by Ron Root
What followed could only be described as a miracle. Wounded man after wounded man that Quinn had been certain wouldn’t live to see the morrow, were now walking about. Gashes that should scar for life, dissolved into faded red lines. Perhaps these Clerics truly did commune with their god.
“How many, Evander?” the Inquisitor asked of his surgeon.
“Seven.” The man crossed his chest and touched his forehead.
“Preserve them as best you can and tie them onto their horses. We take them with us. Their bodies shall be returned to their families.”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
Wounded tended; they rode again. As guide, Quinn rode beside the Inquisitor. “How far, Cornet?”
“Just beyond that ridge, Sir.”
They pushed their mounts, riding them hard. Quinn would need to tend to his stallion once they reached the garrison.
That plan was crushed when they cleared the ridge and saw the valley below. Countless devils filled the valley before them. Not only did they bar access to the fort, but the arts academe as well. Worse, their numbers seemed too great for even the Clerics’ formidable magic. Reaching the garrison looked impossible. Quinn studied the Inquisitor, wondering at his plans.
Sojourn’s End
The spinning, weightless feeling that engulfed Jarek came to a sudden, watery end. Inundated by water, he could see light above him. Seconds later he burst through its surface. Treading water, he looked around. The portal had returned them to the site of the first Nexus. A few strokes and a short crawl had him out of the water, onto wet sand. He took in his surroundings, marveling at how different the place looked in daylight. Lavan had the right of it, the place was serene.
The others soon arrived too, save for Hagley, who came bursting out of the pond seconds later, and swam to shore.
“Next time Hagley, how about placing us on dry land.”
Hagley crawled out of the water and sat next to him. “I’m hoping there won’t be a next time, Magus. I for one, am just glad to be free of that dragon.” He looked up. “Besides, it’s raining,” he said, holding his hands out, letting raindrops splash his palms. “We’d have gotten wet, anyway.”
Caitlyn and Goodricke were on the opposite side of the pond. She parted wet stringy hairs from Goodricke’s eyes. “There you are.” She looked around the tiny canyon. “So, this is the Outland, eh? It’s much smaller than I expected.”
Goodricke chuckled. “Welcome to your new home, Seeker.”
She scanned the colorful vertical rock walls. “This place looks very much like Llochán de Cumhacht.”
“And Hunter’s pond too,” Gresham added. “Perhaps the magic makes all Nexus sites appear the same? But I’m with Hagley; I’m just glad to be home.”
Standing, Jarek shouldered his pack. “I’d hardly declare us home. Come, let’s get moving. We’re beyond Pembok, almost to Broughton. Stalwart is halfway across the island. We’d best be on our way if we’re to beat Zakarah to the university.”
The walls of the shaft he’d descended via Lavan’s feather spell were marred with scratches, lending credence to Lavan’s claim that Zakarah had been there. It appeared Hunter’s prey had struggled to climb out of here.
Their own climb was equally arduous, but all managed it without mishap. Once out, Caitlyn walked the area, examining the muddy ground. “Their tracks lead that way,” she said, pointing.
Dread washed over Jarek. “Broughton’s lies in that direction. We’d best hurry.”
They’d hiked for perhaps an hour when Hagley suddenly proclaimed, “In our rush to leave, I forgot to close the portal!”
“There’s nothing we can do about it now,” Jarek said, trudging on.
It was late that afternoon when they finally crested the bluff overlooking Broughton. They stared down at the town, the rain making it difficult to see. Nestled between two hillsides, the town’s buildings filled the valley below. Nearly as large as Stalwart, it was the island’s second biggest town. “Let’s go get ourselves some horses,” he said, heading down the slope.
As they approached town, they spotted strange-looking mounds. A closer look had Jarek shuddering. Most were fly-covered mutilated remains, their stench gagging. It was all Jarek could manage not to. Most were human, but some of the carcasses were Hunter’s prey. He knelt beside one. Surprisingly, like most of the nearby human bodies, it had been gnawed upon. Did these creatures eat their own?
They wandered the town in silence, searching in vain for survivors. The town’s buildings looked undisturbed, including one whose sign read ‘Grocery.’ They went inside. It’s shelves were still fully stocked, apparently having been of no interest to the prey. They wandered around grabbing food from the shelves, stuffing it into their packs.
Having replaced their depleted rations, they set off in pursuit of Zakarah. The prey’s trail led down Kinsmen’s Highway toward Pembok. Jarek mulled over what he’d just seen. If Zakarah’s horde had done this to Broughton, did everyplace between there and Stalwart face a similar fate? As much as much as he hated to lose even part of another day, risking the open road in darkness was simply too dangerous. “Let’s find someplace to sleep. We leave at first dawn.”
They bedded down in a vacant schoolhouse, out of the wet, and were up at first light. Thankfully, the rain had ceased, albeit the skies remained dreary.
It was nearly mid-day when they reached Pembok. It was as deserted as Broughton, but there were no signs of carnage here. Had its inhabitants fled in time, or had the dead already been buried?
Finding nothing living or dead, they chose not to linger, and resumed their march toward Stalwart. They weren’t far outside of town when they heard the tramp of galloping horses approaching from behind. A dozen or so horses, most without riders, were racing their way.
“Those are garrison soldiers,” Gresham said.
Moments later, disheveled riders arrived on lathered, wheezing mounts. Jarek waited for the prancing horses to settle before greeting their leader. “Hail, Corporal.”
“Hail to you.” The corporal looked them over. “Are all of you alright?”
“Yes, we’re unharmed.” He looked at the empty mounts. “Where is the rest of your force?”
The soldier’s shoulders slumped. “Dead, Sir. We three are all that remains of the Fort Stalwart Dragoon. We were overrun by devils just outside of Eynshawkshire. Captain Dyson was one of many who fell. We can only pray that the Inquisitor’s forces didn’t suffer a similar fate. We hasten for the fort now to warn Marshal Booker.”
“May we make use of your empty mounts?”
“Of course.”
They were soon galloping toward home, the cavalrymen leading the way. Mud from the lead mounts pummeled Jarek’s face. The only horse he’d had ridden in recent years was Caitlyn’s capall, and he was once again paying the price of neglected skills. Every time his backside went down, the saddle rose to meet it, battering his buttocks. It was going be a miserable ride home.
If Gresham’s memory served him correctly, Fort Stalwart was just over the next ridge. They galloped, heads down, anxious to warn the people of Stalwart.
A shock awaited them when they cleared the ridge. Not only was the valley below filled with Hunter’s prey, but a group of mounted Chevaliers was there too, not forty paces away. Worse, Quinn was among them.
Reining in his mount, the corporal trotted over to a man garbed in purple robes and saluted. “Grand Inquisitor, I’m Corporal Fisk.”
Gods! As if Chevaliers weren’t bad enough, their Grand Inquisitor was among them, the very person Marshal Booker had warned Gresham to steer clear of. And Quinn was at his side.
The Inquisitor returned the salute. “Thank you, Corporal. You’re one of Captain Dyson’s men, aren’t you?”
“Yessir.”
“Where is the good Captain?” He gestured toward the valley below. “As you can see, we have a rather large number of devils between us and the garrison and
could benefit from his services.”
“Your Grace, Captain Dyson’s dead.”
Quinn flinched, his face blanching. The Inquisitor, apparently aware of who Quinn was, turned to him. “My sympathies, Cornet.”
The shocked Quinn said nothing at first, then muttered his thanks, his composure somewhat restored. The Inquisitor looked their way. “Who are these other people, Corporal? They’re clearly not soldiers.”
“No Sir, only the three of us survived. We met these people on the highway on our return. One is a member of the Royal Court.”
That caught the Inquisitor’s attention. He rode over for a closer look, as did Quinn, whose eyes flared when he spotted Gresham. To Quinn’s credit, he said nothing as the two sat staring at one another.
Curiously, the Inquisitor seemed equally surprised. He spurred his horse forward. “Jarek Verity, how surprising to find you of all people on this vermin-infested island.”
The muscles of his uncle’s cheeks went taut. There was no smile in his eyes. It had never occurred to Gresham that his uncle might know the Inquisitor. From their reaction to one another, he decided old enmities must exist between the two. “It’s been a long time, Rance.” Jarek hadn’t used an honorific, but if the Inquisitor took umbrage; he hid it well. “But as much as I look forward to sharing old times,” his uncle continued, “we’ve more pressing concerns at hand.”
The Inquisitor twisted in his saddle, looking at the horde below. “That we have—that we have. I was just asking this young man,” he said, nodding toward Quinn, “how we might get past these devils and into the fort.” The Inquisitor leaned closer. “Please bear with him,” he said, talking softly. “He’s just received some rather shocking news. He’s Captain Dyson’s son.”
Corporal Fisk overheard. He looked sick. He turned to Quinn. “My apologies. Had I known I would have found a more delicate way to break such grave news. Please forgive me.”
Quinn tipped his head. “You’re forgiven, Corporal. I’m new to the garrison. You could not have known. But we have more urgent matters at hand. Fortunately, there’s one in our midst who might lend us counsel.” Quinn looked Gresham’s way, “Smithy, how surprising to see you, I somehow had it in mind you’d left this place for good.”
Gresham couldn’t help but wonder whose reunion was most chilly, his with Quinn, or that of his uncle with the Inquisitor. Still, the man had just learned of his father’s death. “Quinn, you have my sincerest condolences, Captain Dyson was a fine officer and a good man.”
Quinn took a moment to respond. “Yes, my father was an excellent officer.”
Quinn’s omission said volumes. How would Gresham have taken the death of a father who had treated him so? “As for my quick return, circumstance seems to have made mockery of all our plans. What can I do to help?”
Quinn offered up a condescending smile. “I direct the Inquisitor’s question to you. Since you were raised a commoner here, I’m sure you’re more familiar with Fort Stalwart’s grounds than me. Do you know a way to get us past these devils and into the city?”
Quinn would never change. Gresham matched his mocking smile. “Actually, I do.”
Homeward Bound
Rayna walked along the beach; the same one they’d used after escaping that horrid marsh. Sully was with her, as were Brin and the guardian charged with escorting them back to the Outlands. The Elders had made good on their promise to allow Rayna to leave A’ryth any time she wanted.
She stepped into the tidewaters, watching an inrushing wave wash over her feet, thinking about Gresham. She prayed to whatever gods would listen that he was still alive—that he and the others had survived the perils of the Crone’s Haunt. Her grandame was right, she needed to tell him; he deserved to know.
The wave receded, and she rushed to catch up. “Look,” Brin said, pointing. “The bay. We are close.” The words were hardly out of her mouth when their guardian veered off the beach, heading up the adjacent bank. “He takes us to the Seeker’s Cave.”
Soon they were inside the cave. The guardian grabbed a rod off a pile stacked just inside the entry. He handed it to Rayna. “Déan teagmháil leis le do eochair.”
Although Brin and Rayna had been tutoring one other in each other’s languages, whatever the guardian said exceeded her grasp. Smiling, Brin pointed to the necklace Rayna’s grandmother had given her to hold her mother’s key. “He asks that you touch the slata with your seeker’s key.”
The instant she did so, light burst forth from the slata, flooding the area almost as much light as one of Hagley’s globes. She looked around. It was more tunnel than cave. Water dripped from its ceiling.
The guardian led them down the tunnel. Before long, they were sloshing through ankle-deep water. Her boots were drenched by the time they reached the tunnel’s end. It was another cave, reminiscent of the one that housed the golem. Sunlight filtered through an opening on its far side. A lone canoe lay beside the opening. A pair of sleeping bunks and long rock-carved shelves lined the cavern, many holding food stores. Someone had planned well. The place seemed more wayside inn than wilderness cavern.
Having already been given a day’s ration of food, she declined an offer to take more. After all, she’d be in Stalwart soon.
Brin seemed equally impressed. “Although I learned much of this place in my training, it is my first time seeing the Seeker’s Cave.” The guardian said something, after which Brin led Rayna to a molded figurine. She pointed at its keyhole. “When you return, fit your key into this. Doing so will announce your arrival to the Lore Masters. Within a day’s time a guardian will arrive to escort you through the travelways.”
The guardian bent his slata in half and it ceased to glow. Bowing, he presented it to Rayna. “An slata seo agat.”
Brin smiled. “He gifts it to you, Lady.”
“Go raibh maith agat,” she said, thanking him.
The guardian grabbed the canoe as they left the cave, and dragged it down to the marsh. “Only three can fit inside,” Brin offered. “I will wait here for the guardian’s return.”
Rayna gave her a hug. “Thank you for your help.”
“It is I who should thank, Lady. I have learned much of the Outland from you. And,” she offered with a proud grin, “I speak much better Common now.”
Rayna smiled. “Yes, you do.”
As Rayna climbed into the canoe, Brin called out, “Rayna?”
“Yes?”
“Please tell Hagley that Brin says hello.”
“Of course, as soon as I see him,” she said, praying that would happen.
She sat, and Sully hopped in behind her, adjusting his cutlass so he could sit. The guardian pushed off and, hugging the shoreline, started toward the bay. “Look,” Sully said, pointing at a rock jetty, “that be where our boat got all wrecked.”
Instead of heading into the bay toward Portsmouth, they crossed the marsh before heading into open waters. Rayna was surprised at how quickly she spotted land. The guardian’s route took a fraction of the time Gresham’s had, with the added bonus of landing them far from Portsmouth. Rayna had no desire to see that horrid place again any time soon.
After beaching their craft, the guardian showed Rayna a cave where another canoe was stowed, then returned to his boat. “Go dté tú slán,” she said, waving goodbye.
“You be talking just like them, Lady,” Sully said. He looked around. “Which way do we go?”
It felt strange to be the one being depended upon. She decided she liked it. “We need to find the Kinsman Highway,” she said, starting up a nearby path, “Once we do, I’ll know the way home.”
It didn’t take long to find the highway, and they were soon on the way to Stalwart. Any time she’d travelled this road in the past, it held other travelers. She’d hoped one might offer them a ride. But after travelling a considerable distance, she failed to see a single wagon.
Things got worse when the skies opened up, soaking them, makin
g their walk insufferable. She chastised herself for not having brought a change of clothes. After half a day without seeing a single sole traveling in either direction, she felt a growing sense of unease. Something was amiss. Too tired and hungry to dwell on it, she pushed onward. If she had to walk in this wet all night to reach Stalwart, so be it.
Dusk was approaching when they heard strange grunts. What would make such sounds? They were coming from the adjacent woods. Sully looked nervous. “That be sounding odd, Lady. Think it be a marsh beastie?”
She shook her head. “Not this far from the water. Likely it’s someone camping,” she said, trying to sound reassuring. She forced a smile, her eyes never leaving the forest, the turmoil she felt inside, belying her confident words. “Who knows, maybe they have hot victuals they’re willing to share.” They’d eaten sparingly so far, and knowing Sully’s ravenous appetite, she’d eaten little, saving most for him. She chastised herself for not having accepted the offer of more food. Gresham had taught her better.
Sully’s face lit up. “Food? Beauteous!” Brightened by the prospect of eating, Sully scrambled up the bank at the side of the road and disappeared into the brush.
“Sully! Wait!”
Lacking the boy’s vitality, her climb took far longer. She’d no sooner picked up his trail when his head popped out from behind a bush. His face was ashen, and he looked ready to cry. “Sh-h,” he said, putting a shaking finger to his mouth. “Don’t be making no noise.”
She laid a hand on his shoulder. “What’s the matter, you look as if you’ve seen a ghost.”
He brushed her hand away. “Not ghosts, bogarts!”
“Bogarts? Here?” Resting hands on her hips, she eyed him. “You’re just trying to scare me, aren’t you, you little scamp?”
He shook his head. “No. Look over there!” he whispered, pointing. His face was pale and his lips quivering; this wasn’t an act.
