The Stone of Mercy

by M. J. Evans

  Moving through the forest was difficult, even for the tall, strong Centaurs. They did their best to find a path between the trees, although there usually wasn’t one. Often their chosen route would be blocked by tangles of rotting logs. Their strong hind legs lifted them up and over some barriers, but this often caused them to land in thick bogs of mud that tried to swallow them the moment their hooves touched down on the other side. They pushed and pulled with all their strength to keep their feet moving forward. Carling felt sorry for Tibbals as she struggled and sweat formed on the filly’s chest and flanks. The young Duende did her best to push low-hanging branches and dangling vines out of their way, but didn’t think she was helping much.

  After several hours of moving slowly through the dense, dark forest, Tandum came to a halt. “I think we need to rest for the night. The sun is getting low and, as little light as it offers in this Godforsaken place, we don’t have a chance of getting through this forest in the dark. I know of a cabin Father and I used on our hunting trips. I don’t think it is far away. I will lead you there.”

  No one argued.

  Within about half an hour, and just as the sun’s rays attempted to slide sideways through the trees, Tandum halted and raised his hand to both stop and silence the others. He cocked his head, then placed a finger to his lips. Quietly he tiptoed, as much as a Centaur is able on their hooves, a few feet farther. He reached out his arms and parted the brush in front of him and Higson. Carling and Tibbals stepped up beside them. It was then that they could hear the ruckus.

  Loud laughter and talking were coming from the cabin that stood in the middle of the clearing ahead. The front door was ajar, and smoke was billowing from the stone chimney. As they watched, a group of Centaurs stumbled out the front door, laughing and joking with one another.

  Carling gasped as she felt Tibbals become tense beneath her. These were the very same Centaurs who had attempted the kidnapping and attacked the village of Duenton a few days ago. They were easy to recognize. Their hair hung down to their shoulders in dirty curling locks. Their faces were covered with smudges of dirt, and scraggly beards dropped like strings of moss from their chins. Their strong upper bodies were covered in black leather vests, decorated with chains. Some wore bandages of torn cloth over the wounds inflicted upon them by Carling and Higson. These were members of the Heilodius herd that had split off from the Minsheen Centaurs.

  It was easy to hear what the Centaurs were saying as they shouted back and forth to one another. Suddenly, what Carling heard made her heart stop.

  “Did you see how that little Duende woman begged for her life?” said one large Heilodius Centaur. “Oh, please don’t kill me. Please!” he mocked. The rest of the group that had now spilled out of the cabin and into the clearing responded with raucous laughter.

  “Like you cared about her little life!” responded one. More laughter filled the glen.

  “Ha, ha, Clank!” added another. “You are positively evil!”

  The Centaur named Clank, the apparent leader of the group, raised his head high, clearly amused. “Yes, I am. Isn’t it delightful!”

  “At least her husband took it like a man!” choked out another between hiccups.

  Carling couldn’t take it anymore. She reached over her shoulder and removed an arrow from her quiver. Then she nocked the arrow on her bow, setting it over Tibbals’ shoulder, and drew back, aiming for the heart of the Centaur named Clank.

  Higson reached over and grabbed her arm, stopping her just before she released the arrow. “Carling,” he whispered. “Stop!”

  Keeping her eyes on her target, she hissed back, “He killed my parents. He needs to pay,” and pulled her arm back an inch farther.

  Tandum reached over and clasped her arrow. “Not yet, Carling. We don’t want them to know we are here.”

  “If they come after us in the darkness, they might very well catch us. Then we would not get the Stone of Mercy,” added Tibbals.

  “But one of them would be dead,” said Carling through clenched teeth.

  “Yes, but you wouldn’t complete your quest to get the stone. Right now, that is more important,” said Higson, calmly but firmly.

  “Right now I don’t even care about the stone. I just want revenge. You heard him! He killed my parents! And they’re laughing about it!”

  “I understand why you’re so angry. I would be, too,” said Tibbals.

  “But we must keep our eyes on the bigger goal,” added Tandum.

  “We must find the stone,” said Higson.

  Carling pursed her lips and lowered her bow and arrow.

  Higson, Tibbals, and Tandum let out a collective sigh of relief. Then Higson reached over and put an arm around Carling’s shoulders. “We can come back after we find the stone. If they’re still here, you can do what you need to do.”

  Carling lowered her head and let the tears flow.

  Chapter 15

  The Echoing Plains

  The two Centaurs and their riders backed up silently and moved around the clearing, tying to ignore the boisterous laughter and shouting still audible through the trees. Once they reached the other side of the glen, they carried on through the darkness, guided only by Tandum’s keen sense of direction, to where the Forest of Rumors met the Echoing Plains. From the edge of the forest, the plains spread out through the night, lit by the silver moon. The rolling hills looked like ocean waves, and the gentle breeze rustling the grasses sounded like whispered secrets. The soft scents of sage, blue gamma, and buffalo grass floated through the air.

  “Let’s rest here for the night,” said Tandum.

  Carling and Higson dropped to the ground. They pulled some rolls and cheese out of their bags. Together, the four adventurers curled up on the moss-covered ground and ate until they were filled. As they ate, no one said much of anything, each lost in their own thoughts and concerns. Carling and Higson rested against the shoulders of the two Centaurs.

  Finally, Tandum broke the silence. “I will take the first watch,” he whispered.

  “Do you think we are in danger?” asked Higson.

  Tibbals looked over at the little Duende and smiled kindly. “There are many rumors surrounding this forest. That’s why it has its name. The Centaurs are not the only ones who hunt here. My father told me stories about hiding from a hunting party of Cyclops. It is possible that the Ogres travel through here as well. We wouldn’t want to be caught unaware.”

  “I believe we must keep our quest a secret from the other races,” Tandum added, “as well as from the Heilodius herd. They seek to rule the kingdom. If they knew a queen had been called, they would do anything in their power to stop her from qualifying.”

  “Tell me about the Heilodius herd,” Carling said. “All I know is they were once part of your herd. What happened?”

  Tibbals shook her head. “It is such a sad story. I can’t bear to tell it,” she said as she sniffed and wiped her moist eyes.

  “I will,” responded Tandum. “It all happened nearly fifty years ago, before Tibbals and I were even born. Our father was just elected to the leadership of the herd. At the time, a Cyclops named Zeriboum was attempting to hold the throne on Mount Heilodius and rule Crystonia. My father sent him an epistle saying the Minsheen herd did not recognize his authority and would not obey any of the edicts he was trying to impose upon the Centaurs. Father felt that simply living peacefully in the City of Minsheen would be enough. However, there were others of the ruling council of our herd who wanted to go to war with the Cyclops and take over the rule of Crystonia. Father felt that would make us no better than the Cyclops and refused to do it. As it turned out, the Ogres soon went to battle with the Cyclops, and Zeriboum was killed right on the throne, his blood pooling around the dais.”

  “Oh, Tandum,” Tibbals exclaimed, “you don’t have to give us all the gruesome details!”

  “Well, I want them to know this is serious business.”

  “I think we get the idea,” said Carling. “Please c
ontinue.”

  “As I was saying, Father wanted to live in peace and let the other races do the same. With the murder of Zeriboum, the throne of Crystonia was empty once again. That was enough temptation for several of the Minsheen herd’s leadership. Three of them revolted against Father and the other council members. A great battle within the very council chambers broke out. First it was just a battle of words and ideas, but then swords were drawn. Several council members who were loyal to Father were killed, and Father himself was badly injured. When the battle was over, the dissidents were cast off the council. Not content to just agree to disagree, they gathered as many supporters as they could and left the City of Minsheen. That was the beginning of the Heilodius herd, named after the object of their ambition, the seat of power on Mount Heilodius.” Tandum quit speaking and gazed off across the moonlit plains.

  Carling had more questions, but she wasn’t sure if now was the time to ask them. Tandum solved her quandary. He turned and looked down at her. “Do you have any more questions?”

  “Actually, yes…if you feel like answering them.”

  “Please ask. As the future queen of Crystonia, you need to understand all the dynamics and intrigue going on in the kingdom.”

  “You said the Heilodius herd formed approximately fifty years ago.”

  Tandum nodded.

  “How large a group is it now?”

  “We don’t know for sure. They began with the original dissenters and a couple dozen recruits from our herd. Very few mares and fillies went with them.” He paused and looked over at Tibbals before continuing. “Some think the reason they tried to kidnap Tibbals and her friends is because they need more mares to increase the size of their herd.”

  Carling looked over at Tibbals and saw her friend draw back with revulsion.

  “You see, Carling,” Tandum continued, “very few of the Minsheen herd have joined their ranks in the intervening decades. A few of our herd, including my uncle, have disappeared. When that happens, we can only assume the missing have joined forces with the Heilodius or been the victim of some terrible accident. We don’t know which would be worse,” he added with a snort.

  “I think we had best call it a night,” said Tibbals. “I, for one, am totally exhausted.

  Carling nodded. “Thank you for that information, Tandum,” she said. “I am sure it will be very helpful.” She snuggled in beside Tibbals and was soon fast asleep.

  Higson, who had been listening intently, looked at Carling. Even in the darkness, she was beautiful. She looked so peaceful sleeping. Higson let out a long sigh and settled in to get some rest as well.

  —

  Carling woke with a start, escaping from a dream that caused her heart to pound and perspiration to bead up on her forehead. In her dream, the evil Centaur was standing over her mother. Her mother lay on the floor, her hands raised in a futile attempt to defend herself. Carling could feel her terror and see it in her eyes, which were wide with dread.

  “Are you okay?” asked Tibbals, sensing Carling’s tension.

  “I just had a terrible dream.”

  Tibbals nodded. “I’m sorry. You have been through a lot. I can understand why it would present itself in bad dreams.”

  Higson and Tandum groaned and stretched. “Good morning,” they said in unison.

  “Good morning, sleepy heads,” said Tibbals cheerfully.

  Carling smiled in acknowledgment. The little Duende looked around her. The Echoing Plains looked much different in the morning sunlight. Gone were the silver waves, having been replaced by green rolling hills that looked as soft as pillows. Meadowlarks and mourning doves flitted from brush to tree and the tall grasses waved a greeting. The sun felt warm and welcoming on her face. The air smelled fresh and clean, a mixture of the forest behind them and the grasslands before them. Under ordinary circumstances, she would welcome the day with joy and excitement. But she had a feeling her life would never be ordinary again, and that saddened her. She took a deep breath and pushed herself up to stand, stiff from sleeping on the hard ground. Trying not to think too much, she pulled some fruit and rolls out of her pack and passed them around. Everyone ate enthusiastically, except her. She just couldn’t shake the images from her dream.

  Higson, seeing her downcast expression said, “What’s the matter, Carling?”

  She shook her head. “Nothing…Everything…Let’s just get going and find this stone.” The ever-present questions nagged at her again. Why me? Why was I selected to become the queen? Why did the Wizard send me on this quest?

  Carling and Higson climbed up on the Centaurs’ backs and wrapped their arms around Tibbals’ and Tandum’s waists. As the Centaurs began to carry them, it became clear that the Duende were both getting quite good at riding, and were now able to keep their bodies moving with the Centaurs. As the large creatures pushed their strong haunches from behind and stretched their long front legs forward, the rhythm of the movement was comforting to Carling. Before long, she realized she was smiling.

  She glanced over at Higson and was pleased to see that he, too, was smiling.

  They were heading toward the southwest, the sun sending their shadows to their sides. Carling looked up at the expansive blue sky. Never before had she been in a wide open space such as this. Her little village was surrounded by the forest. In a way, the closeness of the trees had always felt protective. Out here, she felt exposed; though to what, she couldn’t say.

  When the Centaurs reached a little pond surrounded by tall cattails, they stopped to fill their water flasks and take a rest. Carling leaped off Tibbals and pushed her way through the cattails. They rustled in complaint and sent white puffs of seed pods flying into the air. Carling dipped her hands in the cool water and brought them up to her face, letting the water refresh her as it ran down her cheeks. She closed her eyes and breathed in the warm prairie air.

  Suddenly, she opened her violet eyes. In the distance she could hear a pounding sound. She had no idea what it could be. She turned and struggled back through the cattails to where Higson and the Centaurs were resting.

  “Do you hear that sound?” she asked.

  They stopped talking and listened. Higson even put his hand to his large, pointed ears. “Yes. I do hear something,” he said.

  “What do you suppose it is?” Carling asked.

  “It’s hard to say,” responded Tandum. “This is called the Echoing Plains because of the strange and sometimes sinister sounds that float on the prairie winds. Sometimes they are simply magnifications of nothing at all. Other times, the sounds are bounced around so much that they become unrecognizable. And it’s always hard to determine what direction the sound is coming from. We will carry on toward Manyon Canyon, but we’d be wise to keep our eyes open.”

  Tibbals stepped up to Carling. “Don’t worry, little Carling,” the filly said. “We will take care of you.”

  “Let’s get going,” Tandum said. “I want to reach the Canyon before the sun sets.”

  The band of travelers started out once again, making their own path. They traveled over rolling hills and across little ravines that had been cut into the sandy soil by the flash floods that always seem to arrive in summer and leave their mark for the rest of the year. There were few trees to provide shade, only a lonesome cottonwood now and again, sucking water from any tiny stream or pond it could find.

  As they moved forward, Carling kept her pointed ears perked as she listened for the pounding sound. It seemed to her that it was getting louder, but, as Tandum had warned, it was impossible to tell from which direction it was coming. For all she knew, they were moving right toward it. At one particularly loud boom, she jerked in surprise, squeezing her legs tightly around Tibbals.

  “I heard that, too, Carling. I can’t tell what it was nor where it came from,” Tibbals said in response to her rider’s reaction.

  Within minutes, they found out.

  The Centaurs had just crested the tip of a grassy ridge when both Tandum and Tibbals stopped
abruptly, lowered themselves to their knees, and ducked their heads. “Get off, Higson and Carling,” commanded Tandum, “and get down flat on the ground.”

  “What is it?” asked Higson.

  “Just do it!” said Tandum, rather harshly.

  Carling was surprised by Tandum’s response, but she and Higson instantly did as they were told.

  Crouching on bent knees and hocks, Tandum and Tibbals crawled up the hillock until they could just peek over the top. Carling and Higson followed until they had scooted up beside them.

  Soon, four sets of eyes, one of which was violet, were taking in a frightening sight. On the other side of the mound upon which they were crouching was a wide gulley. And in the gulley was a large band of Cyclops.

  Carling gasped and her hand flew to her mouth. Her face turned ashen and her chin began to tremble as fear flowed through her body. Her blood felt as though it had turned to ice. She had never seen such terrifying creatures. They were monsters by any sense of the word. Each one of them must have been ten feet tall at the least. Their upper bodies were muscular, the muscles in their arms and chests bulging. Their only clothing was a loin cloth made of animal skin that was tied around their waist. They were short enough to reveal legs covered with dense hair. Their feet were cloven hooves. A single thick horn that protruded straight up from the center of their skulls was surrounded by long, stringy hair. But the most frightening part was their faces. The Cyclops had large, protruding jaws and sharp teeth barely covered by black, blistered lips. They had only one eye which was located right in the middle of their forehead.

  “Cyclops,” whispered Tandum. The others nodded, not really needing to be told the obvious.

  The Cyclops had built a fire as a make-shift forge. Some were using bellows to bring the fire to a higher temperature. Several of them inserted pieces of metal into the flames, drawing the metal out only when it glowed as orange as a sunset. Using large hammers, they pounded the metal into the shapes of swords and spears. Other members of the band could be seen grinding the edges of the swords to make them sharp. With the noise and the smoke, it was unlikely that they would have noticed the four observers.