Omensent: Wrath of a Dragon God (10 page)

"I guess I could try to send a request to a couple of the local gang leaders." Shirk sounded dubious. "If I explain why we are looking into Ickor's activities, they
may
grant me an audience."

Damion thought about this for a moment. "It may be our only chance of discovering who was behind the highwaymen that were ambushing
the caravans. Once we reach the nearest village, I want you to try and contact a few of these gang leaders. In the mean time, Raven, Dar, and I will continue to follow the caravan until it reaches its destination. We can meet up at the crossroads that lie at the edge of the grasslands."

They continued to follow the slow
moving caravan for the next several days, taking special care to remain far enough behind the wagons that they would not draw any suspicion from the teamsters or their mercenary escorts. Snowfeather spent a great deal of time circling high overhead of the plodding caravan, silently reporting to Damion whenever the teamsters slowed to rest the oxen, or stopped to make camp for the evening.

They were only a
few days from reaching the foothills that bordered the mountain range, and the sun had just set, when Snowfeather suddenly came soaring back to the companions, his wings beating frantically.
"The caravan is under attack
!" He hooted frantically, swooping low over their heads.
"At least thirty men! They were hiding in the underbrush near the side of the road! They have already killed several of the mercenaries that were protecting the wagons!"

Damion cursed viciously. "Highwaymen are attacking the caravan!"

"What do we do?" Raven asked anxiously. "We can't let bandits stop those wagons! They may be our only way to discover what this Faldor person has planned for the weapons!"

"But if we intercede, we won't be able to continue following them
." Shirk objected. "They'll never lead us to Faldor's plantation!"

"That's
just a chance we'll have to take." Damion tore the Dragon Sword from its sheath, then spurred Storm forward.

It took several minutes to catch up with the beleaguered caravan, and they could hear the sound
of fighting long before the wagons came into sight. They finally rounded a slight bend in the road and saw the wagon train just ahead. The mercenaries were fighting valiantly against the mob of bandits, but they were badly outnumbered, and one by one, they were falling, leaving the teamsters defenseless.

Damion charged into the fray without hesitating, the Dragon Sword carving a wide path of destruction through the highwaymen. Storm effortlessly road down several of the men, crushing their bones beneath his churning hooves, while Raven began to rain arrows down upon them with lightening speed.

Shirk began laying about the now terrified bandits with a brutal looking mace, which appeared to be little more than a lump of lead with a handle. He wielded the simple weapon efficiently though, braining three men consecutively, before wheeling his horse around in search of more victims.

One of the bandits suddenly leapt at Damion
from atop one of the wagons in an effort to knock him from his saddle, but Storm nimbly danced to one side as the huge warrior lashed out with a powerful blow. The Dragon Sword bit into the man's waist, slashing through flesh and bone effortlessly as it sliced the bandit clean in half.

The last few men turned and fled in terror from the vicious onslaught, leaving their
injured and dead behind.

"That was fun!" Shirk laughed gaily
, trying to shake a bit of brain matter from his mace. "It's been a while since I have been in a good fight!"

"Thank the gods you arrived when you did!" One of the teamsters exclaimed, crawling out from
beneath his wagon. "I thought we were goners for sure!"

"We're
happy to be of service." Damion assured him, hoping that the men didn't recognize him. "We heard the sounds of fighting and saw you and your men in distress, so we decided to intervene."

"They killed Karl!" One of the other teamsters reported,
appearing from behind another wagon, shaking his head sadly. "He took an arrow right in the eye!"

"And he was the one who warned us that this may happen." The first man said mournfully. "We should have stopped in Sevria and hired a few more men to help fend off those animals!"

All in all, two of the teamsters, and all of the mercenaries had been killed in the attack, but four of the wagoneers had somehow managed to survive.

They took a few minutes to
dispose of their friends' bodies and look over the wagons to be sure nothing had been damaged in the attack, then the teamsters gathered together to discuss their options.

"It's another two weeks until we reach Faldor's plantation." One of the teamsters, an
elderly man with a ragged scar running down one side of his face, pointed out to his fellow wagoneers. "We'll never survive another attack without some protection."

The teamsters all turned to look at the companions.

"Would it be possible for us to make use of your services?" The old man asked hopefully. "At least until we are clear of these damned mountains? You've already proven that you are formidable folk to deal with, and I don't think we'll stand a chance without your help."

"And just what
would you be offering as payment?" Shirk's eyes had suddenly brightened.

The teamsters converse
d amongst one another for a moment. "How does ten gold apiece sound?" The elderly man asked hopefully.

The bearded man shook his head firmly. "I think twenty sounds better. Remember, it's still a long way before you reach the foothills. There are all sorts of nasty little things in these mountains that would enjoy such easy prey. I think that makes our services worth quite a bit, don't you?"

"What are you doing?" Damion hissed at him as the men began to converse amongst themselves again. "This is the perfect way to follow them without them even realizing it!"

"Of course it is," Shirk mumbled back under his breath, his face unconcerned. "
but we want them to believe that they need us more than we need them. Believe me, they'll take the deal and be happy about it."

The men turned back to the companions. "We'll give you twenty pieces of gold each," The old man agreed. "
if
you get us to our destination safely."

"Done!" The bearded man agreed. "I'd suggest we move along then. We can still get another mile or two behind us before we stop for the night."

The wagoneers quickly tethered the oxen pulling the untended wagons to the rear of the wagons that still had drivers, then they set off, hoping to put a little distance between themselves and the scene of the ambush. They located one of the fortified clearings built by the road crews that maintained the trade route leading through the mountains, and set up camp for the night.

After tending to the horses and oxen, and
dining on travel rations that the teamsters generously provided, they settled in around the campfire.

"So where exactly are these wagons bound?" Shirk asked the elderly
teamster, trying to sound only vaguely interested.

"
They're bound for a plantation hidden in the foothills about five miles east of Crete," The old man grunted in a tired voice. "but you only need to escort us to the village. We'll be safe enough on our own by that point." He gave the bearded thief a curious look. "You know, I don't think I ever got your names. I'm Arl." He gestured to his fellow teamsters. "That's Fark, Sten, and Rekel."

"I'm Shirk."
The bearded thief introduced himself with a nod. "The pretty one over there is Raven, and the big fellow is her husband Damion. The child is named Dar. He's a foundling that starting following us a year or so ago. He's been with us ever since."

The child
like Alena gave the thief a dirty look, but kept his mouth shut.

"So what brings you into these cursed mountains?" Arl asked, his eyes narrowing suspiciously.

"We just arrived from Lieria, on the northern continent." The thief lied easily. "The local authorities back home were getting a little too interested with our activities, so we decided to make our fortunes elsewhere. We're headed for Kainpre."

Some of the suspicion faded from the old man's expression. "I'm sure experienced folk like
yourselves will be able to find work. Especially the big fellow there." He thrust his chin in Damion's direction. "You're one of those snake people from Arleia, am I right?"

Damion and Shirk exchanged amused glances. "You've got a good eye, old timer."
The huge warrior laughed.

Arl shrugged. "I've always been good at guessing where a man is from."

Snowfeather ghosted in from the darkness and landed on a nearby tree branch.
"Everything looks clear. I've only seen a few deer moving about. I don't think you need to worry about those bandits returning."

"I didn't think they would return after losing so many of their comrades,"
He replied silently.
"but it's good to have confirmation."

"Do you wish me to keep watch over the camp while you rest?"

Damion thought about it for a moment.
"I think we had better take turns standing watch instead. We don't want these men to realize who we really are, and the stories all speak of the Dragon Lord's magnificent familiar. We don't want them to suddenly figure out who we are."

"I'll
just continue to remain out of sight for now then. I'll alert you if I see anything out of the ordinary."
The huge owl leapt into the air and disappeared into the darkness.

"What did Snowfeather have to say?" Raven whispered the question softly in his ear. "Is something wrong?"

"Everything is fine." He assured her quietly. "I just asked him to remain out of sight for now. We don't want to be recognized, and the stories going around about me make special mention of Snowfeather. I didn't want his appearance to jar any memories, and blow our cover. He'll remain nearby, and let me know if he sees anything unusual."

They emerged into the foothills three days later, and the teamsters all breathed a collective sigh of relief.
The skies darkened as they slowly pushed on towards Crete, and late that evening it began to rain.

"There's a tavern just ahead where we can purchase beds for the night." One of the wagoneers roared above the thunder. "We can wait out this storm with some hot food and cold ale!"

"I think I like this guy!" Shirk said gaily. "I could use a drink right about now."

"You say that when you wake up in the morning
!" Raven laughed, brushing her rain soaked hair from her eyes.

They located the tavern a mile or so up the road, and settled in for the evening. After sitting up late swapping amusing stories
, and drinking far more ale than they should have, they finally retired to their rooms for some badly needed rest. They awoke early the next morning to find that the storm had passed, and after a hearty breakfast of eggs, bacon, ham, potatoes, and freshly baked bread, they returned to the road, and their slow, but steady pace towards the nearby city of Crete.