Ravenwild: Book 01 - Ravenwild (92 page)

“If you would please follow me,” he intoned.

They walked down a short passageway and came to a fork. “Captain,” he gestured to Captain Pilrick, “this way. The rest of you, please proceed down that corridor and you will be taken care of momentarily.”

Blake, Jessica, and the rest started down the hall when the voice of the captain stopped them. “My good Gnome,” he said, “I ask that these two Humans be allowed to accompany me. They are not in the military, and come to us under circumstances that are strange in the extreme. Both are healers with extraordinary talents, and it would be entirely improper to send them off with the enlisted troops.”

“I see,” said the Gnome. “If you could please, then, wait for a few minutes, I shall have your answer.” He scurried away, obviously slightly atwitter at this odd request. The others cut in front of them, Gall giving Blake and Jessica a warm smile. She gave each a pat on the head as they passed by, causing Gall’s smile to widen and Jebwickett’s frown to deepen.

Their guide returned and motioned for them to follow him. They passed down a short hall of solid rock, the face of which shimmered brightly in the light of the globes. Captain Pilrick noticed Blake’s interest in the surface and told him that the cause of the sheen was a substance called Titanite, and down short hallways to either side of them they could hear, periodically, the tinkle, clatter, and crash of the harvesting of it. It was utilized, he continued, in the forging of weapons capable of taking razor sharp, enduring edges.

He explained that the forging process was a chemical sort that required no furnaces. Instead, skilled alchemists blended precisely the right amounts of the correct ingredients, mixing them in vats, from which the mixture was poured into molds of the finest white sand. From the molds, the blades emerged to be fixed to their handles, shafts, and chains, each one lighter, yet stronger, than the iron equivalents carried by the Trolls. And it could all be done underground in secret. This, he said, is how the Gnomes were able to mass-produce thousands of weapons of every type imaginable. Room after room was bursting with them, all polished, all ready for use.

But their specialty, as was obvious by the sheer numbers of them compared with the numbers of the other types of weapons on display, was arrows. Straight and true they were, every single one.

Blake whistled softly. “Quite a collection of weapons you have here. How about those arrows?”

Their guide cocked his head quizzically, not saying a word. It was obvious that he was uncomfortable with a Human knowing the things that Blake and Jessica now knew.

Captain Pilrick motioned brusquely for them to continue on their way, obviously not interested in any more chitchat at the moment.

They continued down the short corridor with the glistening walls, coming to a larger room about twenty feet across. In it was a long table surrounded by chairs that had clearly been carved from the trunks of whole trees.

It was some sort of meeting/debriefing room, and no sooner had they gotten there than the door on the far wall opened, and eight Gnomes entered. They looked to have left the battlefield within the hour. All carried bows and were otherwise armed with short swords and daggers. Most had quivers of arrows badly in need of restocking. Their faces, grim and dirty to the Gnome, said it all. They had indeed just left the fighting. Captain Pilrick beckoned them to sit as their escort departed by the door through which the three of them had come. “Not to appear out of line, Captain,” spoke one, “but we don’t have the time for this. The Trolls are pouring through the Pass of Entropi, and every one of us is needed if we hope to give the troops defending it a chance. They are headed for Utt, and we come for arrows, not conversation. Go lads,” he said to the remaining seven, who strode straight to the doorway through which their escort had left with not a glance in their direction. In moments, a line of dozens of Gnomes filed by them. None of these looked at Blake or Jessica either. These were soldiers. This was war. They were doing battle. That was it; nothing else mattered.

“Commander,” said Captain Pilrick as soon as they were alone.

“Captain.”

“While your enlisted gather the requisite supplies …

“These two Humans are not from, well, let me put it this way. They have a child who was taken from them. She is about fifteen. Captured by the Trolls she was, along with the Prince of Ravenwild. Have you any news of this?”

The commander looked shocked. “That is
your
daughter?”

Jessica, who had been leaning forward when Captain Pilrick asked the question, now leaped to her feet and got in the Gnome’s face. “You have heard of her?” she asked, her voice tight with fear. “Do you know where she is?”

The Gnome remained curiously silent as his huge, unblinking eyes went first to Blake, then to Captain Pilrick, then back to Jessica, who stood directly in front of him.

Finally he spoke. “I’m not sure what to say,” he said, “This gets a little complicated… ”

She heard a second branch crack and she knew there was trouble about. Only a man, a Troll, or a Gnome could make a branch crack like that … or maybe a deer … or a bear. Her thoughts ran wild as her pulse quickened. She listened with all her might to the sounds of the night. Anything else.
Anything
else, and she was going to wake everybody up and prepare for an attack. They were out there. She knew it.

Her eyes wide with terror, she sat very, very still. It was all she could do. Sit. And listen.

Chapter 31

Maxilius Bravarus shivered. The overcast sky gave the late afternoon sun all it could handle to penetrate the cloud cover; its tired rays provided him with no comfort as he contemplated his next move. Even now, they were after him. They had dispatched patrols south along both banks of the river the moment he had eluded them by taking refuge on his makeshift raft. It had dumped him and his new crew of recruits on the same eastern shore of the Slova River that he had been on when he had escaped from them, now hours before.

“What now, Commander?” the nearest asked.

“Simple, we outrun them.”

He sprinted off to the south and they followed him.

His entire purpose now became to outrun his three companions. They did everything they could to keep up with him, but soon fell far behind. He intended to not just outrun them, but to leave them in his dust. So he ran, and ran harder, and ran harder than that, and soon everyone was well out of sight. He kept running. His sides began to ache. He ignored it. His breath came in great rasps. He kept going. He needed to be alone, far away from them. He knew it as well as he had ever known anything.

Having settled into a steady lope for hours, he pondered his next course of action. He knew exactly where he was, having hunted here in Ravenwild. He knew all the roads around Salem, so getting around there would not be a problem. He might be sighted, but no random Human, Elf, or Dwarf would confront a heavily armed Troll on the run. And if he encountered a patrol of same, they would most likely let him pass.

Now miles behind him, the ones who had sworn allegiance to his cause, Lieutenant-Commander Korsk Gidssitchel, Private Frroth Grollikon, and Private Orp Crittch, paused to get a drink and consider their next option. They must have outrun the ones who were hounding them. They were sure of it. They talked briefly about what to do, each throwing his thoughts into the mix.

They never should have stopped. They never should have even slowed. In an hour’s time they were caught. A few hours after that, they were in the cook pots. The general would hear nothing of their lame excuses as to how they had not been able to keep up with the renegade commander. And regardless of whether or not he had believed them, they had failed, and everyone in his Emperor’s army knew the price of failure. Their captors, glad for the food, merely ate and slept. The next morning General Dumfe and Sliphen both loudly complimented the cook on his preparations of them. The General had, of course, made sure to sample a bit of each in front of the other soldiers. And he had, of course, made a fuss over the quality of their screams the night before as the water came to a boil around them. The Trolls

deserved some diversion, and some fresh food.

“Can we track him?”

“We can.”

“Can we catch him?”

“Doubtful. They,” he nodded to the cook pots, “were telling the truth. He has far too big a lead. Now he has enough of a lead so he can take his time and cover his tracks, and disappear. This one is no fool. I find it all very strange. The way he runs. It’s almost as if he is running
to
something … or someone.

“Keep tracking him. Maybe we’ll get lucky.”

“Yes General.”

Sliphen Wedor ’eum left to relay the message to the Troll regulars. He ordered a squad of four to go forth and either capture the wayward commander or serve as tomorrow evening’s entrée. It got their attention. They left post-haste.

Maxilius made it to the southern reach of Salem an hour after sunup. He loped to the farmhouse he had once shown Daria. He knew there were caves nearby in which he could hide and never be found. He checked the house first.

She had been there!

He could tell. He instantly recognized her touches, how she had cleaned up and organized. How she put certain items here and certain items there. But, more than all of that, he could smell her. There was no doubting it. He could smell her.

He wondered as to the coincidence of her having journeyed to this exact house, in a foreign land, that she had visited with him once on a hunting trip years before, but... for whatever reason, she had. It was now all about catching up to her. He thought back briefly to the moment when she had soared from the cliffs of Ghasten, hanging on to the tail of that horse. He had always wondered if she had survived, and now he knew she had.

He studied the tracks outside of the house and began following them. She was in the company of three Humans. One of them would be the Human girl, of course. Doreen. That was her name. And one would be the Prince. The other would be the doctor.

Later that same day he noticed that one set of the Human tracks split off from the rest, headed northwest. He continued to follow his sister’s and those of the other two.

Days later would show him camped less than a mile to the north of them, pushing harder and harder with every passing day. A nasty fog had settled on the floor of the forest, which not only served to make the visibility a challenge, it seemed to mute all of the forest sounds.

He would catch up with them tomorrow. He was sure of it. He opened the small pouch of salt that hung from his belt and sprinkled it liberally on the meat, following this with a small handful of herbs that he rubbed on the slices of flesh as he carved them. He ate slowly, chewing the tough meat, making sure to review all that he had done that day. He had not only made good progress on catching up to his sister and the two Humans, he had backtracked considerably to be sure he had lost those pursuing him. It appeared he had.

Now, having filled his waterskins, and with weapons that were sharpened and ready for battle, he sat and ate, preparing himself mentally for the final push tomorrow that would reunite him with his sister and those with her.

He found himself pondering in silence the odd fact that he preferred his meat salted and spiced. He and his sister were the only Trolls he had ever known that had always preferred their meat that way. Not that he was incapable of eating it plain, which of course he had for most of the life he had spent in his Emperor’s army. But he had a distant memory of how his mother had always prepared it for them that way when they were youngsters, saying that she believed eating meat any other way was wrong. “Like the animals,” she used to say.

Soon he would nap for a few hours, and with any luck this curse of a fog would burn off and allow him to track the ones in front of him, guided only by the light of the two spring Inam'Ra moons.

As he rolled into his blanket and closed his eyes he thought he heard the snap of a small branch far off in the distance. This tiny would-be noise kept him fully awake for another hour, but hearing nothing else, he finally drifted off.

It all happened way too fast, but once he had a chance to think on it, common sense told him that capture was never something that happened slowly. He awoke in the camp where Daria, Ryan, and Gracie were already prisoners. He was bound securely and tied to a tree. His head ached something fierce and he knew he must have been knocked unconscious while he was sleeping. He glanced to his right and saw his sister, bound in the same manner as he. By the way her head lolled forward, he doubted she had regained consciousness yet. He did notice that she was breathing. He looked to his left. There were the two Humans. He didn’t recognize them except to know that the girl wasn’t Doreen, and the other was definitely not the doctor.