The Immortal Mystic (Book 5) (19 page)

The short man fired and the two fell to the ground.

It took several moments, but Lady Arkyn eventually realized that the pain in her chest was from the crossbow limbs digging into her chest. The shot had gone wide. She then removed her hand to see the bolt she had wielded stuck deep into the short man’s left temple.

She pushed away from him and then moved to Gorin. She put her hand in front of the warrior’s face to feel for his breath, but there was none. She dropped her head and offered a short prayer of peace over her comrade. Then she rose up and looked to the south. It would be faster to return to Ten Forts, but then no reinforcements would come. Still, if she went north she would likely not be able to find the herbs to counteract the poison in time. She reached down and grabbed Gorin’s warhammer. She knew she would need something sturdy to lean upon once her legs grew weak from the poison. Besides that, she thought Peren might appreciate having the warhammer to remember Gorin by.

Arkyn walked with labored steps and found one of the runners. She pulled the message from the body and hooked the container to her own belt. She knew she had no choice but to go back. She could only hope that she would find the remedy she required along the way before the poison worked through her body.

Erik and Tatev finished their breakfast while overlooking the plains out to the east. A vast sea of green and yellow grasses rolled with the wind. A massive herd of hundreds of dark-furred aurochs roamed lazily through the plains.

“Would be nice to have one of them for dinner,” Erik said. “I am tired of fruit.”

“How would you bring one of them down?” Tatev asked. “The mere fact that we can see them from so far away means that they are fairly large creatures. Not to mention, I once read that eastern aurochs actually form protective circles around their young when the herd is threatened. Also, unlike many other herding animals, it isn’t uncommon for there to be several bulls among a herd of eastern aurochs. No, there will be no auroch for us tonight. I would rather find myself in a Tarthun camp than in the middle of a field with angry aurochs running me down.” Tatev shuddered and then pointed off to the north. “Let’s stay along the hills and smaller mountains until we are north of the herd. The wind is blowing south, so once we get upwind of them, we should be fine.”

The two of them walked along the top of the hill they were on, which stretched for several hundred yards to the north before gently rolling down near a brook. They followed the water as it wound between a few hills and led them northward. Along the way they gathered berries. Then they came to a deep eddy in the brook and Erik stopped them so he could fashion a pole from a young branch that he cut from a nearby tree.

“What will you use for a hook?” Tatev asked.

“I don’t suppose you would lend me your glasses?” Erik teased.

“The Eyes of Dowr?” Tatev stiffened and the veins in his neck popped out. “You can’t be serious. Don’t you understand that these—”

Erik busted out laughing and went to work sharpening the end of the pole. “I wasn’t planning on using a hook,” he explained.

Tatev exhaled slowly. His hand went up to push the glasses back onto the bridge of his nose. “Well, it’s a good thing, because Champion of Truth or not, I would have been forced to teach you a lesson.”

Erik removed his sword belt and all but his trousers. He then slowly slipped into the brook and made his way toward the eddy. He took in a breath and submerged himself in the brisk waters. He struggled to open his eyes beneath the surface for the temperature nearly forced his reflexes to close his eyes tightly. Still, with a little effort he was able to keep them open and look around. The water was beautifully clear, and easy to see into. Just as he had suspected, there were several fish swimming around. Most of them were far too small to provide any sort of meal, but there were a handful of fish that would work, if he could sneak up to them with his spear.

He slowly broke the surface of the water and exhaled. He took a few measured breaths before sucking in a long breath of air that he hoped would sustain him long enough to get one of the fish. He went down. Rather than swimming, he walked along the bottom with his knees bent, ready to propel him either forward after a fish, or upward for air when the time came. The spear was held level, pointed toward the deep end of the eddy as he waited for one of the fish to swim before it.

After about a minute, he was forced to come up for air.

“Catch a fish?” Tatev asked.

Erik shook his head and took another breath. He dropped back down to the bottom.

Spalooosh!

Erik launched back as Tatev crashed through the water before him. The librarian knocked into the spear and a thin line of red blood floated out from Tatev. Horrified, Erik let go of the spear and moved forward to help Tatev resurface. He grabbed the man by the shoulders and dragged him up and back toward the bank. He was in such a rush to help Tatev that Erik failed to notice that the Eyes of Dowr were no longer on Tatev’s face.

“Did you fall?” Erik asked. “I am so sorry, you hit the spear before I could move!”

Tatev groaned. He rolled over and it was then that Erik saw the truth of it. A thick arrow protruded out from Tatev’s chest. Erik looked up frantically. They were surrounded by men on horseback. Erik dropped Tatev and rushed for his sword instinctively. A horseman galloped in and levelled a spear at Erik’s throat. The boy stopped and held up his hands.

They weren’t Blacktongues, Erik knew that much. These men wore leather and fur, and unlike the Blacktongues they had no markings upon their faces or arms. Except for their much darker skin tone, they looked much like anyone else he had ever met.

One of the horsemen shouted something, and the one with the spear backed away from Erik. It was then that Erik saw their leader, or at least that was his assumption. A wide-shouldered man with a wrinkly face dismounted from a chestnut colored horse. He wore a long, rectangular necklace of bones that covered the whole of his chest. His ear lobes were grotesquely stretched by discs of wood, and feathers had been woven into his hair.

“Slock’tah fiun, ber mien!” the man shouted as he extended a finger toward Erik. Erik glanced around, unsure what was about to happen.

“T-t-tarthuns,” Tatev stammered.

Erik looked down to his companion. A spear point jabbed into his shoulder and forced him to turn back around. The spear wielder was down on the ground now. He pointed to the ground emphatically. When Erik didn’t move to respond, the spear wielder whacked him across the side of his knee and forced him down into a kneeling position.

Erik didn’t give them the satisfaction of crying out, though it hurt something furious. The man with the bone necklace came forward and said something that Erik couldn’t understand. Then he pointed to the bags. Three others jumped down from their horses and rummaged through the bags that Erik and Tatev had been carrying.

Erik knew fighting would be futile, but still, if they found Jaleal they could easily kill him. Not to mention, there was no telling what their intentions were anyway. Tarthuns were not known for hospitality.

The boy gathered his strength and took in a deep breath. He twisted out and snaked his wrist around the shaft of the spear along his leg. He jumped up with all of his might, slamming his head into the spearwielder’s jaw, snapping the head back and knocking the man off balance. Erik ripped the spear free and jabbed the point into the man’s neck, then he spun around to strike at the man with the bone necklace.

A massive fist collided with his face and knocked him flat on his back. Erik felt the air rush out from his body as a heavy foot came down on his solar plexus. The spear left his hands and then something struck the side of his head. As he struggled for breath, the light around him dimmed and his ears rang with a constant buzzing sound.

Darkness overtook him.

*****

Erik opened his eyes. Light came back slowly, and what he could see was blurry, as if covered by frosted glass. He could hear sounds off in the distance. No, they weren’t far away. They were shouts. There were voices speaking a foreign tongue, and there was one that spoke words Erik thought he recognized. He shook his head and blinked the fog away. He tipped forward, but something held him back.

Cold, strong bands bit into his wrists. He looked up and saw that iron shackles had him cuffed to thick beams of wood inside a great cage made of a kind of wood Erik had not seen before. He looked down and saw that he was shirtless, wearing only his trousers, and covered in a mess of dirt and dried blood.

“Where are we?” Erik asked aloud.

“They took us to their camp,” Tatev said.

Erik brought his head up quickly, looking for Tatev. “You’re alive!” Erik shouted happily.

Tatev offered an insincere grin and rubbed his bandaged shoulder. “I suppose a wound like this isn’t worth complaining about to one who fights dragons,” he commented.

Erik shook his head, but couldn’t find any words to reassure Tatev. He looked up and saw a pair of Tarthuns carrying a stack of books. “What are they doing?” Erik asked.

Tatev waved his hand. “They have been rifling through our things, taking what they like and burning the rest.”

“Jaleal?” Erik asked.

“Shh!” Tatev whispered harshly. The red haired librarian shook his head. “He is fine. I think they thought he was some kind of vegetable. They put him in a crate with wild yams.”

“They’re going to eat him?” Erik stammered.

Tatev glanced to the Tarthuns as they passed by his end of the cage. His mouth dropped open and a fit of rage overtook the scrawny man. Tatev stood up in the wooden cage and gripped two of the poles. “Not the books you heathen savages!”

A staff came down from above and jammed into the nape of Tatev’s neck. The red haired librarian cried out in agony and fell to his knees. Erik tried to wrest free from his restraints, but there was nothing he could do. He glanced upward to see a strong man crouched upon the cage, holding a staff in his hands and glowering at them both.

The Tarthuns continued on with the books until they neared a fire pit. They then unceremoniously dumped the books onto the dirt. One of the warriors picked one book up and showed it to the others circled around the fire. They chanted and cheered when he ripped the book apart. He casually tossed the pages into the flames and let the fire consume it.

Tatev broke down into tears as the savage continued to burn each of the books. When he had only one book left, he made a show of dancing up to Tatev’s side of the cage and holding it just out of Tatev’s reach. Tatev pleaded with the man, stretching his arms out between the poles and just barely able to graze the book with his fingers. The Tarthun only laughed and jeered as the others beyond roared with delight. Erik couldn’t watch. He closed his eyes and looked away. The crowd raised their voices and then a wave of cheers erupted. Erik knew that the last book had been thrown upon the file.

“The Infinium,” Tatev sobbed. “You don’t know what you have done.”

The Infinium?
Erik opened his eyes, not knowing how to recover the knowledge lost in such a precious tome. Erik had no time to react. A great explosion burst from within the fire. Flames leapt out and grabbed several bystanders, pulling them into the fire. A burning log flew out and smashed into the head of the savage who had thrown the books into the fire. Then, Erik saw the most peculiar thing. A green ball of fire wrapped itself around one of the books and the tome levitated on its own out from the fire. It shot out like a falling star, streaking across the sky and landing somewhere in the plains beyond the Tarthun encampment.

The Tarthuns cowered in fear and wailed at the loss of their tribesmen.

Tatev stood again and started laughing maniacally. He pointed at the one who had taunted him. The Tarthun warrior rose to his feet. Blood ran down the right side of his head, but he seemed only to be enraged. His eyes filled with hate and his hand went for his axe. He started to walk toward Tatev. He shouted something at the librarian, but Tatev continued to laugh at him. “You didn’t know what you were doing!”

A black bolt of lightning streaked down from the sky and burst through the warrior in a flash. A burnt hole remained in place of his chest, and the corpse fell to the ground. The others nearby scattered and ran. The sky filled with heavy rain. The bonfire died and the camp was soon bogged down in a thick mud as the water rose up to ankle level upon the surface of the plain. For the remainder of the night, no Tarthun dared to emerge from their tent.

Tatev took advantage of the seclusion to work on Erik’s restraints. Unfortunately, picking locks was not one of the things Tatev knew how to do. Erik tried to give him ideas and hints, but nothing worked. When the sun emerged and the rains stopped, the two were still trapped in the wooden cage.

As the first rays of dawn fell upon the plains, the man with the bone necklace emerged from his tent. He walked to the wooden cage and opened the door. Erik’s stomach fell and twisted. He could see the hate in the man’s eyes. Something very bad was about to happen.

He came in hard and fast. A single punch dropped Tatev to the ground like a stone. The man glowered at Erik and then spat upon his foot. The Tarthun shouted something and seemingly out of nowhere came three others. Erik did not recognize these men. They wore leather trousers, but their torsos were uncovered. White paint was drawn upon each of their stomachs in a line from their navel up to their chins. The lower half of their entire face was covered in the white paint, while the top half was painted black. Their heads were shaven, and the only bit of color on them were circles of red drawn around their eyes. They reached down and took Tatev from the cage.

“No, stop!” Erik cried. “What are you doing?” Erik yanked and pulled against his restraints, but nothing worked. His strength left him when he saw six more men, each painted like the other three, carrying a large, polished plank of wood. They moved to the pit where the bonfire had been erected the night before and stretched it over the top.

“NO!” Erik yelled as the three placed Tatev atop the plank. Two more painted men arrived, carrying a thick pole with animal skulls hanging from it. They placed the pole into the pit, at the center of the plank. Once it was secured upright, the painted men pulled small bags from a pocket in their trousers and formed a circle around the pit.

The man with the bone necklace shouted a phrase, and then the painted men would throw a dash of some sort of powder onto Tatev. The leader would shout another phrase, and they would throw more. After the third time, the circle danced around Tatev. Each of the painted men gyrated and twisted while chanting and throwing more powder.