“Store the food by the cabin door for easy access later, Saxthor,” Tournak said. “We should be coming into Hyemka by midday.”
Saxthor, that was the confirmation Tog needed. She loped back to Hyemka and reached the burial ground in time to confirm the grave was still open. Satisfied, she transformed again into her original female manifestation. While she waited, she strolled into town and appeared to scrutinize each shop and the goods displayed along the wharf.
These buildings are too close together for my purpose, Tog thought. I’ll have to lure Saxthor to the abandoned cottage by the cemetery.
*
“Hyemka isn’t much,” Saxthor said as the craft approached the little river town. “Can’t be a lot to do here for fun but fish.”
“And hunt,” Bodrin said.
Tournak nodded. “We’ll tie up at the edge of Hyemka just long enough to get fresh supplies. Watchers may already be among the shoppers. I want you two to stay with the boat while I find out what’s available in the market place.”
“Can’t we go with you?” Saxthor asked. “We’ve never been to Hyemka before. We should get to know the kingdom better.”
Tournak faced Saxthor, glanced at Bodrin, and then began to address the prince. “You are aware your life is in danger. Earwig isn’t playing; she has spies hunting for you as we speak. You can travel and explore the kingdom when you’re older. For now, stay with the boat and out of sight.”
The wizard tied up the vessel at the end of the wharf with the boys’ faces plastered in the small cabin window. He pointed his finger at them with a stern glare, and both jumped back from the opening as he left for the town market.
“We’re prisoners,” Saxthor said. “You’d think we did something wrong the way Tournak keeps us hidden all the time.”
“He’s right, Saxthor, your aunt will kill you if she can.”
Bodrin pulled out a game for them to play while their guardian was away. Saxthor tossed a stick at the wall and sat down at the little table. He began to check the cards Bodrin dealt. They played only a few hands when Saxthor noted a shadow block the porthole light for an instant.
A call came from the dock. “Is anyone inside?”
Saxthor started to get up, but Bodrin pushed him down and went to the cabin door. Saxthor peeked from the window’s edge. A jittery woman was looking back and forth between the boat and the town. One hand clasped her throat; her skirt swayed with her searching movement.
“Hello,” Bodrin said. “Is something wrong?”
“Are you Saxthor? I must speak to Saxthor.”
Bodrin checked behind him in the cabin.
“Ask her what she wants.”
“Why do you need to talk with Saxthor? Who are you, madam?”
The woman became more agitated. Her eyes were bright, almost piercing in her flushed face. “Pardon, sir, but we must hurry. Your friend, Mr. Tournak, has fallen down a flight of stairs. They’ve carried him inside on a stretcher. He was calling for someone named Saxthor and said he’d be at the end of the wharf in a small boat. Yours is the only little vessel at the end of the dock. I thought…”
Sorblade still in the cabin, Saxthor popped around the door and out on the deck. Bodrin followed, his hand on his knife handle.
“I’m Saxthor. Where’s Tournak, how badly is he hurt?”
“They didn’t say, sir; he just called for someone to fetch you. If you’ll come with me, I’ll take you to him.”
Saxthor stepped up on the wharf with Bodrin close behind. “Stay with the boat, Bodrin, one of us has to guard her. I’ll get Tournak and be back as soon as we can.”
“Wait, Saxthor, let me get him. You need to be out of sight in the boat.”
“No, Bodrin, Tournak called for me, I’ll go.”
With that, Saxthor followed the lady onto the road, but they didn’t travel towards the town. They rushed back up the roadway in the opposite direction.
“Madam, I thought you said Tournak fell. He went into town to the market. We’re going the wrong way.”
Much calmer and more deliberate, the woman walked fast and glanced back without slowing her pace.
“The people carried him to this cottage up ahead. They hope he might recover with bed rest.”
“I understand,” he said. However, as the two went further up the road out of sight of the boat, queasiness crept into Saxthor’s stomach. We’ve not seen a single soul on the road, he thought.
They reached the cottage that appeared dark and deserted. “It doesn’t seem like anyone is at home.”
The maiden’s delicate arm swept toward the little house. “They’re all inside with your friend, I’m sure.”
If men carried Tournak in, I’d think someone would be outside to direct help, he thought. Maybe I’ve gotten too suspicious. They must’ve gone back to their shops.
“It was kind of the townsfolk to take care of my friend. I guess he’s not too badly hurt if they’ve left already. Wonder why they didn’t bring him to the boat?”
“I’m sure I don’t know, sir.”
The shape-shifter hurried on to the cottage. When she started up the front steps, Saxthor noted what seemed like a tuft of animal hair just above her ankle, which he thought strange. The woman turned and smiled as she jiggled the door handle.
“Silly me, I think they locked the front door for his protection. We’ll have to go around back.”
Saxthor felt something wasn’t right. He noticed another tuft of fur on her upper arm when she worked the door but again put aside suspicion. Tournak was hurt, and in pain, Saxthor had to help his mentor. The two went around to the rear of the house, but the woman went to the storm cellar door rather than to the back porch.
“Didn’t you say the backdoor was unlocked?” Saxthor asked.
“I’m sorry, sir, that door must be locked, too. I remember a way into the cottage through the basement. Come this way.”
She looked back with an encouraging smile, but she appeared sallow with dark eyes. Saxthor shook his head and followed the woman down dank, squeaking steps into the cellar’s gloom.
“This is the only way in? You’d think someone would have stayed with my friend,” he said.
The shapeshifter failed to respond but reached behind him to pull the cellar door shut. Saxthor jumped. His heart skipped a beat when the door banged down, plunging them into darkness.
“You sure this is the only way?” Saxthor asked. He squinted and felt for the candle he’d seen before the light disappeared. Unable to find the taper, he turned to the woman.
“Can you find your way in the dark?”
The woman he felt beside him flicked her finger, lighting a finger torch. The small flame revealed she was changing already, her red eyes brilliant in the light. She lit the candle she’d snatched and placed it on a dusty shelf even as fur grew across her hand. Saxthor stumbled backward, tripped over something behind him, and fell into a crate. The growling sphinx leaped and slammed down the container’s lid that sealed Saxthor inside.
Saxthor’s fright raised his energy level, and as adrenaline coursed through his veins, an electric bolt shocked Tog. She jumped back. He felt the energy pulse but didn’t understand what the surge was or what had happened. Tog rubbed her burned hands and backed away for a moment.
“So that’s why the witch wants you dead. She didn’t mention you had powers, too.”
“What are you talking about?” Saxthor grabbed the crate boards, shaking them for all his twelve-year-old muscles could muster, but he only succeeded in stirring up a cloud of dust.
“Let me out. Where is Tournak?”
“How should I know where the wizard is? He’s not protecting you now, is he?” The voice was strange, coming from a cat face, but the animal had changed, and the leopard was frightening.
“What’re you going to do with me?”
“I have to check the graveyard outside once more. You’ll learn your fate soon enough.”
Tog again assumed her woman’s appearan
ce and slipped out of the basement. She left Saxthor in the dark, musty cellar, and chill spread up his feet through his body. With cold, shock, and fear, he began to shake in his makeshift cage.
*
Tog started to the graveyard and froze. On the dusty road in front of the cottage, a funeral party approached the cemetery gate. Pallbearers had just placed a casket over the open grave she’d been watching.
“Now! You had to come now?”
“The gravedigger has outdone himself with this pit,” the village elder said to the man beside him. That hole is a good two feet deeper than usual. We must consider a raise for him.”
Tog pulsed in her rage. Though weakened by her frequent transformations, she changed again, this time into a sand storm vortex that swirled to the graveside and almost chased the mourners. The biting sandblasted the people until they rushed towards town. Tog watched the last of them chattering to their neighbors about the most peculiar happenstance as they went. She started back to the cottage cellar.
“Now to terminate this Saxthor and bury him in the grave’s depths.
*
With arms laden with bulging bags, Tournak walked up over a rise in the road, and Bodrin rushed out to meet him.
“What’s the matter with you?” the wizard asked, having seen Bodrin twitching on the boardwalk.
“Where’s Saxthor?” Bodrin asked.
Tournak dropped the sacks. “What do you mean, where’s Saxthor? Isn’t he with you… in the boat?”
Bodrin jerked sideways to search up and down the road around Tournak.
“The woman came for him. She said you sent her to get him, that you had an accident, and needed him to help you get back here.”
“What woman? What are you talking about? I sent no one for Saxthor. Do I appear hurt to you?”
Bodrin turned this way, and that as beads of sweat covered his face. Tournak put his hand on Bodrin’s shoulder. Both looked around up and down the thoroughfare.
“Which way did they go?”
Bodrin pointed up the lane. “I wondered why they rushed up the road when you went to market the other way. I should have never let Saxthor go alone.”
“Stop blaming yourself, Bodrin, you remained with the boat as I told you to do. I’ll go find Saxthor. You stay here.”
“I want to go with you.”
“I can’t guard both of you right now. Remain with the boat and get the supplies onboard. We’re getting out of here as soon as I get Saxthor, and we return.”
As Tournak hurried up the road, he encountered the mourners scurrying back to town chattering about a bizarre sandstorm in the cemetery. His stomach heaved. He followed the spotty tracks of a woman and a boy that split off the road and led to the cottage. He jiggled the front door handle. As he turned sideways about to slam his shoulder into the door, he heard a struggle nearby. He spotted the graveyard in the distance and made out a woman dragging a large crate. He jumped off the porch steps in a dead run.
“Help!”
As he approached the cemetery’s tattered fence, he realized the woman was changing into a monstrous sphinx. Her claws ripped at the crate boards while someone inside jarred the cage to avoid the claws. As Tournak approached, a splintered board flew off and landed just short of him. He picked up the shaft and rushed the monster growling down at Saxthor in the box.
“Help, Tournak!”
Tournak stepped on a splinter that snapped. The sphinx spun around and snarled. Her glaring red eyes locked on Tournak. She crouched too late. Tournak thrust the jagged board up into her chest. She stood stunned for a moment. Tournak pulled out the shaft. The creature, transforming to her original state as a woman, fell backward into the pit.
Saxthor crawled out of the shredded heap. He turned to Tournak, and both stared down into the grave at the peaceful, dead Tog, released from her torment.
“She was trying to kill me! What do we do?” Saxthor asked.
“Go back to the boat; I’ll be along in a few minutes.”
“Do you need help?”
“No. Do as I say this time.”
“I’m sorry, Tournak, I thought…”
“I realize you meant to help. Go back and wait with Bodrin.”
When Saxthor was out of sight, Tournak threw the bloody board in the pit with the shape-shifter and shoveled soil up to the appropriate level for the coffin. He struggled to lower the casket and filled in the grave a little.
She must have planned this to be a double grave, Tournak thought. And so it is, but not as she expected. When the townspeople return to bury their friend, they’ll think the coffin blown in and finish filling in the grave, burying both bodies. Though we survived this attack, too, Earwig is still with us. She’ll keep trying. We must hurry on and try to get beyond her reach.
When he returned to the boat, Tournak decided he’d say nothing more about the incident.
Saxthor trudged up to him. “I’m sorry for leaving here when told to stay put.”
The wizard puffed up hands on his hips, then patted the boy’s head. “I realize you thought you were coming to my aid. I can’t find fault with that, but don’t disobey again. From now on, always carry Sorblade with you. Sorblade would have kept the shape-shifter from touching you. Remember, your aunt is close behind us. You can’t let down your guard.”
“Tournak, when she tried to push me down in that cage, something happened inside me, and she jumped back.”
“That would be an energy surge from your excited and threatened state. Your power is getting stronger.”
Bodrin gave Saxthor a puzzled glance, but the admonished boys said no more. They hoisted the sail, and the vessel sailed on past Hyemka into the night.
* * *
Almost slobbering, Earwig hung over the vision in her crystal ball as Tog dragged the crate towards the waiting grave. She jumped up, knocking her chair over backward when Tournak appeared from nowhere and killed the shape-shifter. When Saxthor emerged, and Tournak buried Tog, Earwig shrieked and slammed the crystal ball on the floor, shattering the orb into fragments. She stormed around the tower workroom raving before settling down with broom and dustpan to sweep up the shards crunching under her boots.
She tossed slivers out the window, and her gaze followed the shower of crystal fragments as they shimmered down the tower wall. A lone small man in garish attire walking down the seldom-used road to the Earwighof’s front gate caught her attention.
“What can that little thing want here?”
She threw the broom and dustpan out the window, too, and stomped down the stairs to meet the curious, little man at the door. Radrac followed, his bouncing rump flopped on each stair step. Banging on the door annoyed the witch. She wasn’t sure she wanted the strange man, just less than four feet tall, in her decaying palace.
The servants might dare admit him, she thought.
“Get away from there,” Earwig said to the approaching maid. The woman turned and fled out of sight somewhere inside the Earwighof. Minnabec was coming up the cellar steps as Earwig passed. He spied the fleeing maid and retreated down into the musty basement. Earwig’s boots scraped on the foyer’s stone floor. Forewarned, other servants fled far from the knocking that reverberated again across the foyer. Earwig pulled back on the great oak door, but only a crack through which she could see the small peddler.
“What do you want here?”
“What a hospitable greeting,” the little man said.
His wily smile and twinkling eyes irritated the witch. Without responding, she moved back behind the iron-framed door and started to push the oak wall shut in his face. His foot thrust in the crack halted the door’s progress.
“Remove your foot lest I crush it for you.”
“Is that any way to treat a much-needed purveyor of power crystals you so need?”
Earwig shot upright, her iron-ribbed corset locked in place. She peered around the door edge at the smiling peddler. His shabby, frizzed hair and thick, scraggly beard framed and accentuated his que
stioning appearance.
His cocky grin is most annoying, she thought.
She hesitated, then moved back to the door crack and allowed it to slide open a bit more. However, she stood with her legs apart, elbows fanned, and hands on her ample hips to blunt the peddler’s advance.
“Power crystals?”
“Power crystals, very rare and each unique.”
“Why should I have need of power crystals?”
“I believe you just-- shall we say, ‘lost’ your visionary globe.”
Earwig shuddered and lowered her arms, but kept her narrow-eyed expression and head cocked. She considered the man’s unexpected knowledge as she brushed off her acid spattered apron.
“How would you be aware of that?”
“It’s my business to know such things. Will you admit me, or shall I be on my way?”
Earwig sneered, yet pulled back the door to allow the little man entry into the cold foyer, but no farther. She scrutinized him from his disheveled hair to the prominent silver shoe buckles.
I’m sure his tacky, multicolored outfit and outlandish shoes proclaim overcompensation for his diminutive frame, she thought. This pompous runt’s game is over. I’m in charge here, and I’ll shatter his confidence. He’ll soon learn his place in this negotiation.
Earwig rocked back on her haunches, one arm crossed her waist to prop up the other elbow as she scratched the hairy mole on her chin.
“Where are these rare power crystals you seem so anxious to sell? For a peddler, you’re rather short on inventory.”
To Earwig’s surprise, the little man retained his assertive grin. He moved to the hall table where he cast his arm in an arc, and a semicircle of large crystals appeared across the tabletop.
“Why before you, of course.”
Earwig stepped back and scrutinized the man before she moved closer to inspect the sparklers.
The N Arc of Empire- Complete Series Page 9
