Perilous Travels (The Southern Continent Series Book 2) (29 page)

He thought of Grace.  Had she been along, the pair of them would have already made music to hurry his healing.  As it was, he’d just have to suffer through an ordinary healing process.

Grange listened to the sounds of the mules being loaded with ore, until there was a sound of scuffing feet outside his tent.

“Grange?” Persole called.

“Come in,” Grange invited.

“I heard you had quite a night,” Persole said as he stooped to enter, then examined the fresh red tracks along the side of Grange’s face.

“The evidence on your face seems to confirm the story.  Are there any other injuries?  Will you be able to travel today?” he asked as he pulled the tent flap closed behind his entry.

“I’m ready to travel right now,” Grange answered.  He tucked the wand into his belt as he stood up in a stooped crouch within the tent.

“We’ve got a lot of mules to finish loading before we start traveling,” Persole slowed him down.  “I just wanted to check on you.”

The two of them exited from the tent, and immediately ran into Monton, who was leading a group of mules towards the line awaiting packing.

“I just needed to recharge my wand,” Grange told Persole.  “It’s full of energy again, and ready to use.”

“I heard you killed a lion with your bare hands, then I saw the carcass,” Monton said.  “I don’t think you even need a wand if you can do that.”

Grange smiled his appreciation for the compliment, then strolled away.  He examined the long line of mules that were already loaded with cases of ore, some of them already starting to be led down the trail, away from the mine, reducing the congestion and the chaos in front of the tunnel entrance.  He sensed that the crew of guards and mule handlers were eager to leave the mine, and he shared their desire to be gone from the place.  It wasn’t just the desire to hasten the return to warmer climates – it was also the desire to leave behind the sense of haunting evil that hung over the mine location.  It was more than cold, or wind, or emptiness; something about their location seemed to hate life and the living.

Grange turned and walked back along the line of mules.  He was forced to stop next to the one that carried the carcass of his mountain lion, and a crowd gathered to listen to him retell the tale of the battle with the animal.  He was slapped on the back in congratulations as he continued on afterwards, even more of a hero to the men in the caravan that he had been before.

Finally, just a couple of hours before nightfall, the last mule was loaded.  All the tents were down and packed on mules, and the head of the line was far advanced down the trail in the valley.

”Let’s get out of here,” Jarrel said to Grange as they watched the final mule begin to stroll away from the open space in front of the mine.

“Do you think Asloe will ever send more men back here to mine the ore from the mountain?” Grange asked the assistant leader.

“I doubt he’ll ever be able to hire enough people willing to come here to work,” Jarrel answered.  “Not for quite a while; too many people have heard too many things, and especially when we go back and report that no one was found alive,” his voice trailed off.

The man left Grange then to hurry forward to help guide the beasts of burden, and Grange walked alone behind the last animal, the final person from the expedition to leave the mine site.  He turned and stopped, staring at the dark hole in the side of the mountain, wondering what had happened inside, wondering if some evil had been unleashed by the miners, and wondering what had happened to them in their last days at the site.

He shuddered and turned away, then walked rapidly to catch up with the others, feeling as though he were under observation by some watcher in the mine.

The trip down the mountainside path was long, and extended into the darkness.  Grange floated globes of light over the trail to allow the men and mules to see their way down to where the leaders had re-established the camp site of the day before in the valley.  When he arrived he found his tent already pitched for him.  His head ached from his wound and his shoulder throbbed, so he ate just a few bites of the dried meat that was offered for dinner, then fell into a sound sleep.

Chapter 21

Grange and the other members of the expedition to the mine woke up late the following morning.  Their campsite was deep in the shadows of the surrounding mountains, so that dawn came late, but when it did, everyone was eager to start moving away from the mine, and towards the promise of the waiting ships at Trade Harbor.

They ate a cold meal once again, then the tents were packed up, and the mules set in motion to continue the trek out of the valley and out onto the empty tundra that smugly sat between the expedition and their destination.  By mid-morning they were crossing the threshold of the mouth of the valley, receiving buffeting winds from new directions, when Jarrel came striding back to the end of the caravan, the spot that Grange had adopted as his own position.

“We have a problem,” Jarrel told Grange.  He motioned towards Monton, who was accompanying mules in the middle of the pack, and the man started to approach.

“Monton counted mules this morning, and one is missing.  He thinks we left one behind at the mine site.”

“How could we do that?” Grange asked skeptically, as Monton arrived.

“It’s my fault, my lord,” the mule tender said apologetically.  “In the excitement of retrieving the lion you killed and getting it strapped to an animal, we didn’t bother to make a count yesterday morning.  But I did this time, and we’re definitely missing one poor creature.”

“Will you go back to the mine with Monton to retrieve it?  He’d like to have your protection up there,” Jarrel spoke up, as Monton nodded vigorous agreement.

Grange hesitated for a fraction of a second, wondering if it was worth the trouble of going all the way back to the mine to retrieve just one animal.

“As fast as you two can move, I know you’ll catch up with us before the end of the day,” Jarrel spoke up.  “I’ll even guarantee that we’ll light a nice fire for you tonight,” he added as an inducement.

“I was going to go anyway, but now I definitely will,” Grange smiled.  He turned to Monton.  “When can we start?”

“Let me gather some rope, and we’ll leave in two minutes.  Thank you my lord, this means the world to me.  I’d hate to leave that poor animal to suffer and waste away up there alone,” Monton said.   The man turned and trotted back to his earlier position, where he gathered his rope and supplies, then rejoined the other two.

Grange bid Jarrel good bye, as the two men on the retrieval mission left the company of the larger group and began their long walk back up the mountain.

“I can help us cheat a little,” Grange offered after five minutes of walking into the wind.  He pulled his wand free.  “I can use some of my power to make us warm.”

“No!” Monton said in a strong voice, an instantaneous reaction that verged on panic.  “No,” he repeated in a more controlled tone a moment later.  “The cold’s not so bad my lord; we’ve endured it for over a week now.  I’d rather that you have all the magic you need when we get back up to the mine, in case anything bad happens there,” he explained.

Grange shoved his wand back in place, then shrugged, and they continued on.  They re-entered the shadows of the valley, growing colder, then started climbing the trail along the side of the valley to regain the elevation of the haunted mine above.

They reached the plaza in front of the mine an hour past noon.  Monton immediately went to the entrance of the mine and knelt down to examine the pebbly soil. 

“There may be some tracks here.  I was afraid that maybe he had gone down into the mine during the night, and that’s why we missed noticing him,” Monton said, looking up at Grange, who was stooped over above him.

“So we’ll just go in and get him,” Grange said with more confidence that he felt.

“Begging your pardon, my lord, but if you think you could go look for him alone, I’d rather not go in that place myself.  It gives me the chills; I think I might wet my pants if I was to even see a shadow down in there,” Monton said sheepishly.  “Whereas you’ll have no problems with anything, seeing as how you’ve done this before.”

Grange stood up, and looked down at the man sympathetically, feeling compassion as he listened to the honest admission of fear.

“I’ll go in, and I’ll be back in just a few minutes – no problem,” he said reassuringly.  He said it with more aplomb than he felt, but he wanted to maintain a brave façade for the sake of Monton’s comfort, so he gathered up his courage and walked into the mouth of the tunnel.

Grange walked several yards in without bothering to create any light, simply relying on the sunlight that streamed in, as another element of his false display of confidence, then he finally muttered a brief request to the power, calling forth a pair of lighting globes – one that hovered just above his head, and one that floated ten yards out in front of him.

There was no sign of the mule anywhere as Grange walked slowly forward for ten minutes, growing more tense with each step further from the open sky.  Then, suddenly, the mule was standing directly in front of him, two small kegs of ore strapped on its back, a broken rope dangling from the halter.

“There you are!” Grange uttered aloud in relief.  He bent down and grabbed the rope attached to the placid animal, then turned and began to lead it towards the exit as quickly as the mule was willing to go.

“You’ve caused a lot of trouble, but I know you’ll be happier back in the sunlight,” Grange told his charge as he returned to the entrance.  He felt happier than he had at any time since leaving Kilau – the unexpected rescue of the mule was a true ending to the troubled portion of the adventure.  Going forward it would be a simple journey towards the ships, and then a sailing journey back to Kilau, and then a matter of finding out what would come next in the predicted journey towards his confrontation with the hordes of demons.

“Monton, here’s your mule!” Grange said as he reached the bright sunlight and the freedom of the open spaces outside the mine.  He held up the rope to demonstrate his control of the animal.

Monton was not in sight.

Grange looked from his left to his right, not finding the animal handler.  He felt the rope in his hand suddenly grow light, and his head turned to see that the rope had dissolved into mist.  What’s more, the whole mule became a small cloud of darkness, one that rose and dispersed in a matter of seconds.

“What in the name of the twenty gods?” he exclaimed in surprise as he stared at the point where the mule had stood.

There was a sudden, powerful jabbing in his kidney, a blow struck from behind with intent to kill.  The deadly blade did not pierce Rigan’s impenetrable clothing, but the force of the thrust shoved his to the side, sending him spinning in shock as he struggled to keep his feet.

Beware!
The jewels screamed.

He staggered to a stop, and turned to see Monton staring at him with an evil grin, and a puzzled look in his eyes.

“What’s happening?” Grange asked, baffled, one hand held against the unpleasant pain in his kidney.

“I thought that lion was going to innocently do my work for me the other night, but the stupid animal didn’t finish the job,” Monton said.  He was holding a sword, the weapon that he had evidently used to stab at Grange’s back.  “And then I thought I was going to quickly do the job just now, but apparently it’s going to be a little messier and more work than I thought.”

Grange looked at the man, completely confused, until he saw a momentary flash of green light in the animal handler’s eyes.

Monton was controlled by a demon.

He wore a fur cap and a hood over that – protection against the cold, and effective cover for hiding the presence of a demon that had possessed the man.  How long Monton had been so possessed was unanswerable – Grange couldn’t remember the last time he’s seen his companion without coverings on his head, and the back of his neck.

Grange drew forth his weapons, his knife and his sword.  The knife would harm Monton’s body if needed, while the sword would harm both Monton and the demon that was within him.   Grange wanted to avoid harming the mule handler if possible – the man had been helpful in his own taciturn manner throughout the perilous journey.  But Grange knew he had to kill the demon if he was going to survive.

They each took a step towards one another, then stopped and stared.  Grange watched as the demon grabbed a knife from his belt, matching Grange’s pose of a weapon in each hand.

The demon suddenly threw the knife, and as Grange flinched away, the attacker charged at Grange, taking advantage of the momentary distraction.  He came into weapons’ range and thrust his sword again.  Grange blocked it, then swept his sword downward, the two blades still making contact, and he trapped Monton’s blade against the stony ground.

“It’s not that easy,” the demon hissed, as it thrust its forehead at Grange’s face with a quick, unconventional attack.  Grange leapt back, and the demon raised its newly-freed sword with a swift motion, slicing it across the front of Grange, whose enchanted tunic protected his flesh anew from harm.

“What is it about you?” the demon growled, puzzled by Grange’s repeated survival.  His eyes narrowed, then glowed green again.  After a moment’s pause, the demon grinned.

“So that’s how you do it.  So that’s where they went,” he muttered.  “The filthy little rocks gave themselves to you, did they?”

The two of them closed upon one another again, and the demon seemed to channel an extraordinary amount of energy into Monton’s efforts, so that the battle began to turn against Grange, and the demon kept the contact between them close, never letting Grange back away more than a step before it stepped forward again.  It saw some advantage in the tight encounter, although Grange saw it gaining no advantage, as Rigan’s outfit turned back thrust after thrust after thrust; the blows inflicted bruises and pain, but spilt no blood, and Grange began to think he could outlast the furious offensive.  Sooner or later the demon was likely to overuse Monton, so that Grange could achieve his own goal against the exhausted physical body.

The demon closed in on Grange again, but suddenly shot its free hand down to Grange’s waist.

Grange felt a wrenching, and then the two of them separated as the demon seemed to float backwards three paces.

Grange felt a sudden fear.  The demon held his wand in its hand.

He had forgotten about the wand, with all its stored energy.  He had been so caught up in the physicality of the battle with swords and knives that he had let all other weapons slide out of his consciousness.  He wasn’t really a wizard, he realized, if he had let himself forget such a thing.

“Now,” the demon gloated.  “We’ll put this to an end.”  He raised the wand and pointed it at Grange, then released a powerful blast of energy, the very same energy that Grange had called upon and stored in the wand in the first place – the energy that could be used by anyone because Grange had not yet attuned the wand to his control only.   The energy spread out in a widening pattern as it raced towards Grange, and in the blink of an eye his entire body was struck by the power of his wand.

He felt as though the side of the mountain had rushed towards him.  The energy struck him squarely, forcefully, destructively.  He was flung backwards and landed on his back, dazed and nearly unconscious.  There were screams and cries inundating his senses, making his soul shiver with the pain and anguish they conveyed; the jewels had suffered terrible pain.

Grange looked at his sword, and then at his knife.  The brilliant jewels that had become affixed to each were darkened.  They looked nearly black, their colors gone, and there were vividly evident cracks and fractures through them both.  He scraped one forearm against the other to raise his sleeve, and looked at the jewels still upon his arm.  They too had been fatally damaged by the demon’s use of Grange’s own wand against him.

He felt pain and a keen sense of loss, and he felt fear too, at the thought of trying to fight a demon without the jewels to assist.  But overwhelming all other feelings and pain was his sense of consuming, raging anger at the demon, anger for the harm it had done to his friends and mentors, the jewels.  He raised his head and screamed a guttural scream of loss and pain and anguish, then stood up, ready to fight to the death to gain vengeance for what had been done.

“No more time for you, foul one!” Grange shouted.  “No mercy.  There’s nothing for me to lose.  You will pay for that.”

The demon dropped the discharged, empty wand, then contemptuously stepped upon it.

Grange began to advance towards his adversary, limping in pain as he did.

“You did it yourself.  You filled the wand with enough energy to make it possible.   I couldn’t have killed them on my own,” he taunted Grange.

“But I’ll kill you on my own,” Grange countered as he drew closer.

The two of them circled around as they spoke, and Monton’s hand shot down suddenly.  He picked something up from the ground – the knife he had thrown early, Grange realized, and tucked the blade into his belt.  Grange responded by suddenly throwing his own knife at the demon.

Grange sought to take advantage of the demon’s momentary preoccupation with the flying weapon, and stabbed his own sword forward, aiming high in hopes of touching the demon.  The sword was blessed by a goddess, and it only needed the barest amount of contact to wreak damage upon the demonic target of its attack – and perhaps the goddess’s blessing would endow it with some measure of aim to guide it to its target.