Farmers & Mercenaries (29 page)

Shaith took the two paces to cross the room and plopped down upon his bed. “It be small, yet it be all they do give us.”

Glancing around the room, Alant did not feel cheated. His room at the Chandril’elian in Mocley was the same size. The disappointment in Shaith’s voice about the room sparked his memory. “When we were in the Hon’Vanria’s office he called you Princess. What did he mean?”

A sassy grin and a twinkle in her eye said she was up to no good. “Just what he said. I be Shaith Ku’rin, High Princess of Mu’shadar, Keeper of the Chalice, Reader of the Scrolls, and Hand of the King’s Justice.” Rising gracefully, she strode past him and stopped in the doorway. “Only now you can add Initiate of the Elmorr’Antiens to that list.” She did not sound happy to add that last title.

Feeling his mouth drop wider as her title grew, Alant felt dizzy. “So you are royalty or something?”

Looking up to him with her large jade eyes, she smiled. Yet the smile was not a happy one. “I did be, and may be again. Never did one of the Family be found with the gift to Meld before.” She twisted the word ‘gift’ into something akin to a curse. “I do hope things will return to normal upon my return.” Her wicked grin slipped back in place. “My room be the first on the left, just so you know.” With that, she bade him good eve and shut his door as she left.

Dropping his bundle of old clothes and sack of belongings in one corner, he sat upon the bed and looked around once more at the small room.

Well, I have arrived!

A pang of homesickness washed over him and he forced it away. Rising, he started preparing for bed.

C
lytus Rillion’s patience was taxed further over the next tenday as the scouts searched for a suitable base camp site. Skirting the edge of the mountainous range, the group inched its way northeast into the foothills of the Nektine. On many occasions they were forced to backtrack and go around a gorge or any number of other natural obstacles the wagon train could not circumvent.

Thankfully, other than the one eve, rain has not hounded us. That, at least, is something!

Riding ahead of the wagons, as he had done of late, Clytus guided his brown destrier, Starborn, past a scraggly tree. Its thorny branches, gnarled like the hand of a crippled beggar, reached into the sky. The sky itself had taken on a bleached overcast hue, which did little to restrain Clytus’ foul mood.

A clack of stone brought him out of his self-deprecating solace. Whipping a hand to the hilt of his sword, he reined in his mount and scrutinized the terrain ahead. Within moments, Hindar rounded a bend—his scoutmaster’s mare sending a tiny avalanche of slate cascading down the steep slope as it descended.

Relaxing, Clytus nudged his warhorse forward. “A tenday, Hindar! A full tenday and we still wander eastward seeking a passage into these accursed mountains!” It pleased him that his shout startled the scoutmaster.

At least I can still sneak up on folks.

“Aye! These blasted cliffs offer no admittance!” Master Hindar reined in his skinny roan at the bottom of the slope and waited for Clytus to approach. “Every crack we penetrate seems to end before we traverse half a league.” A smile sprang to his lips. “Still, I do think I have found your campsite.”

Reining in his horse, Clytus reached out and shook Hindar’s offered hand. “Aye? That is good news.” Leaning back in his saddle, he eyed the mountain range ahead. Sunlight barely penetrated the haze to glint off the snow-bound peaks. “And where might this location be?”

Leaning over the side of his mount, Hindar spit. “It will take the wagons the better part of two days to get to the gorge opening, though you cannot miss it. Jam’ees and his crew found it. Says they traveled into it for several leagues without seeing its end. I stationed Jam’ees at its mouth to rest up and wait on you. The rest of my scouts I sent on in to see how far it goes and find a suitable site for your base camp. They should be reporting back by the time you drag all your wagons up to the gorge.”

Peering over his shoulder, Clytus tried to catch a glimpse of his troop behind him, yet could find no trace of them.

I must have wandered off further than I thought!

“And what of your plans?” Clytus returned his attention to his scoutmaster.

A grin split the man’s face. “A good hot meal and a bedroll thicker than a blanket will sure be welcome after near a tenday in these mountains.”

Clytus chuckled. Spinning his mount toward the west, the two men rode in silence back to the struggling wagon train.

Hindar was correct. It took two full days for the troop to reach the entrance of the pass. The gorge itself was some thousand paces wide. Steep, cliff-like walls wound away into the distance, the center of it panning out into a shallow V, with a small creek trickling over slate rocks that had slid from the sides. The small shrubs and weed-like grass that found a foothold between the rocks would be no trouble for the wagons, and only an occasional gnarled tree dotted the area.

Yet, the incline and loose flat rocks may be a different story.

Hindar and Tylin came strolling up to Clytus, lost in thought. He felt their presence while they waited for him to turn and acknowledge them. “Aye, report.”

“Tylin here feels he has secured us a base camp site. Tell him.”

Clytus noticed the young scout was not overly eager to speak. He nodded for Tylin to begin.

“This gorge stretches on for leagues, Master Rillion, with many a branch off or side trail. We searched as many as we could, and thus far we see no end to the main route nor any access to the ranges above.”

Letting this news wash over him, Clytus nodded. “It is as to be expected. As this is the only break we have found that will allow the wagons admittance, this is the path we shall take.” Walking between the two men, he headed down to the waiting wagons, then paused. “Good job, both of you and all the scouts. We will take the wagons as far in as they will go. If no path is found to ride the horses into the mountains, I will go on foot if needs be.”

Continuing on his way, Clytus called for the wagons to head up the gorge.

A tenday more—and several broken wagon wheels and other setbacks later—and the troop emerged into a vast valley. The lake that took up much of the center of the area was bright blue and crystal clear. Large, lush evergreen trees fanned out from its banks and rose partway up the surrounding mountainside. The scouts had already camped here for several days, and Clytus was happy to see they had not been idle in waiting. A large cleared area stood awaiting the wagons and the placement of a permanent camp.

As soon as the wagons rolled to a stop, Alimia directed the setting up of camp. Clytus stood on a small rise, watching to insure the new leftenant paid attention to placing the camp in a precise, defensible manner. Within an aurns passing, Trilim had a large cooking fire blazing, Hindar had tethered the mounts in a secure area behind the wagons, and tents dotted the area as each man staked out a spot to call home for a while.

All in all, I do not think I could have done a better job.

“Alimia, Hindar, Gartin, Trilim,” Clytus yelled out. “To me!”

The four dropped what they were doing and headed off to join Clytus, who stood gazing out over the slopes ascending into the peaks beyond.

Turning to his people once they all arrived, Clytus looked them each in the eye. “So it begins. Hindar, have your scouts ready to head out at first light. Tell them to keep to groups of four. If they catch sight or sound of our quarry, have them report back immediately and wait here for my return.”

A puzzled look crossed Hindar’s face. “Your return, sir?”

“Aye, I plan to be hunting as well. Alone. A large group may encourage the creatures to keep their distance.”

Alimia responded first. “And you find this course of action wise, sir?”

“I would not have suggested it if I did not.” Looking back at his scoutmaster, Clytus raised a questioning eyebrow.

Hindar cleared his throat and nodded once. “Aye, sir.”

“Trilim, I know you have gotten used to having the boy, Arderi, to do much of your work for you, yet I have a second task that the boy needs to have time for. Gartin, I would very much appreciate it if you would spend a few aurns each day instructing the boy. He has no skill with a blade and little with a bow. I would like this to improve if the boy has any talent whatsoever.”

Both men accepted their tasks with nods and verbal acknowledgments.

“Alimia, I need not remind you of the dangers that lie in these mountains.” Clytus reached out one arm and placed in upon her shoulder. “You are the one I am entrusting to keep the base camp in order, as well as defended. You have the skills. Do not lose your confidence.”

The leftenant nodded.

Clytus flicked a finger over Trilim’s shoulder. “What is the status of our supplies?”

The old man rubbed his chin and paused for a moment. “Losing the one wagon to the Artoc was not a tremendous loss since we split all of the supplies equally between each wagon. I know the days spent finding this camp have frustrated you. Still, if you will recall, we planned on twice that many days, so we are ahead of schedule. I would reckon we have at least four moons worth of supplies before we are to the point where we will need to head back to civilization.”

“Very good.” Looking at them each in turn, Clytus stood in silence for long moments. “So it begins.” Nodding, he walked past the four and headed back to camp.

A
rderi Cor collapsed on his sleeping mat. His arms burned, and it amazed him that he had once again found muscles that had never been used. These were stretched and tormented by the events of the last few tendays. His head throbbed from a sharp blow Master Gartin had delivered with the practice sword.

I think the man gets pleasure from smacking me around.

For the most part, the aurns Arderi spent at the base camp had been uneventful. The majority of Arderi’s duties centered on his work with Mir’am Trilim and the preparation of meals for the troop. Commander Rillion only came into camp every tenday or so, and never for more than one eve at a time. The first morn after his arrival, the man would set off again into the surrounding mountains. This frustrated Arderi. He still yearned to understand what had happened during the fight with the O’Arkins. The glowing Crystal hidden inside the man’s sword pommel was another mystery, as well as how any of it connected to him. They had been at this base camp site for over a moon, and all he knew for certain was that the group was in the Nektine Mountains, far to the north of his home stead of Hild’alan.

The stories of the Nektine are deeply interwoven with death or doom whenever mentioned in any bard’s tale I have ever heard.

He also pieced together that, for a reason he had not as of yet discovered, Commander Rillion was in search of a Drakon. A large winged beast of legend that was said to have once ruled much of this land. Arderi had never heard of anyone actually seeing one of the creatures, and did not know if he really believed they existed at all. As far as he knew, they only lived in bard’s tales.

Still, despite the bruises and hard work, Arderi found that he enjoyed his time now that he was no longer afraid Master Rillion would kill him nor throw him out of the troop to find his own way home.

Each day, Mir’am Trilim would wake Arderi before dawn so he could help with firstmeal. This would be followed by cleanup and storage of all the gear. He then would have an aurn or so of free time, which he spent mostly in the company of the young Shaper, Jintrill. Arderi enjoyed the Sier’s company immensely, and loved the stories the Sier told of Mocley and what his brother, Alant, was experiencing as an Initiate. Later, halfmeal would need to be attended to. These meals consisted of dried fruit or beef served with flatbread and cheese, which required little in the way of preparation.

Arderi had thought the entire trip would be spent helping Master Trilim with his cooking and cleaning. However, life changed the day prior to Commander Rillion leaving for his first hunting excursion. The Commander took Arderi to see Master Gartin, the troop’s weapons master, for what he referred to as essential training for anyone wishing to become a mercenary. For three aurns each afternoon since that day, Arderi worked under the tutelage of the grizzly old fighter, who instructed him in the various methods of swordplay. First, he tested Arderi on the knowledge he had gained from the mandatory militia training every able-bodied man was required to take back home. Arderi had always imagined that the monthly trainings would serve him well if the need ever came and he would be required to fight. However, he soon realized how wrong he was.

Master Gartin is a marvelous swordsman! Superior by far than anyone back home.

Arderi sat enthralled listening to the weapons master explain that fighting with a large group, like what he would do if his home stead were attacked, was much different from single, man-to-man combat. They spent their time together divided between discussions and practicing. Practice included both wooden weapons of various types, as well as fighting with no weapons at all. Arderi found the strategic aspects and problems Master Gartin threw at him as exhausting as the physical ones.

Yet, no matter the pain or weariness, lastmeal would be upon them and with it, his duties to Mir’am Trilim and the cook fires.

And now, as Arderi lay on his mat staring up at the canvas roof of his small tent, he felt a contentment he had never before known. “Riln, this is the life we dreamed of so many times. Here I am living it while you are back home, tilling dirt.” Although the feelings of guilt and loss from running away still plagued him, with the passing of each day it diminished a little. Instead of dwelling on the bad feelings, he dozed off with various scenarios of valor playing out in his head.

All too soon, he felt a hand grasp his foot and shake him awake. Rolling over, he pushed himself out of the small tent, and a damp chill cut through his light sleeping clothes. Mir’am Trilim knelt next to him when he emerged. Bobbing his head and stifling a yawn, Arderi motioned for the man to go and that he would follow. The old man smiled down at him, stood, and walked toward the cook fire’s dim glow in the pre-dawn gloom. Reaching over, Arderi grabbed his boots and checked for creepy-crawlers in each. When he found that none had taken residence in them during the eve, he pulled them on.

By the time Arderi arrived at the fire, Trilim had it stoked back to a respectable blaze. He helped the cook lift the large pot onto the spit. Grabbing a bucket, he trudged down to the small stream that babbled nearby. Thus the day started, as each before it since the troop had set up the permanent base camp. The remainder of the day passed like the rest—free time spent with Sier Deln, serving and cleaning up halfmeal, weapons training with Master Gartin.

Later that eve, after lastmeal, Arderi busied himself cleaning the dishes in the same small stream from which he fetched their water. A commotion back at camp caught his attention, and leaving the dishes in a pile next to the brook, he hurried to investigate.

The sun had sunk below the mountains, casting the valley into a muffled darkness as a group of scouts rode into the camp. One of the shabby mountain horses they rode pulled a crude litter made of sticks strung between two large branches. A large black lump rested in the middle of the litter. At first, Arderi thought it might be a man’s body.

It is the right size for a man, yet not the correct shape.

A small crowd of men had gathered around the newly arrived scouts, and Arderi had to shove his way between more than a few of them to get close enough for a good look. The black lump resting on the litter looked like a pile of broken, shredded leather thrown into a rumpled pile.

“All right! Make room, you maggots!” The men parted as Alimia shoved her way through the crowd. “Tylin, what in all the Nine Hells is going on here?”

Tylin was one of Master Hindar’s scouts. Thin and wiry, he held an easy grin on his face. Vaulting down from his mount, a shabby gray mare like the one pulling the litter, he sauntered over to the leftenant. “Me and my crew snagged us a Drakon!”

“This little pathetic lump of meat?” Alimia poked at the pile with a toe.

“Aye, it fits the tales, and that is so!” The put-off scout scowled at the leftenant.

Arderi worked his way to the front of the crowd and now stood next to the makeshift litter. The pile of leather did seem to fit the pictures painted by the bard’s tales. Stab wounds covered the cat-like body of the creature. Two large leathery wings sprouted from its shoulders—one slit near in half lay draped over the edge of the litter. A long serpentine neck extended out to a bony head adorned with tiny spikes. A black tongue flopped out of its maw between rows of tiny, razor-sharp teeth.

It is just like a bard’s tale… except…

“Except it is much too small!” Arderi’s face flushed with the realization that the crowd had turned to look at him.

“Oh, look everyone, the stowaway is a master huntsman now!”

Arderi dropped his head and took a step back as a ripple of laughter resounded through the troop.

Leaning over the body of the creature, Alimia peered into its dead eyes. “Nix, the boy is correct, Tylin. It seems to me you have bravely killed a baby Drakon.” This time the laughter that resounded through the men lifted Arderi’s spirits and he found himself giggling as well. “No matter, Tylin. Master Rillion will still be pleased. Mayhaps this will serve his purpose and we can leave these accursed mountains. If not, you can show him where you found this. Its mother should be close at hand.”

A shrill shriek pierced the air causing everyone to flinch. The horse pulling the litter started to prance nervously and one of the men reached out and grabbed its reins to settle it.

“What in all the Nine Hells was that?” Blade in hand, Alimia spun half around to gaze out at the now dark forest.

As if it had materialized out of thin air, a large black creature slammed down onto the back of the horse pulling the litter. The mare shrieked as the force of the blow crumpled its legs and sent it crumpling to the ground. Men scattered and chaos seized hold of the camp. The massive creature, easily twice the size of the dead mare it now stood upon, flexed the bat-like wings that sprouted from its shoulders. A long snake-like neck stretched out, ending in an immense spike-lined head.

The creature opened its maw—rows of shimmering teeth lined the dark chasm of its mouth—and bathed the area with another piercing shriek. The noise bore into Arderi’s skull forcing him to his knees. He covered his ears with both hands trying to block out the sound. When the noise subsided, Arderi opened his eyes. The creature was gone, the horse it had perched on lay still, blood oozing from large tears in its side and neck. Someone grabbed his arm and yanked him roughly to his feet.

“Get out of here!” Alimia pushed him toward the wagons. “Take cover under a—” A blur of shadow passed before his eyes and Arderi stood alone. A sickeningly wet thump sounded behind him and he spun. At his feet lay the remains of the leftenant’s body. The woman’s head, left arm, and shoulder—gone. Blood and bits of flesh splattered the dirt, and in the fading light of dusk it shimmered crimson before turning black.

Without thought, Arderi backed away, spun, and ran. His foot caught the edge of the litter and he fell to the ground hard, forcing the wind from his lungs.

Arderi could do nothing except lay there, staring at the thing on the pallet behind the dead horse. Finally, revulsion of the dead creature overpowered his mind-numbing fear to move, and he pushed himself off the litter. Standing over it, he saw it was a carbon-copy of the larger one that now terrorized the camp. With a heavy thump, a large black mass landed on the other side of the litter so hard the ground beneath Arderi vibrated. In the darkness, he could make out little detail save for a row of gleaming teeth under two eyes that caught the light of the campfire and reflected it back at Arderi. The creature opened its maw and an ear-wrenching screech blasted forth, slamming Arderi to the ground. Scrambling up, he launched himself into the darkness. Fleeing blindly, his heart pounding to escape the confines of his chest, he cared not where he ran so long as it took him away from the horror of a bard’s tale come to life. A flash of light lit his vision—a burst of stars not of the sky, yet of his eyes—and Arderi fell.

Fell into nothingness.