, “Apparently, my inquisitive friend, we’re on the outside of something or other and not on the inside of that same something or other.”
Amil grunts and chortles. “Now that makes a lot of sense, professor.”
“I’m sure it will all be sorted out soon enough,” Phigby replies.
He then turns to Marce. “However, I suspect that on the ride here, you and Borm were able to sort a few things out. Care to share?”
Marce nods eagerly. “It’s amazing what he told me.”
“Well, as Phigby said, share,” Amil rumbles. “I want to be amazed too.”
“It’s as I thought,” she begins, “and it happened many seasons before the Uhlan’s last sojourn and our permanent settlement. The Historica’s account is that when the Ubeks returned from the far east, they reported that they had crossed the sea but shortly after landing, soldiers from the Dahl Kingdom had set upon them.
“The clan suffered grievous losses in the fighting and in the last battle as the Uhlan tried to retreat to the ocean, the Dahl cut off one whole family, the Myskalls, from the main body.
“Most of the clan reached the ocean and put out to sea but it was decided that a few boats would turn north for a piece, come ashore, and try to find the Myskalls, or what was thought would be a few survivors.
“Nothing was ever found of them. No bodies, no survivors, absolutely no sign of them. In secret, a few of the Uhlan crossed into the Dahl’s land to see if the Myskalls were prisoners, but that wasn’t the case, either.
“The clan searched and searched but never found the Myskalls or discovered what happened to them.”
“And as you mentioned,” Tavin nods, “they became known as your Lost Family.”
“That’s right,” Marce replies.
“So,” Cara questions, “these Uhlan are the descendants of this Lost Family?”
Marce’s eyes shimmer with tears. “Yes, and how they came to be here is what they call the Barnas Stiav Og Sorg or the Children’s Trail of Travail, Terror, and Sorrow.”
“The Children’s Trail of Travail, Terror, and Sorrow,” Amil repeats, his voice low, soft. “It doesn’t sound like a happy tale.”
“No,” Marce acknowledges, “it’s not, but it answers a lot of questions of what happened to that particular Uhlan family.”
“I for one would like to hear it,” Phigby returns, “if you don’t mind.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t mind at all,” Marce replies but then gestures past Phigby, “but it would appear that we have visitors.”
We turn to where she points and see several Uhlan, with Borm in the lead, hurrying our way carrying what looks like a stretcher of sorts. Without a word, they rush up, gently lift Ralos and place him on the litter. Then, the litter bearers dash away, passing by a number of Uhlan striding our way while Borm stays behind.
The small group of Uhlan stop a short distance away and in the star- and moonlight I can see that all but one carry bows with an arrow notched. Borm motions toward the group. “T
he Vinderfangen and Jelani Ros would speak with Hooper Menvoran, Phigby, and Marce of the Uhlan.”
He turns a little and says, “The rest of you are permitted to listen but it would be best if you do not speak, for it is our custom that only the chosen spokespersons should conduct the discussions.
“However, before I go I would thank all of you for what you have done. I will not forget your bravery nor your kindness toward strangers.”
He turns to Marce and murmurs, “Especially yours, Marce of the Nervan Uhlan.”
With that, he hurries away, leaving us facing the Uhlan delegation. Phigby edges closer to me. “Well, my boy, it appears that you must once again earn your pay as our ambassador-at-large.”
“You keep saying I’m getting paid but I haven’t seen a single ducat.”
“A figure of speech, lad,” Phigby answers. “Just a figure of speech.”
I blow out a breath and mutter, “I’m beginning to think that this ambassador business isn’t all that great. No pay and all it really does is make you a bigger and more inviting target than before.”
“Perhaps,” Phigby acknowledges, “but think of all the side benefits.”
“Such as?” I snort.
“Such as getting engaged to a beautiful monarch,” Cara quips. Before I can retort she leans toward me and whispers, “I suggest that this time, if there’s a girl involved you let Phigby do all the talking.”
“Cara . . .” I growl but she ignores my snarl by giving me her wide-eyed innocent look and a little push. “You best get out there, My Lord Ambassador. It’s not nice to keep them waiting.”
At that, Phigby leads out and Marce and I fall in step with him with the rest of the company straggling behind. As we come to a stop several paces away from the Uhlan, one of them, his craggy face marking him as much older than the rest, takes a step forward and places a hand over his heart.
“Welcome, welcome,” he says in a deep and a strong voice. “To my people, I am called the Vinderfangen, but to you please call me Liam. It is good, very good that we found you when we did, and I thank you for heeding our call.”
