The Call of the Crown (Book 1) (19 page)

CHAPTER 14

Olam and the other travellers had settled for the night by a copse of trees at the base of a high, grassy verge.
The firm ground and scent of clean, green grass comforting most to a quiet night. Only Ealian had seemed restless, tossing and turning, as if having nightmares. His sister calmed him, though, and he settled, eventually. As peaceful as it was, the lush meadow struck too close to home for some—a reminder of the comforts of the Geddy Vales and perhaps a somewhat bitter token, in light of how far they still had to travel. Nevertheless, the trials of the Am’bieth were over. Sleep, and the promise of better days ahead—they must be better—was a blissful relief. Morning came too quickly for most.

The small copse of medium evergreens, spruce, cedar, and even a line of holly tucked in neatly against the edge of the long, slopping fields. Behind them, a small stream bubbled along between the trees and provided the travellers with fresh, clean water for both washing and a very welcome replacement to the thick, earthy taste of the
Am’bieth—not that they found very much
drinkable
water in the marsh. To the right, a rock face—a cliff, really—rose some ten spans in a sheer incline of sandy stone from the base of the hill. The coarse gray-white outcrop continued up the verge for some three hundred paces before disappearing into the ever-steepening hillside. To the south, the valley stretched beyond sight, cradled between high-ridged hills to the east, and a steep sandstone scarp to the west. After a mile or so, the floor of the valley turned left along the path of a wide river. Little thought was given to what lay north, the view obscured as it was by the steep hill, as their path had already been agreed the previous night: follow the stream south to the river and then follow the river east to the Crenach’coi. Once there, a turn to the north would eventually bring them back to the Great Western Road, albeit some thirty leagues farther east than they had planned—almost to Cul’taris! At least that was Olam’s reckoning on it. Nobody had much reason to doubt his word.

Olam rose early, though he wasn
’t alone. Grady was nearly always the first to rise from his bed. He was already at the stream, washing and organizing for breakfast. For the first few days, it was Elspeth who was first to rise. However, as time went on, she appeared to favour her bed more and more. Olam gave a nod to Grady before setting about his own routine.

Since leaving Eurmac, nearly a half
century ago, Olam had forgotten more places than most would ever visit, lost more friends than most would ever know. And never once did his travels take him home. He would often think of going back, if only for a visit. For a Eurmacian, though, he was still quite young, and there were things he wanted to do before he settled down and promises he had to keep—not the least of which was his promise to help Arfael, though he never saw that as a burden.

The mystery surrounding his large friend was never far from his thoughts. Even now, rolling up his bed, thinking about breakfast, he could feel a constant itch in the back of his mind. Other duties may come and go, other quests to run, but for thirty years or so, holding to this particular promise was his priority. Since the day they met, Olam knew Arfael was the key—but the key to what? As time passed by, the need to discover the answer seemed more and more urgent.
Gods, I pray there is enough time!

Before long, the rest of the travellers had risen, or at least woken. An expectant buzz filled the air, a definite sense of things turning for the better. The sight of open grassland
and the firm feeling underfoot lifted the travellers’ hearts. None seemed to be in much of a hurry to leave, not after the trials of the last few days. A taste of certainty and comfort was welcome indeed. Olam, himself, wouldn’t mind in the slightest if they decided to rest.

“If you ask me, we should stay the day and replenish our stocks,” Elspeth said.

Daric gazed into nothing as he held his half-rolled blanket out in front of him. He appeared to be pondering Elspeth’s suggestion. “Well… we were due to arrive in Bailryn a full two weeks before midsummer. That gives us a few days to spare, and all for the better, if it means less time with the mother-in-law.” He whispered the last part, though Olam heard it clearly. Daric continued. “Yes. Maybe you’re right, Elspeth. At any rate, it will save us time looking for supplies later. But I think we should make for the river first, there at least we can prepare some fish chow.”

“Oh no, please, no more fish
,” Elspeth said, sighing and swallowing hard whilst holding her stomach.

Olam didn’t know if she was joking. Daric laughed, though. It must have been a joke.

“You may well scowl and turn your nose up, young lady,” Daric said, waving a finger at her. “It is a good full meal for the size of it. Half a bag of fish chow will keep us all for near on a week.”

“I suppose so, but if there is a deer, I’m after it.” Elspeth gestured as though firing an arrow from a bow.

“So long as it stands still for you,” Ealian whispered, though it was loud enough for all to hear.

“And I’ll be right behind you, Elspeth,” Grady said, looking somewhat sarcastically towards Daric.

Daric pouted with a playful, childish expression. “So that is the way of it; nobody likes my fish! Fine, that just leaves more for Gialyn and me. Isn’t that right, son?” he said, with a wide grin on his lips and an arm round young Gialyn.

“Well
, actually, I will be waiting behind Grady.” Gialyn ducked at the inevitable swipe and backed away from his father, laughing.

“Traitors, the lot of you, and I suppose you
’ll join them, too, Ealian,” Daric said.

Ealian didn’t answer. Instead, he looked at Daric with a vacant stare that passed right through him, as though including him in their joyful parley was an insult. Daric turned a gaze towards Olam, who was watching intently. Olam raised a brow at Ealian’s ill-mannered actions. He knew all
too well what Daric was thinking. He shook his head faintly, trying not to make too big a message of it.

“Anyway,” Daric said. “Let’s not waste time. We’ll make camp by the river for rest of the day and night, and th—”

Arfael let out a sharp, earthy groan. He fell to the ground with the thud of a man already unconscious. The large rock that struck the back of his head rolled to Olam’s feet.

For a second that felt more like a minute, Olam stood with his mouth wide, unable to comprehend what was happening. Slowly, he raised his gaze towards the top of the sandy-coloured cliff. Two men appeared with bows pointed at the travellers. They each let an arrow fly. Olam couldn’t help but flinch as both arrows sank head
deep into the fallen tree that lay between their camp and the cliff.

Daric shouted and the travellers split off in all directions. Olam shepherded the youngster
s into the trees. Ealian seemed reluctant to move. Gialyn was hiding already, behind the thick bole of a birch tree. Elspeth followed him and knelt down so she could see what was happening. Olam waved her back, but she stayed put, fool girl. Daric followed. He knelt where Elspeth was and pushed her back into deeper cover. Olam managed a grin as Daric shook his head at him. He must have thought she was a fool, too.

Grady crouched behind the fallen tree trunk. He peeped up at the two on the cliff and then looked back at Daric. “My bow…
Where’s my bow?” he shouted.

Olam scoured the camp, but Elspeth already held it in hand. He tried to grab at her before she ran from cover. “No, Elspeth, just—” Olam huffed, and Gialyn cursed. “Gods, Elspeth, you’ll get
yourself killed.”

Elspeth ran, stooped, with hands all but dragging along the ground, the few paces to the fallen tree. She slid into cover and crouched next to Grady.

“I said the bow, not you!” Grady took an arrow from the quiver and nocked it. He primed the bowstring tightly against his chest. “Carefully, Elspeth, look through that branch.” He nodded farther along the downed tree. “Let me know if they are standing up.”

Olam could barely hear what he was saying. Why was he endangering her? He could have asked me that.

Elspeth shuffled along until she crouched below the branch and carefully peeped through. “Yes, they are!” she said nervously. She quickly squirmed back under cover.

Grady pulled the bowstring to full and quickly spun where he sat. Olam didn’t think he had enough time to aim, but he loosed anyway. The archer stood on the left fell forwards, gripping Grady’s arrow, which was now sticking out of his chest, with both hands. The dead man—Olam assumed he was dead; he made no noise—landed face up. His bones made a sickening sound as they snapped and shattered around the rocks at the base of the cliff.

Daric had joined them by now.

Olam watched as the second archer backed off to his right, just as five more came around from the north, charging over the lower edge, where the cliff disappeared into the grass verge. Daric, Grady, and Elspeth still lay in cover, talking—or rather, arguing, probably with Elspeth—to one another. Olam whistled and Gialyn threw a pebble to get his father’s attention. Both waved and frantically pointed to the north. They could have shouted, but who knew where more might be lurking.

“Who are they?” Elspeth asked in a nervous tone. Even in that state, she still managed to ask the only obvious question.

Daric leaned to the side of the fallen trunk and peered through the upturned roots. “Gods, it’s the bloody Salrians, again!” He eased away from the edge of the trunk and sat with his back to it. “What do they want? Why follow us this deep into Aleras?”

“Never mind the questions. They’re here and they’re not happy.” Grady counted his arrows and gestured to Olam to look for more.

At the same time, Olam noticed Gialyn gesturing to his father, pointing farther up the slope, towards the end of the rock ridge. Daric moved back to the roots and looked through at what Olam could already see. He didn’t look at all surprised that Si’eth, the Salrian captain, was walking towards the travellers’ camp.

“What in all the land does he want so bad that he would risk following this deep?”

Olam was only a few paces from where Daric sat, but he had to strain to hear what the man was saying. He thought his mumblings were as much for himself as for anyone else. It was a good question, though. Why would they follow all this way?

“It makes no sense. The man is risking everything, all-out war,” Grady said while sticking his arrows in the ground for easy access, “and for what, to teach us a lesson? He must be mad.”

“It can’t be us
.” Daric pointed at Elspeth’s bow and then gestured for her to give it to him. “There must be more to it than that. Gods alone know what.” He took Elspeth’s bow, and with a reassuring smile…

“When it starts, you get back to the trees. Take Gialyn and your brother and run south to the river. Turn east and hide in the rocks.”

Elspeth’s look was indignant. “But we’re not going to le—”

“No argument, Elspeth. That first shot was a warning
. They mean to make trouble and they outnumber us. I cannot pretend to know what they’re planning, but I don’t want you—or my son—anywhere near.”

Elspeth gulped and blinked before nodding her agreement. She obviously didn’t like the idea of running, or perhaps the thought of leaving them alone was bothering her.

Si’eth walked with his son Bre’ach down the slope until he was level with the other Salrians. “Are you there, old man, old man with the tricks and magic? Come out where I can see you.”

Daric and Grady looked quizzically at each other and then to the trees at the other travellers. Raising his hands, Olam shrugged his shoulders. He no more understood what the Salrian wanted or what they meant by “magic.”

“What do you want of him, Salrian?” Daric shouted, waving Olam down.

Olam wasn’t about to volunteer, at least not until he knew more. They can’t have come all this way just because he let
off one of his bangers and scared their horses.

“I would speak to the old man, Surabhan, with your leader!” Si’eth passed up and down behind his line of men, hands on hips, staring at the ground in front of him. Something was amiss
. He looked like a man stalling. “This need not go badly.” Si’eth continued. “I simply wish to talk.”

“If talk was what you desired, you wouldn’t have shot first, Salrian. Don’t think me a fool, for I’m not!” Daric certainly could play the soldier when needs be. Maybe a show of defiance would slow them down enough, give them some thought. If Si’eth
was
playing for time, though, Daric was playing right into his hands.

Olam turned to Gialyn and Ealian. “I think your father is stalling. If I were h
im, I’d be looking for a way to allow your children to escape. We should be ready. Gather your weapons, if you have any, and pack only what you can fit into your pockets.”

“I’m not leaving!” Gialyn protested. “Not without Elsp—uh, not without the others.”

Olam smiled. “Child, there is a time for bravery and a time to run. You will live longer if you can figure out which is which. I’m sure your father has a plan, so be ready for anything.”

Gialyn nodded, if reluctantly. Ealian, on the other hand, sat eating some breakfast, seemingly oblivious to events. The doubts in Olam’s mind concerning the boy and
the Black were diminishing by the hour—not that he had many left.