Cathexis: Necromancer's Dagger (59 page)

When they came to the place where the cave
exited the mountain they could see the false dawn beginning to
light the sky.

Halvisun stopped and faced the knights.
“It’s time for you to keep your promise,” Halvisun squeaked.

“What are your questions?” Becaris
asked.

As he had with G'Taklar, Halvisun asked
simple questions about news of the world. He obviously savored the
simple conversation with the knights. After a
time,
Ebemoon voice again started to gain
control and interrupt.

“You’d best go now,” Halvisun managed and
Ebemoon growled and spat at the knights, slavering and drooling
while he talked of killing.

The three knights did not waste any time
leaving the hulking creature to its underground caverns.

By the time the knights reached the place
where the river shot out of the earth the sky had lightened to pale
blue and the sun was about to peek over the top of the distant
hills.

The three knights split up and started
searching the edge of the river, hoping to find signs that G’Taklar
had survived his impossible journey.

“Over here!” Lasar called out to the other
two knights.

Becaris and Rasal quickly approached the
crouched Lasar and looked at his find. Three prints from bare feet
showed where someone had recently exited the muddy edge of the
river.

“I estimate them to be a few days old by the
drying,” Lasar guessed.

“They could be from our boy,” his brother
agreed.

“Assuming they are, where do you think he
would have gone from here?” Lasar asked.

“Barefoot and with no provisions?” He did
not need to say anything further; they all looked back toward
Headwater, the only town for many miles of vicious desert.

“But where do we start looking in town?”
Lasar asked.

“It’s safe to assume he didn’t have any
round metal or goods to
trade
so
that only leaves two possibilities: he found employment or stole
provisions and a horse,” Becaris guessed.

“Then we can start by checking the various
stables to see if any horses have been stolen in the past few days.
That would be pretty big news in a small town like this,” Rasal
suggested.

“We’re going to have a hard time keeping a
low profile for the same reason. Once we start asking questions it
will only be a short time before soldiers get the
word
. They’ll make the connection with us and
the three men who broke into their Keep,” Lasar added.

“Then we’ll have to be circumspect. First,
only one of us will ask questions, meaning you two will hide out in
the first stable we come to while I ask around. While you wait you
can make yourselves useful, we need new mounts, so purchase them
from the stable keeper while I’m out asking questions,” Becaris
instructed.

“Won’t he spread the
news
about strangers buying horses?” Lasar asked.

“I didn’t say you had to let him go, tie him
up and pay him for the horses, not necessarily in that order,”
Becaris suggested with a grin.

“We could do that,” Rasal replied, returning
the grin.

“Then let’s get on our way, things may be
looking up,” Becaris hoped.

They headed on foot for the edge of
town.

One league from the outskirts of Headwater a
very tired Sergeant Herms toiled along the dusty path on his way to
raise the alarm. He had traveled the difficult desert terrain for
the latter portion of the night, taking frequent rests as his fat
body gave out on strength. He cursed as he stopped once more to
rest; the walk back to town had taken far longer than he had
anticipated.

“
At least they haven’t found their
friend, G’Taklar. He’s safely tucked away where I can find
him,”
the sergeant
thought
and
chuckled maliciously.

Little did he know he had passed within one
league of G’Taklar back near the beginning of his trek across the
rocky desert.

The twins finished tying up the stable hand
and deposited him in the loft. They had just saddled three mounts
when Becaris came back through the barn door.

“Let’s go, four horses have been stolen
recently and a new recruit has deserted from the compound. It’s the
big news around town,” Becaris told the knights.

“You’re kidding! That sly young man has been
hiding out underneath their noses?” Rasal asked.

“So it would appear. They haven’t sent a
search party yet because his sergeant turned up missing about the
same time. Guess who that must be?” Becaris asked in return.

“None other than our recent guest Sergeant
Herms?” Lasar replied, stating the obvious.

“Right, so let's pick up our supplies
quickly and question the good sergeant again. He wasn’t as up front
as we had thought,” Becaris added, swinging up onto his
saddled
mount.

“Why the hurry?” Lasar asked.

“They have a search party ready to ride out
within the bell, so I want to be on G’Taklar’s trail ahead of
them,” Becaris stated and spurred his horse out the open stable
door and the two brothers followed close behind.

A sixth bell later a tired Sergeant Herms
staggered onto the main street of town and raised the alarm. He was
soon taken to the troop that had already been assembled to follow
the deserter. Sergeant Herms took charge and within a fourth
bell,
he led the tracking party
into the desert in pursuit of G’Taklar.

It was evening and the Bottoms Up tavern in
Myrnvale was in full swing. Two gritty looking men dressed in
tattered leather armor sat at a table in the back drinking mugs of
ale.

The first man’s face had a diagonal scar
that went across his forehead, touched the bridge of his nose and
ended in his cheek while his companion was missing his two front
teeth. The bartender stopped briefly at their table and quietly
spoke into the ear of the man with the scar. He told him that
someone wished to send a message to
Wernok
.

The two
well-worn
men were both members of the largest bandit
group in the area and the man named
Wernok
was their leader.

The scarred man told the bartender to send
the messenger to their table. He figured that if the message was
for real they could deliver it, but if something was wrong they
could just kill the bearer.

Both men were surprised when a good looking
woman stalked up to their table, jungle purclaw grace in her fluid
motions. She wore black leather armor and the trained eyes of the
bandits picked out hidden knives all over her body.

“The name’s Poison,” she said in greeting,
“I’m here te deliver a message.” Then she took a seat without
waiting for an invitation.

“So we hear, what makes ya think we’re
interested?” Toothless replied.

“Maybe I have the wrong toughs, I
was look
’
in fer
fight’in men,” she said and stood to go.

“And maybe ya found them, why don’t we talk
a little longer and find out?” Scar said speaking up for the first
time in his low gravelly voice.

“
I’m
look
’
in fer
a certain man,”
she said, retaking her seat.

“Aren’t all you women do’in that?” Toothless
said with a leer.

“Wernok,” she said simply.

“Word said ya had a message ya
wanted delivered
, you just tell us and we’ll
make sure he gets
it,
” Scar said
suspiciously, fingering a knife under the table.

“Word’s wrong, I want
te
see him, I’ll deliver my message,” she
answered and added, “And if ya touch that knife again I’ll stick
this one up yer ugly nose.” She flicked her wrist and a thin
stiletto appeared briefly, then she flicked it again making it
disappear.

“Tough wench, huh,” Toothless said, “I like
them that way. One left me with this sweet reminder.” He smiled
showing his missing front teeth.

“Wernok
don’t
like to have his time wasted, what is it ya have te
say?” Scar asked and his dislike for Poison was obvious in his
tone.

“Whether his time is wasted is
fer
him te decide, don’t ya think?” she
replied.

“If ya waste his time he’ll just kill and
rape ya, in that order,” Scar said with a grin to show he liked the
thought.

“Let’s find out what he decides. Take
me te
see him tomorrow,” she
prompted.

“All right we’ll take you to see him, but
we’re leaving now while it’s still dark, we don’t like te have
people
watch’in
which direction we
head out. Then we’ll see what there is te see,” Toothless
decided.

They made camp six leagues ride out of
Myrnvale
so that they could wait
for dawn to light the way up the difficult canyon ahead.

Scar and Toothless eyed the sleek female
body as she lay down, but neither of them tried anything after they
watched her lay three wicked looking daggers within easy reach
while holding a forth in her hand as she went to sleep.

During the night Toothless stirred and crept
quietly toward the sleeping woman,
however,
he froze in his tracks when he heard her quiet
voice say, “I wouldn’t try it, the poison on this blade freezes yer
muscles, but you can still feel pain. That way you’ll feel each cut
as I slowly peel off every scrap of skin from yer entire body.”

“Just stretch’in out,” he muttered, and then
went back to his blanket.

At dawn the next day they continued on their
way and began to ascend the switch back canyon trail that began the
climb into the mountains.

Twice along the way Scar stopped his horse
and stood on a large rock swinging his left arm in a wide
circle.

“Sentries,” he said simply.

Eventually,
the canyon widened out revealing a valley floor where a small
stream wandered through an area of thick oak trees. Log cabins and
semi-permanent structures littered the flat region around and
through the trees.

About the time the valley floor came into
view the three travelers came upon a lounging group of bandit
warriors sitting just off the trail. They were a rag-tag group,
their
weapons,
and armor of every
conceivable type and shape.
Nothing
but the diversity itself identified them as a
unified force.

The way they sat around lounging in the
shade of trees and boulders it was obvious the bandits knew the
three riders were coming and that they were well acquainted with
the two escorts.

“What’s this, you bring’
in in
a new woman? Ya know the rules, you have
te share her or defend her. I
likes
the look ‘o this one, I think I’ll have her right
now unless ya think you can take me, Toothless,” a large man said
while slowly drawing a dagger and stepping into the sunlight. “Or,
does she belong to you Scar?”

“This one isn’t here
fer
yer pleasure yet Nostrils, she has a message te
deliver to Wernok. ‘O course ya could take her and then answer
te
Wernok himself, if ya had a
mind to,” Toothless answered the man who was appropriately named
Nostrils. He had a large nose that someone had smashed flat; it
spread out and seemed to cover half his face.

“Yer just afraid, Toothless,” Nostrils
replied.

“Her name’s Poison and if’n she comes
available I’ll be in the
bidd’in
,”
Toothless said, eyeing her with a leer.

Scar looked bored as he sat slouched over
the pommel of his saddle. He shook his head sadly at this banter
and said, “This is futile, we need te take her
te
Wernok. He’ll do the
dicid’in
on what is to be done. Now stand aside,
Nostrils,” he finished in his low gravelly voice.

With a glance that took in all the new
woman’s virtues and promised she would get a chance to sample his,
Nostrils bowed ungracefully out of the way. As the black leather
clad
woman went by on her horse
Nostrils leered at her suggestively.

“If you even try to touch me, I’ll kill
you,” she said in simple warning.

“Sounds like a challenge
te me
,” Nostrils said with a grin.

She didn’t respond.

Nostrils and two of the other guards mounted
up and followed them into the valley.

A quarter bell later they reached the bottom
and walked their horses toward a structure near the river. People
began to gather as they sensed something interesting about to
happen.

The people in the gathering crowd were
distinctly different from the bandits, they were still tough
looking, but they had that refugee look of hopelessness in their
eyes. There were some women in the group, but most were men. They
were dressed in various types of clothing and there were even some
tattered uniforms from Autrany’s defeated army. Almost all of those
who were armed were men.

"Welcome to our camp, Poison," the bandit
known as Scar said with a grin.

She ignored him and concentrated on the
people she could see around them. There were two groups of people
living in this valley, the true bandits and the refugees that had
turned to living the life of bandits as their only means of
survival in their devastated,
war-torn
country. By joining the bandit group they turned
their loyalty over to the current leader, the man named Wernok. He
was the one she needed to meet.

A fairly fit man standing six foot two and
weighing a lean 195 pounds stepped out of a small log building. He
wore
reddish-brown
leather pants
coupled with a light tan colored soft leather jerkin that left his
muscular arms bare. He sported a wide grin as his eyes took in the
lithe form of their new arrival.