Can't Look Back (War for Dominance Book 1) (4 page)

“I’m unarmed!” John cried. “I surrender!” John had hoped his troubles would be over when he reached a town, but he was coming to realize just how badly he had misjudged his situation. Some of the people he scared on the road had obviously run ahead to the small town he was approaching; he was met by five men with spears as he reached the town’s outskirts. The men appeared to be dressed in some sort of uniform, as all were wearing leather armor colored in red and yellow. As the men surrounded him, John saw that their spear points were sharp and glistened in the mid-morning sun. He could tell their spears were weapons of war.

“Umtp glumgeth!” shouted a new voice.

John turned, carefully avoiding the spear points, hoping the new voice represented an island of sanity in his ocean of woe. Once again, he was mistaken.

The new voice belonged to the leader of the men, who lounged in the shade of a large tree while the troops guarded the road. Although the leader wore the same color scheme as the soldiers, he had a coat of mail that covered his upper half. As he approached, John could see that the leader didn’t have a spear like his troops; he had a sword that was long, sharp and very, very pointy. John had a good view of the sword’s point as the leader waved it in his face.

“I haven’t done anything wrong,” pleaded John. “I came here to help solve a crime.”

John couldn’t tell if they understood him, but his speech appeared to confirm something for the soldiers. They nodded their heads at each other, talking among themselves in their language. The ring of spear points drew closer to his waist.

The leader said something to John in what sounded like the same language, ending with a “Tongart grestch!” When John didn’t move, other than to shrug his shoulders, the leader pointed to the ground at John’s feet and said again, “Tongart grestch!”

Realizing that the leader wanted him to get on the ground, John started to kneel, but didn’t do it fast enough for the soldiers. One of the troops behind him planted the butt of his spear in John’s back and thrust forward, knocking John face-first to the ground. The soldier moved to stand next to him, the butt of the spear between John’s shoulder blades, pinning him to the ground like an insect on a mounting board.

“Hey,” John said in protest, spitting out a mouthful of dust. He noticed that several of his front teeth were loose now, too.

If the soldiers heard him, they gave no notice as they tied his hands behind his back with the professionalism born of many years of practice. John couldn’t move his hands. Trying to do so only caused the rope to chafe his wrists. His shoulders felt like they were on fire and would both pop out of their joints at any moment.

The leader gave a command, and two sets of strong hands grabbed him and stood him upright. The tears of pain running from John’s eyes made muddy tracks down his face. With another command, the soldiers pushed him forward. When he didn’t keep walking, one of them shoved him with the butt of his spear, causing him to stumble forward. All of the soldiers laughed.

This is so unfair, thought John. All I wanted to do was help.

The soldiers marched John down the road and into the small town, going most of the way through it. His arms and hands went numb after a couple of minutes although John couldn’t decide if that was a good thing or bad. While they no longer hurt as much, he figured the blood loss to his hands and arms was probably doing irreparable damage to them.

Hot, tired, hungry and near exhaustion, he didn’t remember much of the walk. Most of the inhabitants seemed to be human in appearance, although some may have been too tall or short, or maybe even the wrong color. John couldn’t tell; it was all a haze. It seemed like those that had small children tried to keep them from seeing him.

Eventually, the soldiers marched him into a building. It might have been 15 minutes later; it seemed like forever. The room they walked into had a desk and a table, with a number of doors ringing three of its walls. A tall man dressed in the same color scheme as the soldiers opened a thick wooden door on one of the walls. John was unceremoniously pushed into a small room on the other side of the door.

He stumbled, but before he could fall, strong hands grabbed him. The soldiers cut loose his hands and then shoved him forward again. His vision went red in agony as blood returned to his damaged arms and hands. He didn’t see the low pallet in front of him which caught him in the shins. His arms were numb and useless, unable to break his fall, and his face hit the wall as he fell forward, splitting his cheek and cutting his temple. Unconscious, he fell forward onto the cot...

...only to be awakened some time later as a bucket of water was thrown on him. Cold water. John spluttered awake. With consciousness came pain, hunger and confusion. While the pain and hunger continued unabated, the confusion cleared as he remembered where he was, and how he arrived there. He looked up in time to see a man with a bucket leaving through the door, slamming it behind him.

Someone coughed politely from the end of his cot. Sitting up, John found a man waiting patiently for his attention. Like the majority of the locals he had seen on the way to town, the man wore a tunic that ended between his hips and his knees, held together at the waist by a plain leather belt. The parts that John could see seemed to be made of brown wool, as did the outer layer he wore over it. The outer garment was the only piece of clothing John had recognized since he came through the mirror. An oval poncho with a hole in the center, it appeared to fall almost to the stranger’s knees in both the front and back. It looked like the same thing a priest wore over his clothes back home. On the front of the garment was the picture of a cloud with a hole. Several rays of sunshine shone down from the center of the hole, in shades of red and yellow that matched the soldiers’ uniforms perfectly. A similar metallic emblem hung from a chain around his neck.

The stranger bowed slightly and said something. As toneless as the stranger’s voice was, John had no idea whether what he said was a welcome, a benediction or his last rites. John carefully got up off the cot, his arms still feeling the pins and needles of circulation returning. His first attempt to get up was unsuccessful as his right foot wouldn’t take his weight. In addition to the splinter, he must have picked up a thorn or nail or something; it
hurt
to put any weight on it. Hopping a little, he gained his feet on his second try, putting most of his weight on his left foot. He turned toward the stranger and bowed to him saying, “I have no idea what you just said, but I hope it was good.” Realizing the stranger probably wouldn’t understand him, he focused on projecting warmth and humility into his words. John tried to smile, but had to grimace again as his right foot spasmed in pain.

The stranger frowned at John and motioned him to sit down. John gratefully fell back down onto the cot. He misjudged its construction and almost overturned it, but caught his balance and set it right. The stranger came over and gently lifted John’s right foot. The frown deepened when he saw the damage John had done to it in a night and day of walking on it unprotected. The stranger set John’s right foot down carefully and picked up his left, shaking his head when he saw it. He carefully set that foot down, as well, before standing up.

The stranger smiled at John, before saying something brief to him. Looking up, he spread his arms and called out something in his language, before holding out his hands in the direction of John’s abused feet.

 John felt his feet grow warm for a second and then cool. As the warmth left them, he realized the pain left with it. He looked down to see a glow fading from both his feet. The skin on the bottoms of them was new and unblemished, colored the same as a newborn baby’s. Overwhelmed with an absence of pain, John jumped up and hugged the stranger. “Thank you very much!”

The stranger calmly but firmly extricated himself from the nearly naked man’s grasp, holding John at an arm’s length. He pointed at John and then the ground, indicating that John should remain where he was. Walking to the door, the stranger called out something in a loud voice. The door opened, and a hand reached in holding a bundle of clothing. The stranger took it and returned to John. Handing the bundle to him, the stranger turned to look away.

John opened the bundle to find serviceable sandals made of leather, a tunic and a belt. The tunic was woolen and scratchy, but he pulled it over his head and belted it on. It came down past his knees, making walking difficult. At least he had his own clothes (or what he had of his own clothes) on underneath it which made the scratchiness more tolerable. He sat down on the cot and strapped on the leather shoes, happy to not be barefoot any longer.

“I’m dressed,” John said, standing back up.

The stranger turned around and surveyed John from head to toe. He frowned at the length of the tunic but then shrugged and gave John a ‘come along’ motion with one of his hands. Turning, the stranger walked to the door of the cell and pushed it open. He walked out, John following closely behind his new benefactor.

Solim watched as the inn burned brightly, lighting up the clear night sky for miles. He gazed, unseen, as the area’s farmers tried to put out the blaze. They would not be able to do much about it, as the inn had been completely engulfed in flames when they arrived. Some of them might have wondered how the flames could have spread from one end of the inn to the other so quickly, but he figured that most would just shrug their shoulders. They were in the middle of the dry season; sometimes, fires went rapidly out of control.

The flames must have spread very quickly; it didn’t appear that anyone had made it out of the burning building. He smiled. Perhaps it wasn’t the speed of the flames. Maybe it was the fact that the inhabitants were already dead before the fire started. It was a shame he’d had to leave all of their valuables behind, but it was necessary to maintain the illusion that the fire had been an accident.

He shrugged as he turned back toward the forest. He’d have more than enough treasure soon. Inspecting his companion, he saw that the package was riding nicely on the bear’s back. Although the bear didn’t like the smell of smoke, it was far calmer than one of its untamed brethren would have been. They walked deeper into the forest, leaving the shouting and the smell of smoke behind.

After two days of walking, John and his keeper arrived at a big city. John hadn’t learned much in that time except for the other man’s name, and the fact that he appeared to be a priest of some kind. The man’s name was Theodicus. A man of few words, he gave every indication of being forced to carry out an unpleasant task that kept him from his normal duties. Theodicus kept up a brisk pace, rarely stopping, and didn’t waste time in unnecessary speech.

Although Theodicus kept them going longer than John would have thought possible, only stopping for the night once full darkness fell, John had not tired during the journey. When John started to lag the first day, the priest had cast some sort of spell that refreshed him, leaving him able to continue walking. There was no denying it; the man was using magic. First he had healed John’s feet, and then he had cast some sort of spell that had restored his energy. Wherever or whenever he was, magic was alive here.

His feet had been up to walking both days without stopping; whatever spell Theodicus had cast on them the first day healed them completely. John wished that he could take the magic home with him; he’d make a fortune when he got back. If he got back.

They didn’t have any problems entering the city. Theodicus produced a piece of paper that he showed to the guards at the gate, who waved them through. People that didn’t have a pass were not so lucky; several teams of horses were waiting at the gate as their drivers unloaded everything from the attached wagons for inspection. John didn’t know what the soldiers were looking for, but the inspection appeared to be quite thorough. Even worse than U.S. Customs on a bad day going to Buffalo.

The city was immense; its suburbs alone dwarfed the town in which John was captured. They walked past shops and houses for 20 minutes before coming to a second wall, which fenced off the city proper. The trip through the city’s outskirts was an interesting passage, and one that was completely outside anything in John’s experience. While some of the scents of fresh-baked bread and other pastries made John want to stop, other odors reminded him that he was in a world that lacked central plumbing. People rarely bathed, and horses left trail markers down the main road. The city appeared to be well run, as there were people that picked up the horse droppings periodically, but the smell of horse dung added to an already miasmic barrage of aromas that made him wish he could turn off his nose.

Things improved once they passed through the next gate; they left the majority of the odors behind. The main part of the city was well-maintained, and the buildings and shops were in good repair, although the pace of life seemed to be far more frenetic than John would have thought normal. The inhabitants were rushing about, barely noticing or acknowledging each other. In just a few minutes’ time he saw a variety of humans and other races. While some appeared to have characteristics that he recognized, like the pointy ears of elves or the squat shapes of the two dwarves they passed, other creatures were completely unknown to him. Although he looked everywhere he could, he didn’t see the distinctive shapes of the devil or half-orc. In fact, he didn’t see anything that even vaguely resembled either of their forms, leading him to wonder if he was in the right place.

The city was built on a hill, with the wall encircling its base. As they started climbing the hill, John looked up and saw his first real castle, perched at the top. The castle was so large that it could be seen above the intervening buildings. Goose flesh covered his skin as he realized that Theodicus was leading him in that direction.

After another 20 minutes of walking, John saw that the castle was not their intended destination, as Theodicus stopped in front of another large building. Almost as massive as the castle, the white stone building stood imposingly just down the hill from the keep’s walls. Theodicus cocked his head as if considering something about it before continuing up the marble steps. As he had for the two previous days, John followed him up toward the entrance. While he hoped that a resolution to his problems waited inside the building’s official-looking walls, a sense of nervousness came over him about what that resolution might be. He looked around quickly, wondering if anyone would try to stop him if he ran. Before he could make up his mind to flee, two young people about his age hurried out of the building. John could hear them laughing with each other, and his fears diminished slightly; at least it didn’t appear he was going into a prison.

Theodicus led him inside the cool dimness of the building and into a small anteroom. The room only had one other door out of it, which was behind the room’s only furniture, a high desk with a small man sitting behind it. The two travelers approached the desk, and Theodicus began a conversation with the man sitting there that went on for several minutes. Theodicus appeared to be relating John’s story, as he kept looking over and pointing at John periodically. When he finished, the man at the desk answered briefly, pointing at the door through which they had entered the building.

Rather than argue with the man at his obvious dismissal, Theodicus turned instead to John and indicated he should stay where he was. Before the man behind the desk could say anything, Theodicus turned and took several brisk steps toward the exit, opened the door and left. The door closed firmly behind him.

The man behind the desk yelled something at the door and then got up from behind the desk and ran across the room. As John got a full view of him, he saw that the man was only about half the size of a normal human, and he looked very much like the thief John had come to help apprehend. John decided he was on the right track but then had a bad thought. What if this was the home of the half-sized people, and the thief was about to come out and kill him?

The half-sized man opened the door and looked out, but Theodicus was gone. Turning back to John, he frowned, contemplating the problem that had been left with him. He shook his head a couple of times and then trudged across the room to the door behind the desk. Opening the door, the small man turned around to look back at John. He sighed and then waved for him to follow. John crossed the room to where the man waited and followed him as he turned to walk down the narrow stone passageway behind it.

The man led John down a flight of stairs and then along another passageway, stopping outside a door that looked the same as the rest of the doors they passed. He knocked, and a female voice answered from inside the room. The man opened the door and led John into a medium-sized office that had two women inside it. The first woman had the pointy ears of an elf but was a
lot
taller than what he thought elves were supposed to be. She stood at least three inches over six feet, with light brown skin, long white hair, and silver eyes. Not only did the elf have a regal look, she also exuded authority, giving every indication of someone well used to power. She was a woman to be obeyed.

He knew the second person, because he still had the unpleasant memories of meeting her a few days prior. She had pale green skin and tusked teeth, and was covered from head to toe in coarse tufts of body hair. At six and a half feet tall, that was a lot of hair. Her name was...Ghorza, John remembered. At least, that was what the devil had called her in his hotel room. Whether that was a name, a position or a reference to her race, though, John had no idea.

Their guide said something to them as he entered the room, and both of them turned toward John. When they saw him, both of them stopped talking. At first, recognition filled the half-orc’s eyes. Recognition...and surprise. And then anger took over. She looked mad. Really mad. He was suddenly very frightened as more than six feet of angry orc stomped over to stand in front of him and glared down at him. “Gghghur sjsj pstttr!” she demanded in a foreign language.

“I’m sorry,” replied John, “but I can’t speak your language.”

“
Convertite,
” said Ghorza, casting a Translate spell. She then grabbed John by his tunic’s lapel and slammed him into the wall, lifting him from his feet. “You’ve got a lot of nerve coming back here and showing yourself like this!” she exclaimed. “If you thought you could just come here and taunt us, and then get away without a serious beating, you are sadly mistaken.”

“No, you don’t understand—” John said.

“I understand you made a fool of me and got me suspended from my job!” exclaimed Ghorza.

“No, I didn’t—” John said.

“Yes, you did,” Ghorza replied, interrupting him again. “Where is the crown?”

“I don’t have it,” John said. “I tried to tell—”

“You sold it?” asked Ghorza, interrupting again. “Together or in pieces?”

“I didn’t sell—” John said.

“Then where is it?” interrupted Ghorza for a fourth time.

“You know, Ghorza,” said the elf, speaking for the first time, “he might actually tell us something if you let him complete a sentence or two.” Her voice was intelligent and reasoned; it cooled Ghorza’s anger as effectively as if the elf had thrown a bucket of cold water on her.

Ghorza released John’s tunic, and he slid down the wall to stand on his own feet again. The elf came to stand in front of him. She looked down at him as if she were analyzing a lesser form of life; her eyes bored into him as if she could see into his soul. He knew that if he tried to lie to her, she would know it instantly.

She nodded her head once as if she were finished taking his measure. “Who are you?” she asked.

“Uh...my name is John, John Gatsby,” he replied. “I didn’t do it. Whatever she thinks I did, I didn’t do it. I swear it! Please don’t let her beat me!”

If his appeal had any effect on her, it didn’t show. “Where are you from...John Gratsby?”

“Um, it’s Gatsby, ma’am, not Gratsby,” John said, earning a look of disapproval from the elf. “I’m not from around here,” he added.

“That much is obvious,” noted the elf. “Where
are
you from?”

“I’m not from this time, or planet, or something,” replied John. “I’m not from anywhere around here. I came through a mirror. I followed the midget that Ghorza, is that her name? The midget that she and the devil brought into my hotel room. He has whatever crown it was that she was looking for. He showed it to me while I was lying chained to the floor where
she
left me.”

The elf turned to the orc. “This, then, would be the Spectre that you caught when you went through the mirror?”

“Yes,” replied Ghorza, “this is that Spectre. He even admitted to being the Spectre. He must have known we were coming for him because he had all of the things on hand needed to trick us. I don’t know how he got the crown to glow like it was stolen, but we caught him red-handed with it, along with an escape mirror and a bag of gold coins.”

“I can tell you why the crown glowed,” replied John. “The midget explained it to me.”

“Who or what is this midget that you keep speaking of?” asked the elf.

“He was a person about this tall,” said John, holding his hand about three feet above the ground, “and he was with Ghorza and the devil when they came into my room.” He paused and then added, “He looked like the man that led me into this room.” He looked around, but the man had left while Ghorza interrogated him.

“He’s talking about the halfling, Milos,” explained Ghorza. “He was with us when we caught the Spectre.”

“
He’s the thief!
” exclaimed John. “After you left, he told me that he had a fake crown made with gems and gold he had stolen previously. That’s why it glowed like it was stolen; everything on it
was
stolen. He’s the real Spectre. I just used that name for the convention. He told me that he was using me, just like he used the two of you to start a new life.”

“Ah...that is the missing piece,” said the elf, nodding her head thoughtfully. “It all makes sense now. Milos was the Spectre all along. The only thing I don’t understand is how you were able to come here if they broke the mirror he was using to come back.”

“That’s easy,” replied John. “Just like the crown they brought back, the mirror they broke was a fake, too. The real mirror was on the table in the room. Once Ghorza and her friend left, Milos went through the mirror. I saw what he did to activate it, so I followed him through it once the chains went away.”

“You followed him
as soon as
the chains disappeared?” asked the elf.

John nodded his head. “Yes, it was about 30 minutes to an hour later. Why?”

“That crime happened three years ago,” Ghorza interrupted. “There’s no way that you followed right after him.” She turned to the elf. “See?” she asked. “He’s a liar. He’s probably lying about the crown, too.”

“No,” replied the elf, “he isn’t lying...at least, not intentionally. He believes what he is telling us. Wherever it was that you and Dantes went, either time runs differently there or Milos set the mirror to return at a different time. He probably came back later because he knew that we wouldn’t still be looking for him. No one would be looking for him. As long as he didn’t come around you or Dantes, no one would even recognize him.”

“No,” John said. “No one will recognize him now, not even the two of them. Before he left, he did something, and his face shifted. He looked completely different when he left my room than he did when he came into it. No one from here would recognize him; the only person that would know him is me.”