A red sun dawned, bathing the plains in a sanguine light. Crows cawed fitfully as they landed to feast among the bodies of the dead. They made no distinction between human and Slandra – to the birds, they were all delicacies in their feast. The crows’ calls seemed like a final bugle sounding the retreat for the escaping humans.
Johnsa glanced back at the descending avian cloud a few miles from her position. The site of the battle, the abandoned resting place for so many of her men. Those remaining were weary and bloodied, trooping along the outer edge of the forest they had fallen back to. After being ambushed by the vicious Slandra warriors earlier in the night, her men were in no condition to fight. She sighed, and then grabbed a soldier by his arm right before he collapsed from exhaustion. As she asked him if he was all right, she paused to survey the ragged line of her troop.
“How did it come to this?” she thought to herself.
Johnsa had joined the force of human warriors that had been growing since late autumn to combat the Slandra raiders that had left their mountain homes. Johnsa had proved her skill as a commander early on, with several decisive victories to her name, earning her the commanding rank of Ramadan. Her quick wits hadn’t helped her during the night, even against the smaller Slandra force.
Reflecting back on the skirmish, Johnsa felt confident there was nothing else she could have done to avert the silent death that had descended upon the army without warning. She was only glad she was able to save as many as she had from doom, though it did little to ease her mood. They were now far fewer than they had been, all because the army had not had enough intelligence on the enemy. The few scouts that had returned had quoted a roughly accurate number, but Johnsa somewhat petulantly thought those who survived had been cowards who did not survey the Slandra closely.
The Slandra had caught the humans in a pincer attack shortly before dawn. The snakes had dispatched the outriders and perimeter sentries more quietly than Johnsa could possibly have imagined, and then they were in among her men, slaughtering them in their sleep. If it hadn’t been for one injured man who set a Slandra on fire, the silent foe could have possibly destroyed the entire company. As it was, the commander of the army had been killed, slain in his tent. It was only after desperate combat that the humans managed to escape the trap and force an opening in the Slandra lines. Johnsa had sounded the retreat, and she and her men had fled toward the forest bordering the plain. They were walking along that border now, heading north and hopefully towards sanctuary.
The column ahead of her stopped, and even she was grateful for a rest. She had her surviving scouts leading the group, and she trusted them to find a safe place for a few hours so her men could rest. It suddenly occurred to her that they were all her men now.
A messenger jogged quickly down the lines towards Johnsa, carrying a message from the scouts. They had found what they thought was a respectable campsite, and by her leave, they should begin to ready a camp.
Johnsa walked up the line, giving encouragement and praise to soldiers as she passed, helping those who stumbled, and showing a confident attitude. She knew, as a leader, that her attitude could make or break the army. When she reached the column’s head, she surveyed their resting place. It was a small hill, bordered on the plains side by several fallen trees that had fallen away from the woods and into a natural cleft in the earth. Johnsa scrambled over them, wincing as the bark bit into her skin, and finally determined they would provide an adequate defense. The hill wasn’t particularly tall and so would not give a big advantage of high ground, but it would do. She called to the bugler and told him to give the signal to stop and make camp. He blew three short notes, and Johnsa heard her entire army give a sigh of relief.
It was another hour before everyone managed to get situated on top of the hill, and it took Johnsa a quarter hour to find soldiers who were in a good enough condition to stand watch. When everything was finally ready, she pitched her own tent. Using a wet cloth, she wiped the bloodstains from her armor, oiled her sword and finally laid down to a few hours of much needed rest.
Noon came and passed, and Johnsa slept on. Only the clamor of pots and pans finally roused her, and even then it was not easily. Sitting up groggily, Johnsa spent the next few moments rubbing the sleep out of her eyes before finally standing from her bedroll. She strapped on her armor briskly, splashed some water on her face and pulled her hair back with a leather thong. Walking from her tent, she surveyed her remaining men preparing their meal after their short respite.
Upon her exit, the man standing guard over the flap addressed his commander.
“Ramadan, the men were lax. On my patrols, I found two asleep and the others did not even detect me. They should be reprimanded.”
Johnsa shook her head sadly. Though her second-in-command was smart and eager, sometimes he was too keen to deal out punishments for minor infractions. “That will not be necessary Lens. I will speak with the men, of course, but reprimands are not needed. After our ordeal last night, everyone is tired. Besides, everyone knows you walk lighter than a winter-starved mouse,” she joked.
Lens made as if to object, but then thought better of it. Though the Ramadan seemed to be in an understanding mood, he knew how quickly that could change and did not want to anger her. “By your will, Ramadan,” he replied with a crisp salute. The doubt in his eyes did not escape Johnsa’s attention.
Johnsa watched him move off to the food lines to bring her breakfast, considering his future. If he could learn tolerance, he might just make a fine commander himself, he was already a splendid tactician, but she recognized a brutality in his nature that would be difficult to conquer. Realizing she had duties as commander to attend to, she put him out of her mind and began a quick assessment of the camp.
The sun was a few hand spans above the horizon when Johnsa felt that her men were rested enough to continue their march. They would march until sunset just to put more distance between them and the ambush site. She ordered her captains to begin packing, and soon every tent was taken down and the ranks formed up. Johnsa watched the proceedings with a small smile, proud of her men that they could perform well after the bloody massacre of the night before.
The thought made her grimace, and several of her men frowned with worry. She was their commander, their Ramadan. They were very protective of her and often chided her when she tried to take on too much. Lens approached silently behind her, and those same worried faces became stony replicas of each other in an instant. They were protective of their Ramadan, but they did not feel the same sentiments for her lieutenant.
“Ramadan, your men are ready to move out. Should I sound the march?”
“So ordered, Lens.”
He saluted Johnsa’s back as she continued to study the column, and moved off to the buglers. A barked order had them lifting their horns and the army began moving. With their divisions reformed, her men looked like a fit fighting unit once more.
Her small smile returned, and grew a little bit more when she saw her men visibly brighten under her proud gaze. She had not fought long with these men at her side and under her command, but their fights had been hard. She knew most of them personally and had been in major combat with all of them. She knew their strengths and weaknesses, their skills, and most importantly their limits. It was this intimate knowledge of her men that allowed her, in her opinion, to command them as well as she did. They trusted her, and she them, to get through any situation.
Mounting her tall chestnut stallion, Johnsa looked out once more across the lines of troops before trotting to her position in the middle of it all. She had discovered that positioning herself in the midst of her men not only made her feel more comfortable, but also made it much easier to coordinate actions should they be assaulted.
Gently nudging her way into the mass, she filed into next to Lens. As the military zealot he was, Lens never moved with the army unless he was at his designated place. His training had been so ingrained that his rigidity would hamper him should he wish to seek a command of his own. It would very likely get him killed.
“Maybe he knows that,” she thought to herself, glancing at her second. “Maybe he doesn’t move without the army around out of cowardice.” That sentiment slipped its way into her thoughts before she could even react, and she shook her head to clear away such doubts in her lieutenant. She knew he was not the bravest of men, but he had certainly shown courage the evening before. No, he was not coward, merely prudent. She glanced once more at Lens before allowing her horse to carry her forward.
Though everyone felt uneasy along their march, they were not attacked. Nightfall came, and the army had made good speed down the forest’s border. Johnsa called the halt when her scouts informed her of a defensible grove of ash trees a little further into the plains. The men crowded into the small glade among the trees, posted scouts before pitching the horse lines, and set up camp in a circular pattern around the Ramadan’s tent. Johnsa could feel the general agitation and doubled the patrols around the camp perimeter. She was disquieted by their unhampered march, and was not about to allow the snakes to surprise her again. When she finally felt her men were as protected as well as they could be, she crawled into her bedroll and puffed out her candle. Although she lay in her sheets for what seemed like an eternity, sleep evaded her.
Shortly before dawn, Johnsa finally gave up and rolled out her sheets. Donning her armor and weapon, she walked out into the cool darkness. Standing outside her tent, she took a deep breath and relished the crisp air prickling her throat. She closed her eyes and focused on her breathing, taking in the cool air and all the sounds of the camp. Opening her eyes, Johnsa judged it was nearly dawn, for the moon had disappeared already, and only the stars blinked down at her. Though the night was pleasant, Johnsa felt an itch between her shoulder blades that she couldn’t shake. It had been nagging her all day and even her breathing exercise didn’t lessen her irritation.
“Always darkest before dawn,” she muttered. She walked out to the perimeter and looked for her men. She only spotted one or two, and although this did not surprise her as the men were generally excellent at hiding themselves, warning bells screamed in her mind. She knew the perimeter lay out and should have been able to pick out at least one sentry, but to her eyes the perimeter was empty. She took two steps back still facing the perimeter, and then turned and sprinted back to her tent. She would not risk another ambush. Rushing inside, she kicked open one of her trunks and pulled out a small but well-used roll of vellum. It had been some time since she had used this particular tool but its worth was immeasurable. Unrolling it, she drew her dagger and dragged it across the palm of her hand with a wince. She pressed the vellum to her bleeding hand, allowed the blood to seep in for a second. She cleared her mind and spoke.
“As night meets day, and sun dispels the dark, so show me the way.”
This was a small magic she had learned long ago from her grandfather, who had been a hunter in the southern mountains. It allowed her to see with stunning clarity her surroundings within a mile radius. However, this ability could only be used once a month and Johnsa rarely withdrew the vellum from its protective shell.
Gazing outward while still holding the bloody sheepskin, Her mind flew above her body, giving her an eagle’s perspective and she looked down at her camp and the territory beyond. Shock momentarily held her in a vise grip. She saw her patrols, and though they looked intact, she doubted they would remain so for long. Not very far from them, hidden in the trees and in the troughs of the plains, was the Slandra attack force that had caught them unaware…and it had grown.
Feeling her mind return to her body, Johnsa rushed out of her tent and ran to the alarm bell. Three loud strikes gonged through the camp and she charged off to Lens’ tent.
“Get everyone up NOW! We’re under attack!” she yelled to her subordinate. Lens wasted no time with questions and immediately issued orders while donning his armor. Bugles sounded the scouts to fall back, and before most of the men could even rub the sleep out of their eyes, spears were planted, swords were drawn, and arrows nocked in a tight circle around the tents.
Still holding the vellum, Johnsa allowed her mind to fly upward once more and noticed that the enemy force had not advanced yet. She called for her men to relax momentarily and quickly rearranged her formations. She pulled her small core of berserkers back to the top of the hill to be thrown into the line as she needed, and she ordered her archers to continuously shift along the lines to maintain a steady stream of fire against the enemy. Johnsa tried to view the enemy one more time, but the vellum had cleared, and Johnsa cursed loudly for the short duration of the spell. At that moment, a cold wind blew through the whole camp, and a howl broke the tense silence.
The Ramadan looked out at her men once more, thinking this may be the last time many or all would fight together. It brought a tear to her eye, but she brushed it away hurriedly. Grabbing a horn, Johnsa shouted out to her forces.
“Friends, comrades, I will give you the truth. We are surrounded. The Slandra have us in a corner.” She saw many startled looks at this news. “This may be our final battle together. How will you fight?” She paused and surveyed the men arrayed around the encampment. She saw fear in many eyes, but some too held hope when she looked out at them. “We will make them pay for what they have done to us,” she continued, her voice echoing out to her men. “They will pay for all of the friends we have lost. They will pay in blood. I mean to live through this night and make them taste my steel.” She ended in a shout that every man heard without the horn, and they cheered with her. They cheered even during the Slandra charge that broke upon their blades like waves against the cliffs.
Dawn broke over a bloody field, yet the fighting raged on. The Slandra were bloodied, but the human forces were nearly wiped out. Every man and woman who bore arms lifted them wearily, often painfully. Three quarters of the men who had stood in defense of their lives and their captain now lay dead, sprawled across the hill and under Slandra scales. But the Slandra came on, a teeming, undulating wave of death that crawled toward the final defenders.
Of the human commanders, all but one lay dead outside the protective circle. Lens had gone down after killing five of the snakes protecting his Ramadan, and his efforts allowed Johnsa to fight her way back to the safety of her men. Now, as she looked out at the overwhelming number of Slandra and her dead companions, she felt a wave of despair. Death was almost assured for her and her men. But when she looked out once more at the bloodied, mangled corpses of her men, a feral snarl erupted from her throat. Her eyes turned a deep red, and every man near her felt his hair stand on end.
Johnsa tossed away her shield, and hefted a curved Slandra scimitar. She pushed her way through her men, stalking toward the oncoming Slandra as if she were Death incarnate. Some of her men tried to stop her, but she heard nothing. All she knew was she would rain death and destruction down upon her enemies as long as she drew breath and none would stand in her way. Her men joined her, and when she shrieked in primal fury, they answered her call. Before the sun cleared the horizon, death reigned over the grove.
It was the sound of scavengers tearing into rotting meat that finally aroused the sleeping figure. The person was covered in cuts, their armor all but shorn from their body. Their fiery hair stood on end. Sitting up, the person was surrounded by the bodies of men and Slandra alike. Looking down at the weapons in her hands, at the blood of both man and snake staining the blades, a scream ripped out of Johnsa’s body that sent every scavenger haring away. The knowledge of what she had done powered that scream, and it went on for an eternity. Darkness fell again before Johnsa collapsed again in the circle of death she had created.
Friday, March 26, 2010
Monday, March 1, 2010
Chapter Three
Hosus sat observing her group. The twins were muttering to each other and Nar kept glancing at the body while he and Bertran dug a shallow grave. She could only shake her head. Hosus understood the need for secrecy in their work. Only she and Pral knew their mission, and how much depended on their success. The other members of their group had no idea what they were planning, and Hosus only hoped they would still follow Pral once they were told the group’s true goal.
Sitting beneath a low hanging branch, Hosus reflected on that critical night when she had met Pral and they had embarked on this journey.
* * *
It had not been a day that foretold some fateful event. It had been a cool day, but sunny, at the beginning of the previous autumn. The leaves had begun to change colors, and the birds were beginning to migrate, soaring over her homeland in large Vs or in giant flocks.
She had been stalking game through her Highland forest home, hunting for her dinner. She had spotted her prey, a small doe that had gotten separated from her herd and had been wandering ceaselessly for two days. The deer was now refreshing itself at a small brook, but before Hosus began her final approach, a soft rustling close to her right froze her step. It was not an animal noise. Hosus knew that for sure. Her attention focused on this intruder, and, quieter than a mouse, made her way to a better vantage point to view this newcomer. It bothered her that she had only discovered his presence now, for she had been scouting about constantly whenever she lost her doe, and she had seen no other signs of human presence.
Sliding along a backward route, Hosus slowly circled around to where she had pinpointed the source of the noise. But when she came upon the spot, there was no one. Approaching carefully, she saw the slight indentations where a body had been crouched in the soft earth.
She sensed rather than saw the attack coming from behind. She dodged right, hoping the attacker was right-handed and his attack would leave him off-balance after missing. Turning quickly, she aimed a spinning kick where her opponent’s head should have been. But he had anticipated her, and had already retreated a few steps.
Hosus drew her knives, one held in a defensive grip while the other was grasped to throw. But before she could begin her next attack, the man stood up to his full height and lowered his weapons. Though this was obviously the end of the round, Hosus was in no way prepared to call this the end of the fight.
“As skillful as they claimed. And as wary.”
“Who are you?” Hosus whispered, peering into the shadows of her assailant’s face, obscured by a dark cowl.
“Someone who knows things. And knows people. For example, I know that you are one of the best scouts in the known world. I also know a certain person who requires your considerable talents to complete an endeavor.”
“If you are but a messenger, give me the message and be gone. You have already lost me my meal.” Her voice held an edge of anger.
“As perceptive and aware as I imagined. Possibly better. Few, if any, could have detected me at all, let alone evade a surprise attack.” He seemed to be talking to himself.
“The message.” Though Hosus responded calmly, this man put her on edge. She wanted to be away from him as quickly as possible.
“If you insist. Hosus, daughter of Trieth, sister to Lian, you are hereby requested to appear before the Council of Seven to discuss matters to be then disclosed. This meeting will take place in Terada, in one week’s time. If you decide to refuse this invitation, your sister will be killed...” Here the man paused. All Hosus could see was the glean of his teeth as he grinned nastily at her. “…by our appointed messenger.”
He paused again, as if to allow Hosus to process this information. He said only one more thing before disappearing. “And trust me, little Lian and I will have much fun before she dies.”
At this final threat, Hosus launched her dagger at the man, aiming for his heart. But he was too quick, side-stepping the attack and melting into the brush as if he belonged to the forest.
Hosus quickly retrieved her weapon. She sensed nothing around her and the forest was full of natural sounds again. Hosus figured the man would not bother her now that he had relayed his message but she was still very uneasy. Sheathing her weapon, she let her fingers linger on the hilt as she began the day long journey that would take her back into civilized lands. It would take her at least another day to prepare for her trip to Terada, and then several more to reach her destination. The thought of not going never crossed her mind.
Since their mother had died two years hence, Hosus and her younger sister Lian had become closer than ever. Where Hosus had learned and perfected the art of the forest, Lian had mastered those of people. Lian was the most important person in Hosus’s life. If that masked messenger could track and nearly trap her that easily, Lian would never stand a chance. The decision had been made for her, it seemed.
It took her most of the day to leave the forest, and from there it took her a few more hours into the night to reach her home at the edge of the city Goril, approximately a three days journey by horseback from Terada.
She slept until nearly noon the next day, allowing her body to recuperate after the harsh pace she had set herself the day before. When she finally did arise, she began her preparations immediately, stopping only to wolf down a quick lunch of apples and smoked venison. First, she went to her sister’s home, and told her everything of what had transpired. Although Lian was frightened for Hosus to be doing anything under such threats of violence, she had enough confidence in her sister to believe she would keep herself out of trouble. As for herself, Lian would invite some tracker friends to stay with her for a time as added security.
After saying a short goodbye with admonitions to be careful, Hosus prepared all of her clothes, as well as laying out all of her knives. She sharpened each meticulously before storing them in hidden pockets about her person. By the time darkness fell, all was in order. In the morning, all she would need to do was saddle up her chestnut mare Waterlily, and she would be off. Though her mind was plagued by worries and doubts, Hosus quickly dropped into the deep and dreamless sleep that follows adrenaline.
The night passed quickly, and Hosus woke with a start at dawn. Rubbing the sleep from her eyes, she made herself some sandwiches for the ride today. She quickly packed and saddled Waterlily, turning the mare out of the little stable and onto the road. Hosus let Waterlily set the pace for now, but she paused in front of her sister’s home to mutter what she hoped would not be her final goodbye. She didn’t know what fate had in store for her though, and with these final, gloomy thoughts clouding her mind, she heeled Waterlily into a slow trot down the road.
The three days and two nights ride from Goril to Terada passed smoothly. The weather remained cooperative, even warming slightly as the days passed. Hosus spotted some menacing storm clouds on the horizon the eve of the second day but they had passed south of her.
As she rode, she contemplated the arrival of the Council’s messenger. His sudden appearance during her hunt made her anxious. She knew that forest, had lived in its glades and knew its secret places. The fact that that man had taken her so completely unaware made her feel violated in a much more profound way than merely being ambushed. He had ambushed her in her own place, possibly could have killed her. The thought made her shiver despite the warm sun on her back.
On the eve of the third day, Hosus arrived at the gates of the bustling market metropolis of Terada. They were majestic, ornately carved with the history of the Terada nation, and gilded in silver. They stood wide, releasing a slowly moving line of merchant trains and farmers who squinted as the setting sun glinted off the silver, causing the gates to shine brilliantly and the city walls to glow. Hosus paused a moment at the side of the road to admire the road and bask in the last warmth of the day. Then the sun slid below the horizon with a last wink and Hosus hurried through the gates before they closed for the night.
Hosus wandered through the torch lit streets, searched until she found a respectable looking inn with decently priced beds by the name of The Crying Onion. The inn’s sign, Hosus noted, showed an onion crying while peeling an onion. She was still chuckling at the dark joke as she threw her pack on the soft down bed and looked out of her small window onto a still busy avenue just off the market street. She had three days left until the Council meeting and contemplated her next steps. After washing the dust from her face with water, Hosus decided to use that time to discover as much about the Council of Seven as she could. What under the sun would they need me for? This thought gnawed at her as she turned in and tried to sleep.
As it turned out, the next few days revealed little to her, only what was common knowledge. No one knew their actual identities, but no one had a grudge. Even the riffraff praised their leaders. They ruled fairly, and judged righteously, according to all concerned. Despite handing out rather more coins than she would have liked for information, she could not find a single negative opinion of the Council. This finding intrigued and worried her. Even though she spent most of her time in the forest, she found it difficult to believe that not a single person she had spoken with had any gripes with their rulers, especially such enigmatic ones. Her only recourse, it seemed, would be to find out for herself.
On the appointed day, Hosus approached the building that housed the Council chambers. They had not thought it necessary to give her an exact time, a small detail that would have saved Hosus a great deal of irritation. As it was, she appeared at the Council building doors shortly after breakfast. The building itself was not particularly grand but it was well-built and had a simple beauty to its curves and domed roof. There was nothing ornate besides some fancy latticework she noticed was carved out of white marble. She noted the wealth and was impressed by the subtlety of its display. She entered the open doors and was immediately greeted by a liveried butler who ushered her down several short hallways to a room of middling size. Apparently, she was the object of importance today.
The room was shadowed, the windows covered by thick curtains. Two lamps had been placed toward the back of the room, flanking a long, curved table. Placed behind the table were seven in the middle chairs, all rather plain in appearance, which did not surprise Hosus. Even here at the heart of their power, the wealth and power of the Council was subtle but strong. With the position of the lamps, the Council members would be shadows to her eyes. This seemed almost dramatic to her after the subtlety of building, and she was curious about this shadow of anonymity they maintained. She expected this would an interesting meeting indeed.
She stood waiting against the wall across from the chairs. There were two chairs positioned in the center of the room, facing the Seven, which she assumed she was to occupy at some point today. Who the other chair was meant for, she had no idea.
Hosus did not have to wait long, but enough time elapsed to make a normal man uncomfortable. The door through which she had entered reopened and a towering man emerged. At first, Hosus believed it was the Council’s messenger, but when she looked more carefully, she did not see the same cruelty in either his face or his bearing.
Dressed in a forest green cloak that fell to his ankles, he was handsome, with green, penetrating eyes that had fading crow feet, as if he had once smiled a great deal but no longer. His black hair was cut short, except for a small topknot. His face was hard, his nose had that once broken look, and his dark skin was patterned with white crisscrosses of small scars. Under his cloak, she could see hard muscle moving beneath his shirt. He had the look of a predator, and a successful one at that.
He looked only once at Hosus, but she felt that same appraising look that she had just given him. Without hesitation, he moved to the middle of the room, and stood behind the proffered chair. He did not sit. Hosus decided to follow his lead, and walked forward. She felt tiny standing beside him, but she did not let this slight discomfiture show. Wordlessly, they awaited the Seven.
They waited only a few moments before two doors on the side of the great room swung open noiselessly to admit the ruling Council of Seven. They filed in and took their places in ceremonious silence, and remained thus for several minutes, simply staring at Hosus and the other man.
Hosus did not move, but stared directly back at the man in the center. They were all watching her and the stranger next to her, but she guessed the man in the middle lead these men. If she understood anything about ruling groups, then it was he who had summoned her. Straining to see through the shadows, Hosus faced down the man who had threatened her and her sister.
“Hosus, daughter of Trieth, and Pral Stanj,” began the central figure, “You have been summoned before this ruling Council on matters of great import. But firstly, would you prefer to sit? We may be together for quite some time.” The speaker, whom Hosus took to be the Council Minister, motioned to the chairs in front of them. Hosus decided it might be wise to look pliant, at least for the time being. She needed to learn more about these men who played with her life.
Pral, however, remained standing. His eyes never stayed still, but were constantly roving all over the room, scanning everything. Hosus could not decide if this was merely paranoia or simply the way the man acted. She did not let it bother her.
The man nodded, once, his mouth twitching perceptibly at Pral despite the heavy shadowing. “Very well, down to business. You have been summoned because you both have tremendous talents. This council has recently uncovered information that could be dangerous to our land in the future if it is not immediately acted upon. We are asking you,” here he paused, as if contemplating his next words. “We are asking you to make a foray into the Dead Lands and retrieve a certain artifact we believe has been hidden there. Please, do not scoff at this duty. This artifact, if it were activated, could be an instrument of great destruction in the wrong hands.”
Once again he paused, this time gauging both Hosus and Pral’s reactions. Hosus stifled any response, but she was experiencing no small measure of incredulity. She noticed that her companion also covered any reaction to this odd request.
Appearing satisfied, the man opened his mouth again to continue, but he was cut short when Pral finally spoke.
“Reveal your true plans, Herkiel, or we will certainly not cooperate.”
Herkiel’s mouth snapped shut with a click. Even in the gloom of the Council chambers, Hosus could see color flood his cheeks. She glanced quickly at Pral, wondering why he might include her, but he was as stoic as ever.
The Council Minister immediately reined in his anger, and said normally, “Very well, Pral. If you will be insolent to this Council, we will simply dismiss you. Guards!”
A pair of heavily-muscled guards entered the room and flanked Pral, who still did not move. The minister nodded, and they each took an arm and tried to steer Pral out of the room. As quick as lightning, he broke their grips, and with two swift strikes, left the guards crumpled on the ground.
The Council collectively gasped and one of them pushed his chair back as if to leave. Hosus was impressed by this man’s speed and skill but she was not surprised. Pral returned to his former position, and stared hard at Herkiel. The minister stared back dazed, but could not hold the stare for long.
“Tell us the rest, Minister,” Pral made the title sound like a curse, “or both of us shall leave you to fetch your artifact on your own.”
Herkiel’s gaze turned to his unconscious guards, his jaw hanging. Hosus could almost smell the fear emanating from the entire Council, but it was strongest from Herkiel. She smiled slightly to herself, impressed with how Pral had so quickly reversed the side with power.
Although Pral had spoken to the minister, it was another of the Council who spoke. Hosus turned her attention to him, but kept a wary eye on the Council Minister. “This artifact was the source of the original Seven’s power. It allowed them to regulate the weather and other factors to improve the harvest. But over six generations ago, the Council decided to lock the artifact in a vault. They feared the possible consequences of theft, for their neighbors to the south had been raiding deep into Teradan lands. It is this artifact that has been stolen. We want it returned before the thieves discover how to activate it and rain destruction down upon us all.”
Hosus was intrigued by this revelation. A magical artifact capable of controlling the weather, among other things. That was a powerful ability, and a very dangerous one. She noticed Pral glance at her, and she could feel her lips pursed in thought. Hosus stilled her features to match Pral, who only looked bored by the news.
“We have now revealed to you what no one outside of this council has knowledge of. We are charging you with the task of retrieving the Staff of Archelum and returning it to us, that we might hide it once more and keep it safe.”
Silence reigned as the Council waited for an answer. “The Dead Lands lie on the far side of the continent, far outside any boundaries Terada has ever claimed. Why would you hide something that out of reach? And where and how did you get the information that it was found or at least being sought?” Hosus asked.
“Obviously, we did not choose to hide the Staff anywhere,” Herkiel said derisively. “As for our information, it came from a source accorded the highest trust by this Council. This source informed us that, as of two months ago, organized bands of men were seen traversing the Dead Lands. They appeared to be looking for something. It is our belief that these men seek the Staff.”
“Why?”
The men on the Council gave Hosus questioning looks. “Why what?” asked Herkiel, obviously annoyed by the questions.
“Why do you believe these men are after the Staff? Surely it can’t be the only thing to find in the Dead Lands. What particular fact, real or imagined, makes you think they are after this Staff of yours?”
The man who had delivered their mission spoke again. “Our source…our source managed to follow one of these groups. The source reported these men complaining of the cold and sun all for a bloody weathervane. Pardon my language.”
Hosus resisted rolling her eyes. The man’s high voice and chauvinism did not elevate him in her opinion. “One source seems like hardly enough justification to send out a search party to retrieve your toy. Another thought occurs to me that if someone really is looking for your Staff, then they could just follow us to its hiding place and take it from us.”
Herkiel’s mouth split into a toothy grin. “We had thought about that. Thus, we won’t be providing you with the Staff’s exact location.”
Hosus could only shake her head. “You want us, just two people, to search an entire frozen desert by ourselves? For what? To protect something that might as well be a myth to us?” She didn’t bother to mask the contempt in her voice.
She glanced up at Pral, but he did not return her look. “I cannot speak for my companion, but I will accept this task,” he said quickly. Hosus thought the Council’s news had surprised her, but she had thought Pral less obedient than this.
Herkiel must have been just as surprised because he started to say something but sputtered off into shocked silence. “You will?” he sounded positively incredulous.
Pral nodded.
Before Hosus could begin to argue, Herkiel had dismissed them with their charge and Pral was guiding her out by the elbow. She and Pral walked out together, not speaking until they had left the building. When they were finally in a trafficked area, Pral turned to her and offered his hand. “My name, as you know, is Pral Stanj. It is a pleasure to meet you.”
Hosus shook his proffered hand, but coolly returned his gaze. “What was that all about? I’m not going on some fool’s errand for a bunch of hypocritical egomaniacs. Especially not after they threatened my sister.”
“Your sister will be protected. The tracker friends she has staying with her are also friends of mine. They will see that no harm comes to her.”
Hosus was caught off guard. “How do you know my sister?” She had to forcefully keep her hand from going to her dagger. Violence would not get her any answers from this man.
Pral eyed her, and then gave a curt nod. “Not here. Let us adjourn to someplace more private.” He walked off in the direction, not of the inns, but rather towards the docks. Hosus had no choice but to follow.
They walked down the crowded streets, refraining from speaking until they reached their destination. Hosus kept glancing at her large companion, wondering about him, where he came from, what was his history, how he knew her sister, why were they embroiled in this together. The questions never ended, and she was impatient, knowing she would not discover the answers immediately but needing to know now.
The buildings around them quickly changed the further from the town proper they moved. The well-maintained, red-slated roofs began to diminish in height, and the shingles looked worn and weathered. The meticulously clean streets acquired trash along the edges, and the paving stones were worn smooth by the countless footsteps of merchants and sailors traveling towards the markets and inns with their supply of ale.
The smell of the river met her nostrils, and she breathed deeply of the damp scent. It had been many years since Hosus had seen the large river that ran through Terada and carried trade items to and from the capital city, but she would never forget that scent. It reminded her of home, of the streams that ran through the forest and the damp earthen banks. It helped to calm the storm of questions raging in her mind. She would find the answers one way or another.
She finally spotted the docks from around a building at the end of the street. This main thoroughfare from the docks to the city curved slightly, so new travelers moving towards the city center would be constantly surprised at the simple beauties around the bend.
Hosus peered out upon the many docks that extended out into the river. The early afternoon sun glinted off the surface, illuminating the boats and ships that traversed the flowing water. Dozens upon dozens of crafts flitted between the docks and ships anchored in the deep center of the river. The docks, themselves immense creations of timber and stone, extended across only a small portion of the water. They looked like fat, stubby fingers grabbing greedily at the wealth the river represented. Hosus resented this perversion of nature, but she understood the human necessity.
They were nearly among the ships when Pral finally turned into a dilapidated building where the door hung askew on rusted hinges. She entered and her ears were immediately assaulted by shouted conversations and raucous laughter. She peered up at Pral, and figured this place was as safe as any for a private conversation. Hosus also doubted that anyone would mind if she was forced to get a little rough.
Working their way to the back of the tavern, they took a small table in the corner, and both put their backs to the wall. A waitress walked by to take their orders. Pral asked for ale but Hosus shook her head. They waited in relative silence until his drink was delivered.
Though she was impatient, Hosus showed none of it and waited stoically for Pral to sip his ale. When he placed the mug back on the table, nearly empty, she expected him to begin speaking. When he remained silent, Hosus decided to begin.
“So who are you really? You’re name might be Pral Stanj, but that tells me nothing about you. And you owe me some answers.”
Pral glanced over at her before speaking. “I am like you, a loner,” he said, a sad grin appearing slowly, “some might even call me a mercenary.”
Though Hosus had known several mercenaries in her time, she had never met any like this. Though she assumed she would have heard of such a one as Pral before, she took nothing for granted. “You fight for money. Perhaps not an honest profession, but a lucrative one.”
He almost looked surprised, shrugging away her comment. “And yourself?” he asked in turn.
“A hunter by profession.”
He shrugged again, his only reaction to her taciturnity.
“How do you know my sister?”
“I do not know her personally. But I know the man the Council sent for you. He is cruel and petty and very dangerous. He and I have had dealings in the past, none of which ended pleasantly, and I try to keep informed of his actions. When I found out the Council had sent him for you, I decided to take steps of my own.”
Hosus paused, unsure of whether or not to feel appreciative of his protective response or suspicious. “Why?”
Pral sipped his ale again before answering. “Partially because I do not feel particularly comfortable with leaving anyone in that man’s hands. Partially because I feared that you would not assent to joining me under any condition if your sister were in danger.”
“So I should trust you over the Council? Why should I trust any of you?”
“Honestly, you probably shouldn’t.” The words came slowly, as if it were an effort for Pral to speak. Hosus waited for him to continue but he just stared into his mug.
Frustration was building up inside of her and Hosus felt like taking the mug and smashing it over Pral’s head. Why did any of this have to involve her sister? How could she protect Lian? Even if she could trust this strange but powerful man, what was she to do? Amid these questions, a curious part of her whispered about the Dead Lands and the Staff.
“How do I know Lian will be safe?” she asked quietly.
“There are no guarantees in this world, but she will be protected by men I trust. This is the only guarantee I can give you.”
Hosus remained silent. Something in Pral’s words, the way he spoke, made her feel inclined to trust him. Yet her natural tendency this way made her suspicious. The conflicting emotions gave her a headache the longer she considered the implications.
“So what do you propose we do first?” Hosus asked finally, decision made, not really expecting an immediate answer.
“Straight to business. I expected no less.” At this Hosus looked quickly at him, suspicion glowing brightly in her eyes. “Though my name may not be known to you, Hosus of Trieth, you are certainly known to me. A hunter…”here he paused for a moment, “of your aptitude does not go unnoticed to those who search out such talents.”
At this, Hosus’ mind changed and she made as if to leave, but as soon as she put her hand on the tabletop her wrist was seized in an iron grasp. “You don’t want to leave. That would only draw unwanted attention.”
“From whom? Friends of yours? Are you going to threaten my sister too?”
“Do not be silly. Do you truly believe that we, the Council’s chosen, won’t be followed, precisely as you suggested?”
Their relationship from that point on had been strained, and it had only been in recent weeks that her suspicion of him had diminished to a normal healthy level. After that incident in the tavern, they had decided to gather a small group of fighters to aid them. Pral found Phanza, and Hosus managed to convince Bertan and Nar, whom she had known since they were children. Glyc and Wenley were last moment additions to their party. When they had all met in the town of Drakna before setting out, the town had been holding a festival. One of the spectacles was an archery tournament, and the twins had tied for first place. Though they fired a dozen shafts apiece, neither was able to outscore the other and they finally split the grand prize. After the tournament, Pral and Hosus approached them jointly, offering them the adventure of a lifetime. The twins had deliberated only a few moments before agreeing. With that, their group was set. They started out on their journey the next day.
Now, two months later, Hosus wondered if any of them were experiencing doubts about this endeavor. She only hoped that, in the end, they would all live to tell about it.
Sitting beneath a low hanging branch, Hosus reflected on that critical night when she had met Pral and they had embarked on this journey.
* * *
It had not been a day that foretold some fateful event. It had been a cool day, but sunny, at the beginning of the previous autumn. The leaves had begun to change colors, and the birds were beginning to migrate, soaring over her homeland in large Vs or in giant flocks.
She had been stalking game through her Highland forest home, hunting for her dinner. She had spotted her prey, a small doe that had gotten separated from her herd and had been wandering ceaselessly for two days. The deer was now refreshing itself at a small brook, but before Hosus began her final approach, a soft rustling close to her right froze her step. It was not an animal noise. Hosus knew that for sure. Her attention focused on this intruder, and, quieter than a mouse, made her way to a better vantage point to view this newcomer. It bothered her that she had only discovered his presence now, for she had been scouting about constantly whenever she lost her doe, and she had seen no other signs of human presence.
Sliding along a backward route, Hosus slowly circled around to where she had pinpointed the source of the noise. But when she came upon the spot, there was no one. Approaching carefully, she saw the slight indentations where a body had been crouched in the soft earth.
She sensed rather than saw the attack coming from behind. She dodged right, hoping the attacker was right-handed and his attack would leave him off-balance after missing. Turning quickly, she aimed a spinning kick where her opponent’s head should have been. But he had anticipated her, and had already retreated a few steps.
Hosus drew her knives, one held in a defensive grip while the other was grasped to throw. But before she could begin her next attack, the man stood up to his full height and lowered his weapons. Though this was obviously the end of the round, Hosus was in no way prepared to call this the end of the fight.
“As skillful as they claimed. And as wary.”
“Who are you?” Hosus whispered, peering into the shadows of her assailant’s face, obscured by a dark cowl.
“Someone who knows things. And knows people. For example, I know that you are one of the best scouts in the known world. I also know a certain person who requires your considerable talents to complete an endeavor.”
“If you are but a messenger, give me the message and be gone. You have already lost me my meal.” Her voice held an edge of anger.
“As perceptive and aware as I imagined. Possibly better. Few, if any, could have detected me at all, let alone evade a surprise attack.” He seemed to be talking to himself.
“The message.” Though Hosus responded calmly, this man put her on edge. She wanted to be away from him as quickly as possible.
“If you insist. Hosus, daughter of Trieth, sister to Lian, you are hereby requested to appear before the Council of Seven to discuss matters to be then disclosed. This meeting will take place in Terada, in one week’s time. If you decide to refuse this invitation, your sister will be killed...” Here the man paused. All Hosus could see was the glean of his teeth as he grinned nastily at her. “…by our appointed messenger.”
He paused again, as if to allow Hosus to process this information. He said only one more thing before disappearing. “And trust me, little Lian and I will have much fun before she dies.”
At this final threat, Hosus launched her dagger at the man, aiming for his heart. But he was too quick, side-stepping the attack and melting into the brush as if he belonged to the forest.
Hosus quickly retrieved her weapon. She sensed nothing around her and the forest was full of natural sounds again. Hosus figured the man would not bother her now that he had relayed his message but she was still very uneasy. Sheathing her weapon, she let her fingers linger on the hilt as she began the day long journey that would take her back into civilized lands. It would take her at least another day to prepare for her trip to Terada, and then several more to reach her destination. The thought of not going never crossed her mind.
Since their mother had died two years hence, Hosus and her younger sister Lian had become closer than ever. Where Hosus had learned and perfected the art of the forest, Lian had mastered those of people. Lian was the most important person in Hosus’s life. If that masked messenger could track and nearly trap her that easily, Lian would never stand a chance. The decision had been made for her, it seemed.
It took her most of the day to leave the forest, and from there it took her a few more hours into the night to reach her home at the edge of the city Goril, approximately a three days journey by horseback from Terada.
She slept until nearly noon the next day, allowing her body to recuperate after the harsh pace she had set herself the day before. When she finally did arise, she began her preparations immediately, stopping only to wolf down a quick lunch of apples and smoked venison. First, she went to her sister’s home, and told her everything of what had transpired. Although Lian was frightened for Hosus to be doing anything under such threats of violence, she had enough confidence in her sister to believe she would keep herself out of trouble. As for herself, Lian would invite some tracker friends to stay with her for a time as added security.
After saying a short goodbye with admonitions to be careful, Hosus prepared all of her clothes, as well as laying out all of her knives. She sharpened each meticulously before storing them in hidden pockets about her person. By the time darkness fell, all was in order. In the morning, all she would need to do was saddle up her chestnut mare Waterlily, and she would be off. Though her mind was plagued by worries and doubts, Hosus quickly dropped into the deep and dreamless sleep that follows adrenaline.
The night passed quickly, and Hosus woke with a start at dawn. Rubbing the sleep from her eyes, she made herself some sandwiches for the ride today. She quickly packed and saddled Waterlily, turning the mare out of the little stable and onto the road. Hosus let Waterlily set the pace for now, but she paused in front of her sister’s home to mutter what she hoped would not be her final goodbye. She didn’t know what fate had in store for her though, and with these final, gloomy thoughts clouding her mind, she heeled Waterlily into a slow trot down the road.
The three days and two nights ride from Goril to Terada passed smoothly. The weather remained cooperative, even warming slightly as the days passed. Hosus spotted some menacing storm clouds on the horizon the eve of the second day but they had passed south of her.
As she rode, she contemplated the arrival of the Council’s messenger. His sudden appearance during her hunt made her anxious. She knew that forest, had lived in its glades and knew its secret places. The fact that that man had taken her so completely unaware made her feel violated in a much more profound way than merely being ambushed. He had ambushed her in her own place, possibly could have killed her. The thought made her shiver despite the warm sun on her back.
On the eve of the third day, Hosus arrived at the gates of the bustling market metropolis of Terada. They were majestic, ornately carved with the history of the Terada nation, and gilded in silver. They stood wide, releasing a slowly moving line of merchant trains and farmers who squinted as the setting sun glinted off the silver, causing the gates to shine brilliantly and the city walls to glow. Hosus paused a moment at the side of the road to admire the road and bask in the last warmth of the day. Then the sun slid below the horizon with a last wink and Hosus hurried through the gates before they closed for the night.
Hosus wandered through the torch lit streets, searched until she found a respectable looking inn with decently priced beds by the name of The Crying Onion. The inn’s sign, Hosus noted, showed an onion crying while peeling an onion. She was still chuckling at the dark joke as she threw her pack on the soft down bed and looked out of her small window onto a still busy avenue just off the market street. She had three days left until the Council meeting and contemplated her next steps. After washing the dust from her face with water, Hosus decided to use that time to discover as much about the Council of Seven as she could. What under the sun would they need me for? This thought gnawed at her as she turned in and tried to sleep.
As it turned out, the next few days revealed little to her, only what was common knowledge. No one knew their actual identities, but no one had a grudge. Even the riffraff praised their leaders. They ruled fairly, and judged righteously, according to all concerned. Despite handing out rather more coins than she would have liked for information, she could not find a single negative opinion of the Council. This finding intrigued and worried her. Even though she spent most of her time in the forest, she found it difficult to believe that not a single person she had spoken with had any gripes with their rulers, especially such enigmatic ones. Her only recourse, it seemed, would be to find out for herself.
On the appointed day, Hosus approached the building that housed the Council chambers. They had not thought it necessary to give her an exact time, a small detail that would have saved Hosus a great deal of irritation. As it was, she appeared at the Council building doors shortly after breakfast. The building itself was not particularly grand but it was well-built and had a simple beauty to its curves and domed roof. There was nothing ornate besides some fancy latticework she noticed was carved out of white marble. She noted the wealth and was impressed by the subtlety of its display. She entered the open doors and was immediately greeted by a liveried butler who ushered her down several short hallways to a room of middling size. Apparently, she was the object of importance today.
The room was shadowed, the windows covered by thick curtains. Two lamps had been placed toward the back of the room, flanking a long, curved table. Placed behind the table were seven in the middle chairs, all rather plain in appearance, which did not surprise Hosus. Even here at the heart of their power, the wealth and power of the Council was subtle but strong. With the position of the lamps, the Council members would be shadows to her eyes. This seemed almost dramatic to her after the subtlety of building, and she was curious about this shadow of anonymity they maintained. She expected this would an interesting meeting indeed.
She stood waiting against the wall across from the chairs. There were two chairs positioned in the center of the room, facing the Seven, which she assumed she was to occupy at some point today. Who the other chair was meant for, she had no idea.
Hosus did not have to wait long, but enough time elapsed to make a normal man uncomfortable. The door through which she had entered reopened and a towering man emerged. At first, Hosus believed it was the Council’s messenger, but when she looked more carefully, she did not see the same cruelty in either his face or his bearing.
Dressed in a forest green cloak that fell to his ankles, he was handsome, with green, penetrating eyes that had fading crow feet, as if he had once smiled a great deal but no longer. His black hair was cut short, except for a small topknot. His face was hard, his nose had that once broken look, and his dark skin was patterned with white crisscrosses of small scars. Under his cloak, she could see hard muscle moving beneath his shirt. He had the look of a predator, and a successful one at that.
He looked only once at Hosus, but she felt that same appraising look that she had just given him. Without hesitation, he moved to the middle of the room, and stood behind the proffered chair. He did not sit. Hosus decided to follow his lead, and walked forward. She felt tiny standing beside him, but she did not let this slight discomfiture show. Wordlessly, they awaited the Seven.
They waited only a few moments before two doors on the side of the great room swung open noiselessly to admit the ruling Council of Seven. They filed in and took their places in ceremonious silence, and remained thus for several minutes, simply staring at Hosus and the other man.
Hosus did not move, but stared directly back at the man in the center. They were all watching her and the stranger next to her, but she guessed the man in the middle lead these men. If she understood anything about ruling groups, then it was he who had summoned her. Straining to see through the shadows, Hosus faced down the man who had threatened her and her sister.
“Hosus, daughter of Trieth, and Pral Stanj,” began the central figure, “You have been summoned before this ruling Council on matters of great import. But firstly, would you prefer to sit? We may be together for quite some time.” The speaker, whom Hosus took to be the Council Minister, motioned to the chairs in front of them. Hosus decided it might be wise to look pliant, at least for the time being. She needed to learn more about these men who played with her life.
Pral, however, remained standing. His eyes never stayed still, but were constantly roving all over the room, scanning everything. Hosus could not decide if this was merely paranoia or simply the way the man acted. She did not let it bother her.
The man nodded, once, his mouth twitching perceptibly at Pral despite the heavy shadowing. “Very well, down to business. You have been summoned because you both have tremendous talents. This council has recently uncovered information that could be dangerous to our land in the future if it is not immediately acted upon. We are asking you,” here he paused, as if contemplating his next words. “We are asking you to make a foray into the Dead Lands and retrieve a certain artifact we believe has been hidden there. Please, do not scoff at this duty. This artifact, if it were activated, could be an instrument of great destruction in the wrong hands.”
Once again he paused, this time gauging both Hosus and Pral’s reactions. Hosus stifled any response, but she was experiencing no small measure of incredulity. She noticed that her companion also covered any reaction to this odd request.
Appearing satisfied, the man opened his mouth again to continue, but he was cut short when Pral finally spoke.
“Reveal your true plans, Herkiel, or we will certainly not cooperate.”
Herkiel’s mouth snapped shut with a click. Even in the gloom of the Council chambers, Hosus could see color flood his cheeks. She glanced quickly at Pral, wondering why he might include her, but he was as stoic as ever.
The Council Minister immediately reined in his anger, and said normally, “Very well, Pral. If you will be insolent to this Council, we will simply dismiss you. Guards!”
A pair of heavily-muscled guards entered the room and flanked Pral, who still did not move. The minister nodded, and they each took an arm and tried to steer Pral out of the room. As quick as lightning, he broke their grips, and with two swift strikes, left the guards crumpled on the ground.
The Council collectively gasped and one of them pushed his chair back as if to leave. Hosus was impressed by this man’s speed and skill but she was not surprised. Pral returned to his former position, and stared hard at Herkiel. The minister stared back dazed, but could not hold the stare for long.
“Tell us the rest, Minister,” Pral made the title sound like a curse, “or both of us shall leave you to fetch your artifact on your own.”
Herkiel’s gaze turned to his unconscious guards, his jaw hanging. Hosus could almost smell the fear emanating from the entire Council, but it was strongest from Herkiel. She smiled slightly to herself, impressed with how Pral had so quickly reversed the side with power.
Although Pral had spoken to the minister, it was another of the Council who spoke. Hosus turned her attention to him, but kept a wary eye on the Council Minister. “This artifact was the source of the original Seven’s power. It allowed them to regulate the weather and other factors to improve the harvest. But over six generations ago, the Council decided to lock the artifact in a vault. They feared the possible consequences of theft, for their neighbors to the south had been raiding deep into Teradan lands. It is this artifact that has been stolen. We want it returned before the thieves discover how to activate it and rain destruction down upon us all.”
Hosus was intrigued by this revelation. A magical artifact capable of controlling the weather, among other things. That was a powerful ability, and a very dangerous one. She noticed Pral glance at her, and she could feel her lips pursed in thought. Hosus stilled her features to match Pral, who only looked bored by the news.
“We have now revealed to you what no one outside of this council has knowledge of. We are charging you with the task of retrieving the Staff of Archelum and returning it to us, that we might hide it once more and keep it safe.”
Silence reigned as the Council waited for an answer. “The Dead Lands lie on the far side of the continent, far outside any boundaries Terada has ever claimed. Why would you hide something that out of reach? And where and how did you get the information that it was found or at least being sought?” Hosus asked.
“Obviously, we did not choose to hide the Staff anywhere,” Herkiel said derisively. “As for our information, it came from a source accorded the highest trust by this Council. This source informed us that, as of two months ago, organized bands of men were seen traversing the Dead Lands. They appeared to be looking for something. It is our belief that these men seek the Staff.”
“Why?”
The men on the Council gave Hosus questioning looks. “Why what?” asked Herkiel, obviously annoyed by the questions.
“Why do you believe these men are after the Staff? Surely it can’t be the only thing to find in the Dead Lands. What particular fact, real or imagined, makes you think they are after this Staff of yours?”
The man who had delivered their mission spoke again. “Our source…our source managed to follow one of these groups. The source reported these men complaining of the cold and sun all for a bloody weathervane. Pardon my language.”
Hosus resisted rolling her eyes. The man’s high voice and chauvinism did not elevate him in her opinion. “One source seems like hardly enough justification to send out a search party to retrieve your toy. Another thought occurs to me that if someone really is looking for your Staff, then they could just follow us to its hiding place and take it from us.”
Herkiel’s mouth split into a toothy grin. “We had thought about that. Thus, we won’t be providing you with the Staff’s exact location.”
Hosus could only shake her head. “You want us, just two people, to search an entire frozen desert by ourselves? For what? To protect something that might as well be a myth to us?” She didn’t bother to mask the contempt in her voice.
She glanced up at Pral, but he did not return her look. “I cannot speak for my companion, but I will accept this task,” he said quickly. Hosus thought the Council’s news had surprised her, but she had thought Pral less obedient than this.
Herkiel must have been just as surprised because he started to say something but sputtered off into shocked silence. “You will?” he sounded positively incredulous.
Pral nodded.
Before Hosus could begin to argue, Herkiel had dismissed them with their charge and Pral was guiding her out by the elbow. She and Pral walked out together, not speaking until they had left the building. When they were finally in a trafficked area, Pral turned to her and offered his hand. “My name, as you know, is Pral Stanj. It is a pleasure to meet you.”
Hosus shook his proffered hand, but coolly returned his gaze. “What was that all about? I’m not going on some fool’s errand for a bunch of hypocritical egomaniacs. Especially not after they threatened my sister.”
“Your sister will be protected. The tracker friends she has staying with her are also friends of mine. They will see that no harm comes to her.”
Hosus was caught off guard. “How do you know my sister?” She had to forcefully keep her hand from going to her dagger. Violence would not get her any answers from this man.
Pral eyed her, and then gave a curt nod. “Not here. Let us adjourn to someplace more private.” He walked off in the direction, not of the inns, but rather towards the docks. Hosus had no choice but to follow.
They walked down the crowded streets, refraining from speaking until they reached their destination. Hosus kept glancing at her large companion, wondering about him, where he came from, what was his history, how he knew her sister, why were they embroiled in this together. The questions never ended, and she was impatient, knowing she would not discover the answers immediately but needing to know now.
The buildings around them quickly changed the further from the town proper they moved. The well-maintained, red-slated roofs began to diminish in height, and the shingles looked worn and weathered. The meticulously clean streets acquired trash along the edges, and the paving stones were worn smooth by the countless footsteps of merchants and sailors traveling towards the markets and inns with their supply of ale.
The smell of the river met her nostrils, and she breathed deeply of the damp scent. It had been many years since Hosus had seen the large river that ran through Terada and carried trade items to and from the capital city, but she would never forget that scent. It reminded her of home, of the streams that ran through the forest and the damp earthen banks. It helped to calm the storm of questions raging in her mind. She would find the answers one way or another.
She finally spotted the docks from around a building at the end of the street. This main thoroughfare from the docks to the city curved slightly, so new travelers moving towards the city center would be constantly surprised at the simple beauties around the bend.
Hosus peered out upon the many docks that extended out into the river. The early afternoon sun glinted off the surface, illuminating the boats and ships that traversed the flowing water. Dozens upon dozens of crafts flitted between the docks and ships anchored in the deep center of the river. The docks, themselves immense creations of timber and stone, extended across only a small portion of the water. They looked like fat, stubby fingers grabbing greedily at the wealth the river represented. Hosus resented this perversion of nature, but she understood the human necessity.
They were nearly among the ships when Pral finally turned into a dilapidated building where the door hung askew on rusted hinges. She entered and her ears were immediately assaulted by shouted conversations and raucous laughter. She peered up at Pral, and figured this place was as safe as any for a private conversation. Hosus also doubted that anyone would mind if she was forced to get a little rough.
Working their way to the back of the tavern, they took a small table in the corner, and both put their backs to the wall. A waitress walked by to take their orders. Pral asked for ale but Hosus shook her head. They waited in relative silence until his drink was delivered.
Though she was impatient, Hosus showed none of it and waited stoically for Pral to sip his ale. When he placed the mug back on the table, nearly empty, she expected him to begin speaking. When he remained silent, Hosus decided to begin.
“So who are you really? You’re name might be Pral Stanj, but that tells me nothing about you. And you owe me some answers.”
Pral glanced over at her before speaking. “I am like you, a loner,” he said, a sad grin appearing slowly, “some might even call me a mercenary.”
Though Hosus had known several mercenaries in her time, she had never met any like this. Though she assumed she would have heard of such a one as Pral before, she took nothing for granted. “You fight for money. Perhaps not an honest profession, but a lucrative one.”
He almost looked surprised, shrugging away her comment. “And yourself?” he asked in turn.
“A hunter by profession.”
He shrugged again, his only reaction to her taciturnity.
“How do you know my sister?”
“I do not know her personally. But I know the man the Council sent for you. He is cruel and petty and very dangerous. He and I have had dealings in the past, none of which ended pleasantly, and I try to keep informed of his actions. When I found out the Council had sent him for you, I decided to take steps of my own.”
Hosus paused, unsure of whether or not to feel appreciative of his protective response or suspicious. “Why?”
Pral sipped his ale again before answering. “Partially because I do not feel particularly comfortable with leaving anyone in that man’s hands. Partially because I feared that you would not assent to joining me under any condition if your sister were in danger.”
“So I should trust you over the Council? Why should I trust any of you?”
“Honestly, you probably shouldn’t.” The words came slowly, as if it were an effort for Pral to speak. Hosus waited for him to continue but he just stared into his mug.
Frustration was building up inside of her and Hosus felt like taking the mug and smashing it over Pral’s head. Why did any of this have to involve her sister? How could she protect Lian? Even if she could trust this strange but powerful man, what was she to do? Amid these questions, a curious part of her whispered about the Dead Lands and the Staff.
“How do I know Lian will be safe?” she asked quietly.
“There are no guarantees in this world, but she will be protected by men I trust. This is the only guarantee I can give you.”
Hosus remained silent. Something in Pral’s words, the way he spoke, made her feel inclined to trust him. Yet her natural tendency this way made her suspicious. The conflicting emotions gave her a headache the longer she considered the implications.
“So what do you propose we do first?” Hosus asked finally, decision made, not really expecting an immediate answer.
“Straight to business. I expected no less.” At this Hosus looked quickly at him, suspicion glowing brightly in her eyes. “Though my name may not be known to you, Hosus of Trieth, you are certainly known to me. A hunter…”here he paused for a moment, “of your aptitude does not go unnoticed to those who search out such talents.”
At this, Hosus’ mind changed and she made as if to leave, but as soon as she put her hand on the tabletop her wrist was seized in an iron grasp. “You don’t want to leave. That would only draw unwanted attention.”
“From whom? Friends of yours? Are you going to threaten my sister too?”
“Do not be silly. Do you truly believe that we, the Council’s chosen, won’t be followed, precisely as you suggested?”
Their relationship from that point on had been strained, and it had only been in recent weeks that her suspicion of him had diminished to a normal healthy level. After that incident in the tavern, they had decided to gather a small group of fighters to aid them. Pral found Phanza, and Hosus managed to convince Bertan and Nar, whom she had known since they were children. Glyc and Wenley were last moment additions to their party. When they had all met in the town of Drakna before setting out, the town had been holding a festival. One of the spectacles was an archery tournament, and the twins had tied for first place. Though they fired a dozen shafts apiece, neither was able to outscore the other and they finally split the grand prize. After the tournament, Pral and Hosus approached them jointly, offering them the adventure of a lifetime. The twins had deliberated only a few moments before agreeing. With that, their group was set. They started out on their journey the next day.
Now, two months later, Hosus wondered if any of them were experiencing doubts about this endeavor. She only hoped that, in the end, they would all live to tell about it.
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
Character Index (through Ch. 4)
Pral Stanj (“Prall” “STonj”) -- leader of the group, Pral is dark man with green eyes. His face is cross-hatched by a myriad of small scars from his experience in combat. He usually keeps his hair closely cut except for a topknot. Pral is of large stature, standing just over six feet tall and has a very muscular build. His preferred weaponry is a long blade and buckler for quick offense and defense. A quiet man, Pral possesses extraordinary knowledge of the future bordering on clairvoyance. He is ruthless in pursuit of his goals, but has a softer side buried deep within him.
Hosus of Trieth (“Ho-SUESS” “tree-ETH”) – daughter of Trieth and sister of Lian, Hosus has been a loner much of her life. She has spent the majority of her time in the woods and learned how to track and hunt during her adolescence. She is a petite woman, with shoulder-length dark hair the hue of the forest floor after a heavy rain. Her brown eyes match her hair. Her preferred weapons are daggers and she has perfected her form of physical magic that leaves her opponents dazed and disoriented. She is a curious soul, sometimes allowing her curiosity to distract her from the task at hand. She is also fiercely loyal to those she considers her own.
Bertran (“BUR-trin”) – an absolute giant of man, Bertran overshadows even Pral’s significant stature. Standing nearly seven feet tall, Bertran spent part of his youth apprenticed to a blacksmith, forging his muscles and weapons for battle. He left his master’s forge after his mother’s death and reunited with his younger brother, Nar. Together, they perform the protective and martial duties for their small town as well as help their neighbors when additional strength is called for. Because of his status as town protector, Bertran practices with his giant bastard sword against his younger brother daily. Despite an angry youth, Bertran calmed down and learned patience after his mother’s death. He loves his brother dearly and is protective of anyone smaller than himself. He grew up in the same village as Hosus.
Nar (“NAR”)– tiny in comparison to his older brother, Nar is of average height but thick with muscle. Built much like one would imagine a dwarf, Nar worked as a woodcutter for a local mill for several years, chopping trees and hauling logs. Reunited with his brother after their mother’s death, Nar was shocked by the change in his brother’s personality and respects him deeply. Content to share protective duties with his brother, Nar is often seen as the more taciturn of the two. He is a thoughtful person content to let others speak, but he is intelligent and well-studied in history and geography (two secret delights he studies whenever he can find new information). Because of his time as a woodcutter, Nar prefers axes to swords, but his axes could never be confused for simple wood axes. Incidentally, those particular war axes were forged by Bertran’s old master. Growing up, he was close friends with Hosus and was one of few who understood her.
Phanza (“PHAWN-zuh”) – from an early age, Phanza showed an aptitude for managing magical energies. He was entered into the Wizard’s Keep at the age of 8, several years before normal apprentice magicians. He quickly understood new methods and techniques shown to him by the elder Mages and was on par with many of them by his seventeenth birthday. Because of his young age, he was unable to partake of the Mage’s Ritual, the required test of will, magical aptitude, and strength, which would enter him into the Keep’s records as a full Mage. Until he could at the age of 25, Phanza studied under the First Wizard studying new and often dangerous methods of using raw magical energies to power mechanical contrivances. He participated in the Mage’s Ritual on his 25th birthday but experienced such terrors during the test that he nearly died. He is extremely intelligent but accustomed to following orders. Phanza was discovered by Pral while running errands by the First Wizard far from the Wizard’s Keep. His staff is crafted from a rare type of grass that grows as tall and as hard as some trees. It allows him to channel his icy will through it and set enemies ablaze with burning coldfire. He feels very comfortable with Hosus because of her own magical talents and understands the loner mentality.
Glyc (“GLICK”) – twin brother to Wenley, Glyc is the trouble maker of the two. Always willing to go one step farther, he was chastised much as a youth for his sometimes dangerous pranks. It was not until his brother almost drowned because of one of these pranks that Glyc learned a healthy sense of caution. Nonetheless, Glyc is still the first to leap before looking and gets him and his brother into trouble many times in their travels. His preferred weapon is a short bow, influenced by a childhood gift from his father who worked as fletcher. He is also quite skilled with two short blades that symbolize his brother and himself as a dangerous pair. Glyc’s is a sarcastic personality but rarely is he malicious in his teasing.
Wenley (“WEN-lee”) – twin brother to Glyc, Wenley was born first, and so adopted the role of big brother. He is a reserving influence on his brother’s impetuousness but often got dragged into Glyc’s pranks nonetheless and was punished as well. He nearly drowned at a young age when Glyc thought it would be funny trip him off a local foot bridge into a lazy river, but he was rescued by a nearby bystander. He immediately forgave his brother after the incident and promised never to tell their father. Given the same present by their father, Wenley also prefers the short bow. He scoffed when his brother suggested they get matching sword pairs, but he covets them as a connection to his twin. Though reserved, Wenley will often join his brother in teasing their friends, providing a witty counterpoint to his twin’s sarcasm.
Slandra (“SLON-druh”) – nine foot tall snake-like beings, the Slandra inhabit the Ferondil Mountain Range in the north of the continent. They are a tribal civilization, known for their ornate pottery and superb metalworking abilities. They have a warrior class that is fearsome in battle, and their best armor works are reserved for this elite class. Recently they have been raiding outside of their ancestral mountain home, though no one seems to know why.
Trist Ritin (“Trist” “RITE-in”) – Trist is a scout in the King’s Army and was leading a scouting party for Ramadan Johnsa’s forces. He is a talented and intelligent man that moved his way up through the King’s army quickly after he was conscripted to defend against the Slandra incursions.
Herkiel (“HER-keel”) – Herkiel is the head of the Council of Seven that rules the city-nation of Terada. Though prone to bouts of unrestrained anger, Herkiel is an extremely intelligent and cunning man. He was orphaned as a babe and left unguarded to die in the wilds. However, he survived somehow, despite his young age, and lived in a state of nature until the age of ten when he was found and adopted by a traveling merchant. The merchant was quite wealthy and educated Herkiel in various languages, diplomacy, economics, and politics. This education, as well as the contacts established because of his adopted father’s lucrative business, allowed Herkiel to cultivate himself as a worthy leader of Terada. He is, however, contemptuous of the prospering nation (and all established states) he leads and seeks with a burning determination to see the world return to a state of nature.
Johnsa (“JON-suh”) – Johnsa is a Ramadan in a mercenary force of human fighters who gathered to combat the Slandra menace raiding out of the mountains into Teradan borders. She is an intelligent woman, savvy in the ways of combat and warfare. She grew up the daughter of an army mage who specialized in destructive battle spells. She learned at a young age about the horrors of war, the bloodiness of battle, and the consequences of every action. She grew up moving with her father’s army, and saw much of the wide world. When her father died of old age, Johnsa stayed with the army that had become her family until the age of twenty-six when she departed to join the mercenary force in Terada. Johnsa is also an innate magic user, though she was formerly unaware of her abilities, and she is unable to consciously control her unique form of magic. Johnsa is a smaller woman, standing only 5’4”. She has chestnut hair and her eye color changes between from stormy grey to a sea blue depending on her mood. When her magic is expressed, however, her eyes become blood red. Johnsa prefers the heavy-bladed scimitar that she took from a dead Slandra that was part of the group that killed her men. She is, however, quite skilled with most weapons, though she was never quite able to figure out staves.
Hosus of Trieth (“Ho-SUESS” “tree-ETH”) – daughter of Trieth and sister of Lian, Hosus has been a loner much of her life. She has spent the majority of her time in the woods and learned how to track and hunt during her adolescence. She is a petite woman, with shoulder-length dark hair the hue of the forest floor after a heavy rain. Her brown eyes match her hair. Her preferred weapons are daggers and she has perfected her form of physical magic that leaves her opponents dazed and disoriented. She is a curious soul, sometimes allowing her curiosity to distract her from the task at hand. She is also fiercely loyal to those she considers her own.
Bertran (“BUR-trin”) – an absolute giant of man, Bertran overshadows even Pral’s significant stature. Standing nearly seven feet tall, Bertran spent part of his youth apprenticed to a blacksmith, forging his muscles and weapons for battle. He left his master’s forge after his mother’s death and reunited with his younger brother, Nar. Together, they perform the protective and martial duties for their small town as well as help their neighbors when additional strength is called for. Because of his status as town protector, Bertran practices with his giant bastard sword against his younger brother daily. Despite an angry youth, Bertran calmed down and learned patience after his mother’s death. He loves his brother dearly and is protective of anyone smaller than himself. He grew up in the same village as Hosus.
Nar (“NAR”)– tiny in comparison to his older brother, Nar is of average height but thick with muscle. Built much like one would imagine a dwarf, Nar worked as a woodcutter for a local mill for several years, chopping trees and hauling logs. Reunited with his brother after their mother’s death, Nar was shocked by the change in his brother’s personality and respects him deeply. Content to share protective duties with his brother, Nar is often seen as the more taciturn of the two. He is a thoughtful person content to let others speak, but he is intelligent and well-studied in history and geography (two secret delights he studies whenever he can find new information). Because of his time as a woodcutter, Nar prefers axes to swords, but his axes could never be confused for simple wood axes. Incidentally, those particular war axes were forged by Bertran’s old master. Growing up, he was close friends with Hosus and was one of few who understood her.
Phanza (“PHAWN-zuh”) – from an early age, Phanza showed an aptitude for managing magical energies. He was entered into the Wizard’s Keep at the age of 8, several years before normal apprentice magicians. He quickly understood new methods and techniques shown to him by the elder Mages and was on par with many of them by his seventeenth birthday. Because of his young age, he was unable to partake of the Mage’s Ritual, the required test of will, magical aptitude, and strength, which would enter him into the Keep’s records as a full Mage. Until he could at the age of 25, Phanza studied under the First Wizard studying new and often dangerous methods of using raw magical energies to power mechanical contrivances. He participated in the Mage’s Ritual on his 25th birthday but experienced such terrors during the test that he nearly died. He is extremely intelligent but accustomed to following orders. Phanza was discovered by Pral while running errands by the First Wizard far from the Wizard’s Keep. His staff is crafted from a rare type of grass that grows as tall and as hard as some trees. It allows him to channel his icy will through it and set enemies ablaze with burning coldfire. He feels very comfortable with Hosus because of her own magical talents and understands the loner mentality.
Glyc (“GLICK”) – twin brother to Wenley, Glyc is the trouble maker of the two. Always willing to go one step farther, he was chastised much as a youth for his sometimes dangerous pranks. It was not until his brother almost drowned because of one of these pranks that Glyc learned a healthy sense of caution. Nonetheless, Glyc is still the first to leap before looking and gets him and his brother into trouble many times in their travels. His preferred weapon is a short bow, influenced by a childhood gift from his father who worked as fletcher. He is also quite skilled with two short blades that symbolize his brother and himself as a dangerous pair. Glyc’s is a sarcastic personality but rarely is he malicious in his teasing.
Wenley (“WEN-lee”) – twin brother to Glyc, Wenley was born first, and so adopted the role of big brother. He is a reserving influence on his brother’s impetuousness but often got dragged into Glyc’s pranks nonetheless and was punished as well. He nearly drowned at a young age when Glyc thought it would be funny trip him off a local foot bridge into a lazy river, but he was rescued by a nearby bystander. He immediately forgave his brother after the incident and promised never to tell their father. Given the same present by their father, Wenley also prefers the short bow. He scoffed when his brother suggested they get matching sword pairs, but he covets them as a connection to his twin. Though reserved, Wenley will often join his brother in teasing their friends, providing a witty counterpoint to his twin’s sarcasm.
Slandra (“SLON-druh”) – nine foot tall snake-like beings, the Slandra inhabit the Ferondil Mountain Range in the north of the continent. They are a tribal civilization, known for their ornate pottery and superb metalworking abilities. They have a warrior class that is fearsome in battle, and their best armor works are reserved for this elite class. Recently they have been raiding outside of their ancestral mountain home, though no one seems to know why.
Trist Ritin (“Trist” “RITE-in”) – Trist is a scout in the King’s Army and was leading a scouting party for Ramadan Johnsa’s forces. He is a talented and intelligent man that moved his way up through the King’s army quickly after he was conscripted to defend against the Slandra incursions.
Herkiel (“HER-keel”) – Herkiel is the head of the Council of Seven that rules the city-nation of Terada. Though prone to bouts of unrestrained anger, Herkiel is an extremely intelligent and cunning man. He was orphaned as a babe and left unguarded to die in the wilds. However, he survived somehow, despite his young age, and lived in a state of nature until the age of ten when he was found and adopted by a traveling merchant. The merchant was quite wealthy and educated Herkiel in various languages, diplomacy, economics, and politics. This education, as well as the contacts established because of his adopted father’s lucrative business, allowed Herkiel to cultivate himself as a worthy leader of Terada. He is, however, contemptuous of the prospering nation (and all established states) he leads and seeks with a burning determination to see the world return to a state of nature.
Johnsa (“JON-suh”) – Johnsa is a Ramadan in a mercenary force of human fighters who gathered to combat the Slandra menace raiding out of the mountains into Teradan borders. She is an intelligent woman, savvy in the ways of combat and warfare. She grew up the daughter of an army mage who specialized in destructive battle spells. She learned at a young age about the horrors of war, the bloodiness of battle, and the consequences of every action. She grew up moving with her father’s army, and saw much of the wide world. When her father died of old age, Johnsa stayed with the army that had become her family until the age of twenty-six when she departed to join the mercenary force in Terada. Johnsa is also an innate magic user, though she was formerly unaware of her abilities, and she is unable to consciously control her unique form of magic. Johnsa is a smaller woman, standing only 5’4”. She has chestnut hair and her eye color changes between from stormy grey to a sea blue depending on her mood. When her magic is expressed, however, her eyes become blood red. Johnsa prefers the heavy-bladed scimitar that she took from a dead Slandra that was part of the group that killed her men. She is, however, quite skilled with most weapons, though she was never quite able to figure out staves.
Chapter Two
“I’ll bet you five gold pieces no one comes,” Glyc whispered from the left side of the trail."
You’re on, brother. I don’t trust our luck today,” Wenley replied.
Glyc grinned, and his brother could only make out the slight sheen of his eyes. They waited until they could no longer hear Bertran’s tromping ahead of them, and then waited another slow count of one hundred.
“Let’s go,” they said in unison.
Standing, they walked silently, two vigilant hunters straddling the path. They saw and heard no one other than each other for several minutes.
“Stop!” Wenley whispered, his voice harsh in the stillness.
A moment passed, and Glyc heard a stick snap behind them. The forest was otherwise silent, devoid of birdsong and the natural sounds of the woods. Glyc turned to his brother. Pointing upwards, he mimicked drawing his bow and aiming low. Wenley nodded and clambered up the nearest trunk while Glyc stayed low, crouching in a large bush. In silence, they waited.
They did not wait long before a small, ragged group of human soldiers came stalking through the woods. Six of them followed a smaller man who knelt to the ground, appearing to study the leaves on the forest floor. Glyc decided he wouldn’t kill him yet, and he hoped his brother had the same thought. The scout could be a useful source of information.
Glyc withdrew four arrows from his quiver, jabbed three into the ground and nocked the fourth. He carefully sighted down the shaft at a man in the back of the group.
The group was thirty feet away when the first man fell to the ground, an arrow protruding from his chest. Glyc noticed his brother had chosen the man at the back as well so the group would turn at his death throes. Glyc immediately felled another man with an arrow to his back.
Glyc nodded to himself as he noticed their scout had reacted to the man’s death, but was peering ahead, searching calmly for the enemy. Glyc fitted his second arrow, loosing it at the man left of the scout.
The group quickly dwindled under the twins’ surprise barrage until only two remained. One was the scout. The other was a lucky soldier who had managed to avoid a fatal blow from Glyc’s arrow. Instead, he now had a shaft extending through his shoulder instead of his spine.
***
Trist held his position on the ground. His last soldier was hiding behind a tree, his face contorted in pain. The ambush had decimated his scouting party, and he could see from the skill of the archers he was only alive because they hadn’t wanted him dead.
“Listen to me,” he whispered to his fellow survivor. “Get out of here. Run back to camp and tell the commander to bring a battalion this way. I will draw their fire.”
The soldier nodded. Trist sprinted off to his right, yelling and shouting. The soldier gave him ten paces before he started his own sprint. Trist looked back once in time to see his comrade sprout another feathered shaft from his back.
“Blood and ashes!” Trist cursed loudly. He immediately halted his shouts and dropped back to the ground. “I am in serious trouble,” he thought to himself.
Trist considered his options. There were no more than two archers, but there might be more fighters in hiding. He had seen the tracks of four others, including one giant. They probably knew where he was, and could or would kill him if he ran. That left him only one option.
“I surrender,” he shouted dejectedly.
“Glad to hear it.”
Trist flinched at the voice coming from only a few feet away. He stood up slowly, palms out. He didn’t want to be shot because they thought he might attack.
“Smart man,” came another voice, this one behind him, “Now come with us.”
Trist looked back at his other captor. Then forward again. His eyes grew wide when he saw the same man standing behind him as before him. He felt the blood drain from his face.
“Are you…g-g-ghosts?” Trist could barely force out the whisper. While a brave man, he was also quite superstitious.
The two men burst into laughter. Their guffaws shocked Trist even more. It was some moments before anyone could speak.
“Ghosts, he says,” one of the men finally gasped. This statement caused a new eruption of laughter. When they finally got their laughter under control, they explained Trist’s mistake.
“That’s the first I’ve ever heard of ghosts. No, we’re not ghosts, nor undead. We’re living flesh and bone just like you. We just happen to be twins.”
“Oh.” The simple explanation made Trist feel very silly but he felt immediately better, and the easy bearing of the two men made him less nervous about their intentions. He began to lower his hands and immediately had two arrows pointed at his torso.
“We might not be ghosts, but we’ll still kill you if you give us trouble.” All gaiety had vanished from their voices.
Trist raised his hands again and nodded his understanding. The man behind him pulled his arms behind him and bound his wrists together.
The smiles returned, and with a nod forward, Trist and his captors began their march. They rejoined the path quickly and Trist’s quick eyes soon picked up the other footprints. The trail was no more than an hour old and at the rate his captors were pushing him, they would likely catch up before nightfall.
They walked for several more hours and the trail grew ever fresher. The twins behind him did not speak, but they were kind and gave him water whenever he asked.
Night descended quickly, almost as if someone had snuffed out the sun. The trio halted momentarily to allow their eyes to adjust. Trist’s eyes adjusted quickly and were able to pick out the trail after only a minute. He saw a nod pass between his captors as he began walking the path again without provocation. Strangely, he did not feel nervous despite his captivity.
They walked for several more minutes before stopping suddenly. Trist walked a few more steps before looking back quizzically, but the twins only smiled and pointed forward. He looked ahead again, but before he could completely turn his head he felt cold steel against his throat. He froze immediately, and let his body go loose.
“Smart man,” whispered a distinctively feminine voice. Trist realized that was the second time he had heard that this day and hoped he would fare as well as he had initially.
Trist looked down at the knife holder. A slender woman looked up at him, and her cold eyes bored into his. He gulped involuntary.
“A healthy dose of fear under tight control. Fast eyes. An obvious soldier mentality. Except for the fact that he is the last living member of his party. That shows intelligence,” she said, almost to herself.
Trist blinked. How had she known? He had heard no words exchanged nor seen hand signals flashed. His fear jumped. These were no ordinary brigands.
Glyc and Wenley smiled at each other. Hosus was a master when it came to making people uncomfortable. She glanced at them, then back up at the prisoner. Her blade never wavered next to his throat. The steel glowed dully.
“Come on. The camp is just ahead,” Hosus stated flatly.
“Is dinner ready?” Wenley asked cheerily. His stomach echoed the question.
“Pral is cooking.”
Wenley’s face dropped. “Damn.”
Everyone laughed except the prisoner. Hosus’s blade was still pressed against his throat and he hadn’t twitched.
“Stop scaring the man, Hosus, and let him move,” Glyc reprimanded.
Hosus blushed slightly, though it was near impossible to see in the dark, and sheathed her dagger. Wenley thought he heard a muttered apology escape her mouth. He smiled at the thought.
“Are you going to stand there like idiots or come eat?” someone yelled from up ahead.
“We’re coming,” Glyc and Wenley said in unison. Hosus smiled at the shared response.
Hosus nodded her head towards the camp and three wanderers and their prisoner entered a small hollow. They were greeted by the welcomes of comrades and the smell of scorched venison.
“Beware the venison,” Glyc whispered to the soldier. “If you eat it quickly, you won’t have to taste it.”
Once everyone was in the light of the cooking fire, the talk ended and all eyes turned toward the prisoner. The bound man turned towards Bertran.
“I am Trist Ritin, a scout and courier in the King’s army.” He bowed.
Bertran smiled at the group over the prostrated man’s head, amused by his assumed role.
“I am Bertran, a humble swordsman of these lands and slightly less important in this group than you give me credit for.”
Trist’s head snapped up, his eyes following Bertran’s outstretched finger to another swordsman, veiled in a heavy cloak of dark green. Their eyes met, and Trist felt nearly overwhelmed by the controlled power behind that gaze.
“My name is Pral Stanj. You are well met, Trist Ritin, though not in the most pleasant of circumstances.”
Trist nodded and bowed again. Pral inclined his head in greeting.
“Glyc. Wenley. A report, please, while we eat,” Pral commanded politely.
“Of course,” Wenley stated.
“Right away,” Glyc added.
“But first…”
“Some broth…”
“Perhaps some bread…”
“And we’ll begin,” they finished together.
Everyone but Pral laughed, but he smiled slightly and nodded his acquiescence. Even Trist could not stop himself from grinning at the twins.
After a hasty meal, Glyc and Wenley launched into their tale. They began with a quick recap of the terrain and tactics of their ambush, followed by a very detailed description of the force Trist had been leading. Pral nodded along, occasionally interjecting with a question for his own clarification.
The story ended with the discussion of Trist’s capture and his subsequent “enlistment” in their group. At this point, Trist became the focus of attention.
“Allow me to make introductions,” said Pral with a small sympathetic smile.
“I am, and you already know Bertran and the twins Glyc and Wenley. The man with the axes is Nar, and with the staff is Phanza. I believe you have met Hosus,” he finished with a small look at the woman.
Trist nodded at each in turn, and gave a small bow to Hosus, causing the twins to smile mischievously. Hosus gave them a dirty look before retreating back into stony silence.
“Seeing as you’re our prisoner,” Trist looked over at Bertran, who had begun speaking, “you might as well be comfortable. We can’t really let you go now can we?” he asked of no one in particular.
Trist was confused for a second, but he did not feel nervous. These people, who had thus far done him no harm, would not kill him outright…would they?
He didn’t see Hosus move until she was nearly behind him. But when he tried to follow her movements, his body went suddenly rigid. He peered around wildly, and thought he saw a saddened look cross Phanza’s face before he felt the light touch of cold steel at the base of his skull. Panic filled his body, but no matter how much he tried to free himself of his invisible bonds, his limbs would not respond.
He felt Hosus bend close behind him.
“I’m sorry. May you live forever on the green shores of Iliath.” With these final words, Hosus slid her blade precisely through the back of Trist’s neck. His body remained upright, held by Phanza’s spell. A short word caused the former tracker to sprawl forward on the forest carpet.
“Why did we have to do that?” Glyc immediately growled. “He was smart. We could have recruited him.”
Hosus shook her head, but it was Pral who answered. “He was a loyal soldier at heart, and that would not have changed no matter how long you tried Glyc. Furthermore, we told him who we are. Our mission is secret, and our identities, at least some of us, are not widely unknown. If it were discovered that such a group as ours was traveling together, it would raise dangerous questions. We have a job to do, and nothing can stand in our way.”
Glyc and his brother started muttering between themselves, occasionally casting nasty glances at Pral, who stonily ignored them. The deed was done; there was no turning back.
No one else voiced their opinions, but most of them believed the scout had not needed to die. One of the reasons they followed Pral, though, in spite of his ruthlessness, was his uncanny foreknowledge. Perhaps this was one such occasion.
You’re on, brother. I don’t trust our luck today,” Wenley replied.
Glyc grinned, and his brother could only make out the slight sheen of his eyes. They waited until they could no longer hear Bertran’s tromping ahead of them, and then waited another slow count of one hundred.
“Let’s go,” they said in unison.
Standing, they walked silently, two vigilant hunters straddling the path. They saw and heard no one other than each other for several minutes.
“Stop!” Wenley whispered, his voice harsh in the stillness.
A moment passed, and Glyc heard a stick snap behind them. The forest was otherwise silent, devoid of birdsong and the natural sounds of the woods. Glyc turned to his brother. Pointing upwards, he mimicked drawing his bow and aiming low. Wenley nodded and clambered up the nearest trunk while Glyc stayed low, crouching in a large bush. In silence, they waited.
They did not wait long before a small, ragged group of human soldiers came stalking through the woods. Six of them followed a smaller man who knelt to the ground, appearing to study the leaves on the forest floor. Glyc decided he wouldn’t kill him yet, and he hoped his brother had the same thought. The scout could be a useful source of information.
Glyc withdrew four arrows from his quiver, jabbed three into the ground and nocked the fourth. He carefully sighted down the shaft at a man in the back of the group.
The group was thirty feet away when the first man fell to the ground, an arrow protruding from his chest. Glyc noticed his brother had chosen the man at the back as well so the group would turn at his death throes. Glyc immediately felled another man with an arrow to his back.
Glyc nodded to himself as he noticed their scout had reacted to the man’s death, but was peering ahead, searching calmly for the enemy. Glyc fitted his second arrow, loosing it at the man left of the scout.
The group quickly dwindled under the twins’ surprise barrage until only two remained. One was the scout. The other was a lucky soldier who had managed to avoid a fatal blow from Glyc’s arrow. Instead, he now had a shaft extending through his shoulder instead of his spine.
***
Trist held his position on the ground. His last soldier was hiding behind a tree, his face contorted in pain. The ambush had decimated his scouting party, and he could see from the skill of the archers he was only alive because they hadn’t wanted him dead.
“Listen to me,” he whispered to his fellow survivor. “Get out of here. Run back to camp and tell the commander to bring a battalion this way. I will draw their fire.”
The soldier nodded. Trist sprinted off to his right, yelling and shouting. The soldier gave him ten paces before he started his own sprint. Trist looked back once in time to see his comrade sprout another feathered shaft from his back.
“Blood and ashes!” Trist cursed loudly. He immediately halted his shouts and dropped back to the ground. “I am in serious trouble,” he thought to himself.
Trist considered his options. There were no more than two archers, but there might be more fighters in hiding. He had seen the tracks of four others, including one giant. They probably knew where he was, and could or would kill him if he ran. That left him only one option.
“I surrender,” he shouted dejectedly.
“Glad to hear it.”
Trist flinched at the voice coming from only a few feet away. He stood up slowly, palms out. He didn’t want to be shot because they thought he might attack.
“Smart man,” came another voice, this one behind him, “Now come with us.”
Trist looked back at his other captor. Then forward again. His eyes grew wide when he saw the same man standing behind him as before him. He felt the blood drain from his face.
“Are you…g-g-ghosts?” Trist could barely force out the whisper. While a brave man, he was also quite superstitious.
The two men burst into laughter. Their guffaws shocked Trist even more. It was some moments before anyone could speak.
“Ghosts, he says,” one of the men finally gasped. This statement caused a new eruption of laughter. When they finally got their laughter under control, they explained Trist’s mistake.
“That’s the first I’ve ever heard of ghosts. No, we’re not ghosts, nor undead. We’re living flesh and bone just like you. We just happen to be twins.”
“Oh.” The simple explanation made Trist feel very silly but he felt immediately better, and the easy bearing of the two men made him less nervous about their intentions. He began to lower his hands and immediately had two arrows pointed at his torso.
“We might not be ghosts, but we’ll still kill you if you give us trouble.” All gaiety had vanished from their voices.
Trist raised his hands again and nodded his understanding. The man behind him pulled his arms behind him and bound his wrists together.
The smiles returned, and with a nod forward, Trist and his captors began their march. They rejoined the path quickly and Trist’s quick eyes soon picked up the other footprints. The trail was no more than an hour old and at the rate his captors were pushing him, they would likely catch up before nightfall.
They walked for several more hours and the trail grew ever fresher. The twins behind him did not speak, but they were kind and gave him water whenever he asked.
Night descended quickly, almost as if someone had snuffed out the sun. The trio halted momentarily to allow their eyes to adjust. Trist’s eyes adjusted quickly and were able to pick out the trail after only a minute. He saw a nod pass between his captors as he began walking the path again without provocation. Strangely, he did not feel nervous despite his captivity.
They walked for several more minutes before stopping suddenly. Trist walked a few more steps before looking back quizzically, but the twins only smiled and pointed forward. He looked ahead again, but before he could completely turn his head he felt cold steel against his throat. He froze immediately, and let his body go loose.
“Smart man,” whispered a distinctively feminine voice. Trist realized that was the second time he had heard that this day and hoped he would fare as well as he had initially.
Trist looked down at the knife holder. A slender woman looked up at him, and her cold eyes bored into his. He gulped involuntary.
“A healthy dose of fear under tight control. Fast eyes. An obvious soldier mentality. Except for the fact that he is the last living member of his party. That shows intelligence,” she said, almost to herself.
Trist blinked. How had she known? He had heard no words exchanged nor seen hand signals flashed. His fear jumped. These were no ordinary brigands.
Glyc and Wenley smiled at each other. Hosus was a master when it came to making people uncomfortable. She glanced at them, then back up at the prisoner. Her blade never wavered next to his throat. The steel glowed dully.
“Come on. The camp is just ahead,” Hosus stated flatly.
“Is dinner ready?” Wenley asked cheerily. His stomach echoed the question.
“Pral is cooking.”
Wenley’s face dropped. “Damn.”
Everyone laughed except the prisoner. Hosus’s blade was still pressed against his throat and he hadn’t twitched.
“Stop scaring the man, Hosus, and let him move,” Glyc reprimanded.
Hosus blushed slightly, though it was near impossible to see in the dark, and sheathed her dagger. Wenley thought he heard a muttered apology escape her mouth. He smiled at the thought.
“Are you going to stand there like idiots or come eat?” someone yelled from up ahead.
“We’re coming,” Glyc and Wenley said in unison. Hosus smiled at the shared response.
Hosus nodded her head towards the camp and three wanderers and their prisoner entered a small hollow. They were greeted by the welcomes of comrades and the smell of scorched venison.
“Beware the venison,” Glyc whispered to the soldier. “If you eat it quickly, you won’t have to taste it.”
Once everyone was in the light of the cooking fire, the talk ended and all eyes turned toward the prisoner. The bound man turned towards Bertran.
“I am Trist Ritin, a scout and courier in the King’s army.” He bowed.
Bertran smiled at the group over the prostrated man’s head, amused by his assumed role.
“I am Bertran, a humble swordsman of these lands and slightly less important in this group than you give me credit for.”
Trist’s head snapped up, his eyes following Bertran’s outstretched finger to another swordsman, veiled in a heavy cloak of dark green. Their eyes met, and Trist felt nearly overwhelmed by the controlled power behind that gaze.
“My name is Pral Stanj. You are well met, Trist Ritin, though not in the most pleasant of circumstances.”
Trist nodded and bowed again. Pral inclined his head in greeting.
“Glyc. Wenley. A report, please, while we eat,” Pral commanded politely.
“Of course,” Wenley stated.
“Right away,” Glyc added.
“But first…”
“Some broth…”
“Perhaps some bread…”
“And we’ll begin,” they finished together.
Everyone but Pral laughed, but he smiled slightly and nodded his acquiescence. Even Trist could not stop himself from grinning at the twins.
After a hasty meal, Glyc and Wenley launched into their tale. They began with a quick recap of the terrain and tactics of their ambush, followed by a very detailed description of the force Trist had been leading. Pral nodded along, occasionally interjecting with a question for his own clarification.
The story ended with the discussion of Trist’s capture and his subsequent “enlistment” in their group. At this point, Trist became the focus of attention.
“Allow me to make introductions,” said Pral with a small sympathetic smile.
“I am, and you already know Bertran and the twins Glyc and Wenley. The man with the axes is Nar, and with the staff is Phanza. I believe you have met Hosus,” he finished with a small look at the woman.
Trist nodded at each in turn, and gave a small bow to Hosus, causing the twins to smile mischievously. Hosus gave them a dirty look before retreating back into stony silence.
“Seeing as you’re our prisoner,” Trist looked over at Bertran, who had begun speaking, “you might as well be comfortable. We can’t really let you go now can we?” he asked of no one in particular.
Trist was confused for a second, but he did not feel nervous. These people, who had thus far done him no harm, would not kill him outright…would they?
He didn’t see Hosus move until she was nearly behind him. But when he tried to follow her movements, his body went suddenly rigid. He peered around wildly, and thought he saw a saddened look cross Phanza’s face before he felt the light touch of cold steel at the base of his skull. Panic filled his body, but no matter how much he tried to free himself of his invisible bonds, his limbs would not respond.
He felt Hosus bend close behind him.
“I’m sorry. May you live forever on the green shores of Iliath.” With these final words, Hosus slid her blade precisely through the back of Trist’s neck. His body remained upright, held by Phanza’s spell. A short word caused the former tracker to sprawl forward on the forest carpet.
“Why did we have to do that?” Glyc immediately growled. “He was smart. We could have recruited him.”
Hosus shook her head, but it was Pral who answered. “He was a loyal soldier at heart, and that would not have changed no matter how long you tried Glyc. Furthermore, we told him who we are. Our mission is secret, and our identities, at least some of us, are not widely unknown. If it were discovered that such a group as ours was traveling together, it would raise dangerous questions. We have a job to do, and nothing can stand in our way.”
Glyc and his brother started muttering between themselves, occasionally casting nasty glances at Pral, who stonily ignored them. The deed was done; there was no turning back.
No one else voiced their opinions, but most of them believed the scout had not needed to die. One of the reasons they followed Pral, though, in spite of his ruthlessness, was his uncanny foreknowledge. Perhaps this was one such occasion.
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
Chapter One
The circle of Slandra closed slowly around the group of warriors. Their hissing voices passed meaningless yet chilling words to the fighters, describing the hideous deaths they would suffer.
“This should be interesting,” said Bertran, the largest of the group. His great sword was resting lightly on his giant, metal plated shoulders.
“You always had a knack for understatements,” chortled his little brother, Nar, as he tested the balance of his axes, twirling them through his fingers.
The five other members of the group laughed in agreement. They included Pral the swordsman, the twin archers Glyc and Wenley, Phanza the sorcerer, and the female sneak Hosus. Each had his or her weapon ready and sharpened to kill Slandra.
“Be quiet all, while I prepare myself,” Phanza scolded them. The warriors retreated into their expecting silence, mentally preparing themselves for the battle to come.
“What exactly are you planning?” Hosus’s quiet voice cut through the hissing that pervaded the air. Though her voice was calm, the slender blades she held bobbed up and down as she prepared her own form of magic.
“The only spell I know that may see us through this day.”
The twins shifted uneasily, knowing Phanza always had multiple spells for any situation. Phanza’s muttering soon joined the Slandra hissing, and the glade around them descended into shadow.
Several moments passed, filled by Phanza’s mutterings and the rustle of clothes against weapons and armor. The Slandra were only a dozen paces away from the group.
“Circle up,” called Pral, “Glyc, Wenley, get some shafts ready. As soon as Phanza finishes his incantation, choose your targets and loose. Three shafts each, then out swords.”
The twins strung their short bows and jammed three arrows into the soft earth at their feet. They could fire three volleys with their bows before the Slandra moved as many feet.
The circling beasts approached within half a dozen paces of the warriors. Phanza’s mutterings grew louder, from a whisper to almost a shout. The completion of the spell came suddenly, and an unexpected chill fell upon each of the Slandra. Their movements slowed considerably, but the fire in their eyes surged brightly.
“Now!” yelled Pral and Bertran simultaneously.
Glyc and Wenley downed two Slandra before Bertran could lift his sword. Two more fell to Nar’s quick axes, and Bertran decapitated a third. A bright flash erupted from Hosus’s crossed blades, knocking down five in a line.
The Slandra let out a blood-curdling scream and charged. Their movements, slowed by Phanza’s spell, were still fast enough to force the fighters to combat back to back.
The battle was fierce. Bertran’s great sword skewered two, and the twins were forced to hack off additional serpents while Bertran freed his weapon. Phanza and Hosus battled side by side, his staff setting enemies aflame and her blades dropping them where they stood. Nar and Pral completed the circle, hacking and slashing.
Bertran’s sword got caught again, jammed in the plate mail of a larger Slandra, and he got yanked out of the circle. The human warriors’ intensity increased tenfold in their efforts to get to Bertran, and he finally resurfaced to resume his place.
Suffering from cuts in a dozen places, Bertran grabbed two of the curved scimitars from corpses, and his anger destroyed five in seconds. Nar’s left arm got slashed, and his axe fell to the ground. Pral dropped to a knee after being stabbed in the foot.
The fighting lasted only a few minutes. Every Slandra was dead or dying, but the seven warriors had all sustained several wounds.
“Gather round,” ordered Phanza, leaning heavily on his staff.
The twins had to support Bertran, and Hosus and Pral were helping each other. Nar was clutching his bleeding arm, but they quickly surrounded Phanza.
A short phrase left the sorcerer’s lips, and a dome of soft light covered the group. Small cuts healed instantly, and more severe wounds were cleansed and healed to a certain extent. The light dissipated, and Hosus quickly bandaged everything Phanza had not healed completely.
Phanza looked drained after the high use of his energy, his face appearing pale and shrunken. He slowly lowered himself to the ground. Though still young, his magic demanded a high price his body was pressed at times to produce.
“How is everyone?” he asked quietly.
“Bertran has a nasty slash across his back, but it’s not deep enough for any serious damage. Nar and the twins are fine, and Pral’s only real injury is a dent in his buckler,” Hosus replied.
Phanza nodded, peering at Bertran’s wound quickly. He could heal it now, but he would need his energy if another Slandra scouting party found them.
Pral helped Phanza to his feet, growling, “Get them up. We need to move.”
He nodded again, then moved to the others.
“Come, we must depart,” he said gently to Nar.
Together, they helped Bertran to his feet. Slowly, the big man gained his balance, and he hobbled off towards Pral with Nar following slightly behind, his face twisted in worry. Hosus and the twins were right behind them.
Phanza gazed once now upon the dead circle of serpent warriors. The Slandra were a fierce race, and had long lived in the mountain caves to the south. Lately, however, Slandra warrior parties had been raiding the forests around their mountain homes. Their sudden activity was a mystery to the sorcerer. In his bones though, Phanza felt an instinctual fear of what it could mean.
“Phanza?” The quiet voice at his side broke into his reverie.
“I’m coming, Hosus.”
Turning away from the Slandra corpses, Phanza and Hosus followed after the others. Behind them, the bloodstained glade quickly filled with the sounds of carrion eaters and scavengers.
Walking as quickly as possible with their injured companions, Phanza and Hosus took point and led the group down a barely visible deer trail. For two straight hours, the only sound intruding on the enclosed path was the crackling of dried leaves under the group’s boots.
The trail led to the edge of the forest, opening onto a broad grassland that stretched from horizon to horizon. Before stepping out into the open plain, Hosus ordered the others to halt. Dropping to her belly, she slithered into the grass to quickly scout the area.
“I hate it when she scouts alone,” grumbled Bertran. He was fiercely protective of the lithe thief, for they and Nar had grown up in the same village and considered each other family.
Pral just looked at him, but Nar grinned at his older brother.
“She’ll be okay. She always is,” Nar reassured him.
Bertran nodded, but continued to mutter to himself. Everyone else was silent, alone with their thoughts. It was nearly a half hour before Hosus returned.
After drinking some water, she began her report. “There are two raiding parties of Slandra, about ten miles to the south. The north is empty of all but natural animal life, and to the west I saw a large gathering of warriors.”
“Human or Slandra?” Pral asked quickly.
“Human. I counted near seven hundred, which would easily allow them to wipe out those Slandra raiders.”
“I wonder if that is all they plan,” Phanza stated quietly.
Hosus looked at him, but shook her head. She had not thought it wise to slip into the camp and discover their plans. Everyone nodded in agreement, then all eyes turned toward Pral. He would determine their next course of action. Several quiet moments passed before he revealed his plan.
“Obviously, we will not go south. None of us want to battle the Slandra again so soon. To the west, we could join the men. But we do not know if they are friend or foe, and I would rather not take that chance. To the north, there is a river, if I remember correctly, that can take us all the way to the coast, if needs be.”
“I think the choice…” said Glyc.
“…is obvious,” finished Wenley.
Pral nodded, looking at the others. Each consented in turn.
“We go north then,” stated Pral simply.
The group stood, lifted their gear onto their backs, and stepped onto the plain. They faced north, keeping to the edge of the forest, and shielded their eyes from the setting sun in the west. They walked until darkness made everything the same shade of deep blue, then set up camp. They ate a cold dinner, for a fire would have been seen for miles around.
They dropped off to sleep soon thereafter. Bertran assumed the first watch of the night. Nar took his place shortly before midnight, and Pral took the final watch before morning. He always assumed this duty, for it was that time of the night when most people were least watchful.
The night passed uneventfully, and Pral woke everyone up at first light. After quickly collecting their gear, they continued walking north, slowly angling themselves onto the plain. They ate a cold breakfast of travel bread in silence.
Around noon, they discovered a hidden stream. They halted to fill their water skins and allow Hosus to scout ahead. They waited ten minutes before resuming travel, and Hosus caught them after only a few steps.
Her breathing was labored, as if she had just been sprinting, and the look in her eyes spelled trouble.
“What is it?” Phanza asked, dread creeping into his voice.
“It seems we are to fight,” Hosus replied. “We are caught between that human army from yesterday and no small number of Slandra ahead.
“Where did they come from?” questioned Pral.
Hosus only shrugged in response.
“Can we get around?” the twins asked. Despite their extraordinary talents at killing, they detested violence.
“If we move quickly, we may be able to reach the forest. Whether that is safe I cannot say.”
“We go,” Pral stated firmly.
The group quickly turned east, preparing for a long run to the trees. Before they could take fifteen paces, however, Hosus motioned everyone to the ground. They immediately dropped to the grass in a small hollow.
Long moments passed in tense silence, but soon the stomp of hundreds of boots could be heard close by. Phanza peered over the top of the hillock and looked across at several hundred armored humans marching past. He quickly counted the number of soldiers in a row and the number of rows that passed in seconds.
He counted approximately nine hundred soldiers passing their small hideout. He whispered this number to Pral, who nodded grimly.
“Apparently, they received reinforcements during the night. A battle is soon to come. We must be away before it does,” Pral whispered back.
Pral then turned to Hosus and, using hand signs, told her to follow the rearguard of the human force for ten minutes, then follow them into the trees.
Hosus nodded, and slipped quietly into the high grass to await the rearguard. Phanza muttered a quick protective spell over her before she departed, one that would deflect small blades. She would have to protect herself from anything larger than a dirk.
As soon as the rearguard had passed their niche, which was another five minutes, the twins led everyone at a hunched sprint across the grassland. They stopped every few minutes to let everyone catch their breath and stretch their quivering muscles.
The group ran three miles before the grass turned green and the ground became uneven with the roots of the old giants of the forest. It was another quarter of a mile before they were among the trunks that provided them safety.
Bertran collapsed on the ground in exhaustion, gasping for breath. The others gripped trees to hold themselves up, for their quivering legs could barely hold them. Even the invulnerable Pral was breathing heavily.
Several minutes passed in which the only sound to disturb the silent forest was everyone sucking in air. Sounds of battle clashed in the distance, and soon a giant cloud of dust and vultures marked its location.
More minutes passed, and Hosus had not yet appeared. Bertran started mumbling to himself about going after her. Phanza inwardly agreed that it would be prudent to start searching for her, but he knew Pral would never authorize such an action.
A cool breeze rustled the leaves around them, and the warriors never heard the stealthy footsteps of the approaching soldiers. Suddenly, Hosus came crashing through a bush. Her startling appearance immediately caused blades to be drawn and arrows nocked before they saw who it was.
“We must leave!” gasped Hosus.
Pral wasted no time asking questions. He did not even bother to disguise their presence in the forest before everyone was once again jogging through the trees. Bertran handed his sword to Pral and scooped Hosus onto his back.
Before she could complain, Bertran grumbled protectively, “Do not scold me, nor complain. You are lighter than my sword and you can hardly walk.”
Hosus gave him a tight-lipped scowl, but finally nodded. Bertran smiled slightly to himself when he felt Hosus grip him tighter.
At a light jog, the group ran in two columns, three in each. Pral and Bertran led, and Hosus recited her sights from Bertran’s back.
“I followed the rearguard for ten minutes, like you said,” she began. “Before I could get away though, they were ambushed by Slandra. There were only a couple of the snakes but they had the advantage. Anyway, I was stuck between them and the human fighters, so I joined the humans.”
“Obviously,” chuckled Bertran.
“The Slandra caught them in a vise,” continued Hosus. “Though their force was smaller, they had the advantage of surprise and a two-pronged attack. Many of the humans were killed before they could unsheathe their weapons. The battle was over quickly, and the humans retreated even without a counterattack. I managed to outrun them to these woods, but they are close.”
Pral looked back at the twins and made a chopping motion, ordering them to dispatch any followers. Being the two smallest, they would be least likely to be discovered. Hosus would have been the first choice, but her current exhaustion prevented that.
Glyc and Wenley halted and stepped off the trail, melting into the foliage. They would follow when they could no longer hear their companions. The group quickly pulled away from the lurking archers.
“This should be interesting,” said Bertran, the largest of the group. His great sword was resting lightly on his giant, metal plated shoulders.
“You always had a knack for understatements,” chortled his little brother, Nar, as he tested the balance of his axes, twirling them through his fingers.
The five other members of the group laughed in agreement. They included Pral the swordsman, the twin archers Glyc and Wenley, Phanza the sorcerer, and the female sneak Hosus. Each had his or her weapon ready and sharpened to kill Slandra.
“Be quiet all, while I prepare myself,” Phanza scolded them. The warriors retreated into their expecting silence, mentally preparing themselves for the battle to come.
“What exactly are you planning?” Hosus’s quiet voice cut through the hissing that pervaded the air. Though her voice was calm, the slender blades she held bobbed up and down as she prepared her own form of magic.
“The only spell I know that may see us through this day.”
The twins shifted uneasily, knowing Phanza always had multiple spells for any situation. Phanza’s muttering soon joined the Slandra hissing, and the glade around them descended into shadow.
Several moments passed, filled by Phanza’s mutterings and the rustle of clothes against weapons and armor. The Slandra were only a dozen paces away from the group.
“Circle up,” called Pral, “Glyc, Wenley, get some shafts ready. As soon as Phanza finishes his incantation, choose your targets and loose. Three shafts each, then out swords.”
The twins strung their short bows and jammed three arrows into the soft earth at their feet. They could fire three volleys with their bows before the Slandra moved as many feet.
The circling beasts approached within half a dozen paces of the warriors. Phanza’s mutterings grew louder, from a whisper to almost a shout. The completion of the spell came suddenly, and an unexpected chill fell upon each of the Slandra. Their movements slowed considerably, but the fire in their eyes surged brightly.
“Now!” yelled Pral and Bertran simultaneously.
Glyc and Wenley downed two Slandra before Bertran could lift his sword. Two more fell to Nar’s quick axes, and Bertran decapitated a third. A bright flash erupted from Hosus’s crossed blades, knocking down five in a line.
The Slandra let out a blood-curdling scream and charged. Their movements, slowed by Phanza’s spell, were still fast enough to force the fighters to combat back to back.
The battle was fierce. Bertran’s great sword skewered two, and the twins were forced to hack off additional serpents while Bertran freed his weapon. Phanza and Hosus battled side by side, his staff setting enemies aflame and her blades dropping them where they stood. Nar and Pral completed the circle, hacking and slashing.
Bertran’s sword got caught again, jammed in the plate mail of a larger Slandra, and he got yanked out of the circle. The human warriors’ intensity increased tenfold in their efforts to get to Bertran, and he finally resurfaced to resume his place.
Suffering from cuts in a dozen places, Bertran grabbed two of the curved scimitars from corpses, and his anger destroyed five in seconds. Nar’s left arm got slashed, and his axe fell to the ground. Pral dropped to a knee after being stabbed in the foot.
The fighting lasted only a few minutes. Every Slandra was dead or dying, but the seven warriors had all sustained several wounds.
“Gather round,” ordered Phanza, leaning heavily on his staff.
The twins had to support Bertran, and Hosus and Pral were helping each other. Nar was clutching his bleeding arm, but they quickly surrounded Phanza.
A short phrase left the sorcerer’s lips, and a dome of soft light covered the group. Small cuts healed instantly, and more severe wounds were cleansed and healed to a certain extent. The light dissipated, and Hosus quickly bandaged everything Phanza had not healed completely.
Phanza looked drained after the high use of his energy, his face appearing pale and shrunken. He slowly lowered himself to the ground. Though still young, his magic demanded a high price his body was pressed at times to produce.
“How is everyone?” he asked quietly.
“Bertran has a nasty slash across his back, but it’s not deep enough for any serious damage. Nar and the twins are fine, and Pral’s only real injury is a dent in his buckler,” Hosus replied.
Phanza nodded, peering at Bertran’s wound quickly. He could heal it now, but he would need his energy if another Slandra scouting party found them.
Pral helped Phanza to his feet, growling, “Get them up. We need to move.”
He nodded again, then moved to the others.
“Come, we must depart,” he said gently to Nar.
Together, they helped Bertran to his feet. Slowly, the big man gained his balance, and he hobbled off towards Pral with Nar following slightly behind, his face twisted in worry. Hosus and the twins were right behind them.
Phanza gazed once now upon the dead circle of serpent warriors. The Slandra were a fierce race, and had long lived in the mountain caves to the south. Lately, however, Slandra warrior parties had been raiding the forests around their mountain homes. Their sudden activity was a mystery to the sorcerer. In his bones though, Phanza felt an instinctual fear of what it could mean.
“Phanza?” The quiet voice at his side broke into his reverie.
“I’m coming, Hosus.”
Turning away from the Slandra corpses, Phanza and Hosus followed after the others. Behind them, the bloodstained glade quickly filled with the sounds of carrion eaters and scavengers.
Walking as quickly as possible with their injured companions, Phanza and Hosus took point and led the group down a barely visible deer trail. For two straight hours, the only sound intruding on the enclosed path was the crackling of dried leaves under the group’s boots.
The trail led to the edge of the forest, opening onto a broad grassland that stretched from horizon to horizon. Before stepping out into the open plain, Hosus ordered the others to halt. Dropping to her belly, she slithered into the grass to quickly scout the area.
“I hate it when she scouts alone,” grumbled Bertran. He was fiercely protective of the lithe thief, for they and Nar had grown up in the same village and considered each other family.
Pral just looked at him, but Nar grinned at his older brother.
“She’ll be okay. She always is,” Nar reassured him.
Bertran nodded, but continued to mutter to himself. Everyone else was silent, alone with their thoughts. It was nearly a half hour before Hosus returned.
After drinking some water, she began her report. “There are two raiding parties of Slandra, about ten miles to the south. The north is empty of all but natural animal life, and to the west I saw a large gathering of warriors.”
“Human or Slandra?” Pral asked quickly.
“Human. I counted near seven hundred, which would easily allow them to wipe out those Slandra raiders.”
“I wonder if that is all they plan,” Phanza stated quietly.
Hosus looked at him, but shook her head. She had not thought it wise to slip into the camp and discover their plans. Everyone nodded in agreement, then all eyes turned toward Pral. He would determine their next course of action. Several quiet moments passed before he revealed his plan.
“Obviously, we will not go south. None of us want to battle the Slandra again so soon. To the west, we could join the men. But we do not know if they are friend or foe, and I would rather not take that chance. To the north, there is a river, if I remember correctly, that can take us all the way to the coast, if needs be.”
“I think the choice…” said Glyc.
“…is obvious,” finished Wenley.
Pral nodded, looking at the others. Each consented in turn.
“We go north then,” stated Pral simply.
The group stood, lifted their gear onto their backs, and stepped onto the plain. They faced north, keeping to the edge of the forest, and shielded their eyes from the setting sun in the west. They walked until darkness made everything the same shade of deep blue, then set up camp. They ate a cold dinner, for a fire would have been seen for miles around.
They dropped off to sleep soon thereafter. Bertran assumed the first watch of the night. Nar took his place shortly before midnight, and Pral took the final watch before morning. He always assumed this duty, for it was that time of the night when most people were least watchful.
The night passed uneventfully, and Pral woke everyone up at first light. After quickly collecting their gear, they continued walking north, slowly angling themselves onto the plain. They ate a cold breakfast of travel bread in silence.
Around noon, they discovered a hidden stream. They halted to fill their water skins and allow Hosus to scout ahead. They waited ten minutes before resuming travel, and Hosus caught them after only a few steps.
Her breathing was labored, as if she had just been sprinting, and the look in her eyes spelled trouble.
“What is it?” Phanza asked, dread creeping into his voice.
“It seems we are to fight,” Hosus replied. “We are caught between that human army from yesterday and no small number of Slandra ahead.
“Where did they come from?” questioned Pral.
Hosus only shrugged in response.
“Can we get around?” the twins asked. Despite their extraordinary talents at killing, they detested violence.
“If we move quickly, we may be able to reach the forest. Whether that is safe I cannot say.”
“We go,” Pral stated firmly.
The group quickly turned east, preparing for a long run to the trees. Before they could take fifteen paces, however, Hosus motioned everyone to the ground. They immediately dropped to the grass in a small hollow.
Long moments passed in tense silence, but soon the stomp of hundreds of boots could be heard close by. Phanza peered over the top of the hillock and looked across at several hundred armored humans marching past. He quickly counted the number of soldiers in a row and the number of rows that passed in seconds.
He counted approximately nine hundred soldiers passing their small hideout. He whispered this number to Pral, who nodded grimly.
“Apparently, they received reinforcements during the night. A battle is soon to come. We must be away before it does,” Pral whispered back.
Pral then turned to Hosus and, using hand signs, told her to follow the rearguard of the human force for ten minutes, then follow them into the trees.
Hosus nodded, and slipped quietly into the high grass to await the rearguard. Phanza muttered a quick protective spell over her before she departed, one that would deflect small blades. She would have to protect herself from anything larger than a dirk.
As soon as the rearguard had passed their niche, which was another five minutes, the twins led everyone at a hunched sprint across the grassland. They stopped every few minutes to let everyone catch their breath and stretch their quivering muscles.
The group ran three miles before the grass turned green and the ground became uneven with the roots of the old giants of the forest. It was another quarter of a mile before they were among the trunks that provided them safety.
Bertran collapsed on the ground in exhaustion, gasping for breath. The others gripped trees to hold themselves up, for their quivering legs could barely hold them. Even the invulnerable Pral was breathing heavily.
Several minutes passed in which the only sound to disturb the silent forest was everyone sucking in air. Sounds of battle clashed in the distance, and soon a giant cloud of dust and vultures marked its location.
More minutes passed, and Hosus had not yet appeared. Bertran started mumbling to himself about going after her. Phanza inwardly agreed that it would be prudent to start searching for her, but he knew Pral would never authorize such an action.
A cool breeze rustled the leaves around them, and the warriors never heard the stealthy footsteps of the approaching soldiers. Suddenly, Hosus came crashing through a bush. Her startling appearance immediately caused blades to be drawn and arrows nocked before they saw who it was.
“We must leave!” gasped Hosus.
Pral wasted no time asking questions. He did not even bother to disguise their presence in the forest before everyone was once again jogging through the trees. Bertran handed his sword to Pral and scooped Hosus onto his back.
Before she could complain, Bertran grumbled protectively, “Do not scold me, nor complain. You are lighter than my sword and you can hardly walk.”
Hosus gave him a tight-lipped scowl, but finally nodded. Bertran smiled slightly to himself when he felt Hosus grip him tighter.
At a light jog, the group ran in two columns, three in each. Pral and Bertran led, and Hosus recited her sights from Bertran’s back.
“I followed the rearguard for ten minutes, like you said,” she began. “Before I could get away though, they were ambushed by Slandra. There were only a couple of the snakes but they had the advantage. Anyway, I was stuck between them and the human fighters, so I joined the humans.”
“Obviously,” chuckled Bertran.
“The Slandra caught them in a vise,” continued Hosus. “Though their force was smaller, they had the advantage of surprise and a two-pronged attack. Many of the humans were killed before they could unsheathe their weapons. The battle was over quickly, and the humans retreated even without a counterattack. I managed to outrun them to these woods, but they are close.”
Pral looked back at the twins and made a chopping motion, ordering them to dispatch any followers. Being the two smallest, they would be least likely to be discovered. Hosus would have been the first choice, but her current exhaustion prevented that.
Glyc and Wenley halted and stepped off the trail, melting into the foliage. They would follow when they could no longer hear their companions. The group quickly pulled away from the lurking archers.
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