Black Kerthon's Doom (12 page)

"I see it," said Brice. "Only a couple soldiers. Hold still, they might be a diversion to flush us out."

"How could he know we're here?"

"He wouldn't know for sure. He would guess that we would scout his movement from time to time and is merely testing for us from time to time in the hope of finally catching us."

They waited longer. The tension built slowly for Macelan but he felt it grip him firmly. No one spoke. The sounds of birds seemingly vanished. They could hear no sound in the woods.

Macelan felt the itch start in his foot, slowing creeping up his leg. Sweat trickled behind his ears and ran down his forehead to the end of his nose. The dried grass crackled when he tried to move so he lay, teeth clenched, trying to endure the tiny tortures. He heard his heartbeat. How long? When will this end? He had almost reached his limit.

Suddenly, there was the snap of a twig and Brice leapt to his feet. Behind him were twenty soldiers fanned out in a crescent. The soldiers hadn't seen the rebels but were too close not to see them in another moment. They had no choice but to flee. Daura ran. Brice and Macelan turned to fight the startled soldiers, thought better of it and then turned and followed Daura. The soldiers were slowed only a moment drawing their weapons and then gave chase.

Brice led them down to the flatland and across the base of a cliff and up a narrow trail across from where they saw the soldiers. A few soldiers chased them but the majority did not appear.

"Keep an eye open," said Brice. "I don't know where they are. The path across the top of the cliff is treacherous and slow. We should be able to reach the top before they cross."

"Where do we go from there?" asked Daura.

"I think they will try to angle deep into the forest to intercept us, but we will cut back along the top of the cliff."

Macelan reached for Daura, kissed her suddenly, and then moved after Brice.

"What was that for?" she asked.

"Nothing. Just seemed like the thing to do."

Brice was moving faster. "Come on." Macelan grabbed her hand and pulled her along behind. She gathered herself and ran alongside Macelan.

The branches whipped at them as they ran and the uneven path jolted their knees. The tree drew close and it was difficult to see where they were going.

Suddenly, several figures broke through the trees near Brice and his sword flashed. Macelan felt a blade slice his shoulder but kept running. The sounds of fighting quickly ended and Brice caught up with them.

"There were only five of them. We must hurry before the rest of them find us. I know a place not far from here."

"You killed all five?" asked Macelan in wonder.

"It was as you said when you came to our camp. The Calendian army gives swords to children."

"How is your shoulder?" asked Daura.

"Hurts," mumbled Macelan. His face was pale. Daura put his other arm over her shoulder and helped him along. Brice said nothing.

They shuffled through the trees, Brice ahead but constantly stopping to let the others catch up. They heard no other sound until the rushing of water reached their ears. The trees cleared and there was a small waterfall falling several hundred feet down. They climbed down a small bank to a rocky path. Brice led them along an edge of a cliff winding down around a curve and underneath the waterfall. The roar was deafening and spray soaked them as they followed the path to a cave behind the water. There was straw laid down and Macelan slumped upon it. Daura removed his shirt and cleaned the wound. She tore his sleeve into strips and bound the gash. Macelan dozed while Brice and Daura prepared a hot meal.

"We can stay here until sunset, and then we must return to camp."

"What time is it?" asked Macelan, who had just awakened.

"We have a couple hours, yet," said Brice. "I for one want to sleep."

"We'll keep watch," said Daura. She sat down next to Macelan and leaned against his good shoulder.

"My shoulder still throbs."

"It will for a while. The blade didn't bite too deep but it was enough. It will be a couple weeks before you can hold a sword."

"Too bad. I was almost getting to enjoy being a warrior. It isn't so bad if you can't see their faces."

"Why is that?" asked Daura.

"The first man I ever killed was a Calendian soldier. A boy, not more than fifteen years old. I had no choice."

"Of course not. You were protecting yourself."

"But a fifteen year old kid. He had no place in the Calendian army."

"Perhaps he had no place anywhere else."

"What do you mean?" asked Macelan.

"You come from a small fishing village. Nantitet is a large city. There are many unwanted children roaming the streets. Many wind up as thieves and pick pockets. The lucky ones join the Calendian army and have food and a roof over their heads. They are part of a family."

"A family which sends them to their death."

"Think what you will, but the alternative for them is less attractive."

Macelan did not speak again. He tried to remember the crash of the waves along the beach and the smell of the sea air.

"I want to take you to the ocean," he said. She smiled.

"I want to hold your hand and walk in the sand with the sun warming us and the cry of the sea gulls in the air. The rolling waves crash and thunder and the spray dancing around us."

"I'd like that," she said softly. "I truly would like that."

Gareth was worried. They should have returned by now. He had too few rebels, too little time and the pressure to take up this birthright of magic increased with every failure. But it must be denied! He felt edgy, as if he was being watched. The skin on his neck itched and his hands tremored.

"I will take a small party and search for them," said Mira.

"No. Wait. I can't afford to lose anymore. We won't go that far."

"Just to the falls, then.."

"No. I said no." Gareth turned away, entered his tent, and closed the flap. Mira returned to the fire.

"Permission denied?" asked Serada.

"Yes. Gareth has turned inward of late. I can't seem to reach him and I don't know what it means."

"Perhaps the odds are finally caving him in."

"No, I refuse to believe that. Gareth is made of granite. I'm just afraid that something is gnawing at him and unless we can help him it will destroy us."

"Wait a minute. He's thrown his black mood over you, too. Why don't we talk of something else?"

"Like sailing around the world," she smiled as she spoke and lines of worry faded away.

"Exactly. That is just what you need."

Kaell had found the passageway he wanted, despite the efforts of the guards and with the addition of a couple minor cloaking spells. It led behind the High King's chambers and there was a place from which he could hear every word the High King said. It would be perfect. He had told Didran about it and Didran promised an agent stationed there at all times. That would allow Kaell to spend more time on the puzzle of Prosty. What to do about the old man. His power was undeniable, but his actions were questionable. His own goals were the only one that mattered to Prosty. Did he think Kaell was not smart enough to realize the motives behind his actions? Why couldn't his powers have been bestowed on Kaell where they would do some good?

It was late and Kaell lay on his bed with a multitude of thoughts running through his mind. Sleep eluded him for some time but then he began to give way and relax.

Out of the mist of his dreams came a shadow tall and dark. It stood over him and watched the wizard's chest rise and fall with his breath. Then a skeletal hand reached out and touched him. He shivered. A penetrating chill entered his chest. He whimpered.

"Hear me, Kaell Wizard," said the shadow. "I have come to make a bargain."

"Who are you?" murmured Kaell as he stirred in his sleep. There was an image of fire, hot and angry, and then it faded.

"Call me Scithers," was the reply.

"What do you want?" Again, the fire raged through his head.

"I want to help you gain the throne."

"How do you know about that?"

"I can read your heart. I know it is so and I have the power to make it happen."

"Why do you want to help me?"

"You are the only one who should sit on the High King's throne. And I can make it happen."

"What do you gain? What?"

This time the fire burned him and he knew it was anger. Anger from the blackness in his head. It had been there always, he knew, but this was the first time it spoke to him.

"We will talk of that later."

"No, we will..." His voice dropped away. A shimmering image grew before him and he knew it was Kerthon, but he could not look away. He heard words but did not know them, whispered just beyond his comprehension.

The shadow faded away and Kaell awoke with a throbbing head. He rinsed his stale mouth out and tried to return to bed but sleep eluded him the rest of the night. He watched the corners of the room for the shadow to reappear. When dawn finally came, he had returned to sleep.

The platform was high above the ground and hidden by branches thick with leaves and the man was restless. He had seen nothing during his watch. Not a deer or a rabbit. He had seen three deer on his previous watch and the absence of wildlife seemed unusual. In the past hour, even the birds had quieted. He scratched his leg and then set his bow down to roll up his pants leg. That fleabite had bothered him all night and he was determined to itch it even if his skin came off.

There was a sharp snap of a twig and he was alert again with his bow in hand. He threaded an arrow on the string and stared out into the shadowy forest but he could see no movement. He watched for several minutes and did not move a muscle. Still, nothing moved. He exhaled slowly and felt his muscles relax. The fleabite started to irritate the back of his mind but he could spare no time for it. Whatever made that sound was still down there. The forest was completely silent. Even the crickets had stopped. He could hear nothing but felt a chill up his spine. His company was quite close. He wished that he had reinforced the platform as Mira had instructed him. The slightest movement brought a groan from the planks.

Then he saw the shadows moving quickly from tree to tree. The distinctive shapes of the helmets jolted his mind. Soldiers! He reached for the horn but in his haste, he bumped it and it rolled off the platform and thudded as it hit the ground. There was no other sound.

He had no way of warning the camp. He would have to run close enough to shout and that would endanger the camp. But a late warning would be better than no warning.

He climbed down the tree and tried to find his horn. It would be much simpler than running. If he could calm himself down, take a deep breath and methodically search for the horn, then perhaps he could find it and sound the alarm. He didn't have much hope for his survival, but the others must be warned.

It must have fallen on this side, he thought and he peered into the darkness and probed with his sword. He did not find it and he spent several minutes on each side of the tree. He became disgusted with his progress and turned back toward the tree and his sword struck something: the horn. The sound rang in the still night. He looked up, he heard the twang of a bow, and the sharp thump of the arrow as it pierced his chest. He tasted blood in his mouth and dark patches danced in front of his eyes. The night became blacker still.

It was time to change the sentries and Mira was hesitant. She listened to the sounds of the night and bit her lip. She waited, listening. Then she walked out into the darkness outside the camp. The night sounds were unnaturally hushed. She stared into the blackness, her skin crawling. She made her decision. She went to Gareth. He sat in his tent examining a map of Nantitet. He did not look up as she entered.

"The forest is too quiet."

"What do you mean?" asked Gareth, still intent on the map.

"The animals are silent. There is something which doesn't belong out there."

"All the more reason to change the sentries. The stress cannot be beneficial."

"I sounded the horn earlier. Not one sentry sounded back. That has never happened. I sent two runners out. They have not reported. Not one. The horns are silent. I do not like it."

"What do you suggest?" asked Gareth, fully interested. "If there is danger out there how can we send soldiers into its waiting arms? And how can we wait for it to find us?"

"There are no sentries to the north."

"Of course not. No enemy would cross the mountains merely to attack behind our defenses. Their losses in the journey would be too great."

"We must flee into the mountains," said Mira.

"Flee? How can I flee? What threatens us?"

"There are ten sentries posted and none of them responded to the horn. Not one. I would say that there are ten reasons to flee out there. I would guess soldiers."

"The mountains will not be gentle with us."

"Nor will the soldiers. You for one will be brought alive before the High King and his wizards."

Gareth had run out of excuses. He never liked to run, but he knew enough arithmetic to figure their odds for survival. The weight of his decisions pulled hard on him, dragging his will into dark places.

"Instruct your captains as you see fit. Find Brice and tell him to meet me at the falls." Ah, Brice my friend, this has not been the best of times for you. You backtracked Daura's trail until you found Cara's trail. And then you found the Amogrihens spoor and the bloodied hat that had been Cara's favorite. After Daura recovered, I found out from her what had happened, but you couldn't wait and had to find out in the worst way imaginable. At least someone had buried her. It was more respect than my mother received.

Mira dashed away without a word. Gareth grabbed his pack and began stuffing it full of maps and mementos. His back was to the tent opening and he did not see Daura as she entered.

"What is wrong? Mira runs about the camp as if it were on fire." He turned suddenly, and then smiled. There was no humor in his face.