The Crystal Legacy (Book 2) (8 page)

* * *

The tunnel, indeed the cave entrance, disappeared behind them. In its place was the solid rock hillside. There was no trace of the passageway.

The men, Delia, and Twit descended the hill and followed the lakeside up out of the valley and back to the edge of the desert. In silence, they trudged along in a forced march all morning, thinking about the beautiful place they’d left. Shock of the false knife among them caused part of the silence.

“How did you know the ring’s fire would destroy the knife, Bodrin?” Hendrel asked. Before Bodrin could answer, Hendrel added, “How long have you known Saxthor was a wizard?”

“A wizard!” Saxthor erupted, turning on a heel.

Bodrin grinned at Saxthor’s shock. “I think I’ve sensed something extraordinary about him since we were kids. When he came out of Yamma-Mirra Heedra’s lair, there was a peculiar look on his face. I’ve only seen it once before… on Memlatec’s face. Something happened in the dragon’s cave that changed his broken ring; he didn’t find it. I don’t think he’s a wizard, but he has control of the ring’s power,” Bodrin said.

Staring at Bodrin, Saxthor stood in silence recovering his senses.

“When Bodrin called me to use the ring, I just let go, and the rest happened. I’m still uncertain about command of the ring. I’ve only used it once or twice. Memlatec has a lot of explaining to do when we see him next.
If
we see him again.”

They turned northeast and marched off, single file, along the edge of the Pundar Hills toward the river and Botahar with Saxthor turning the ring on his finger.

* * *

Earwig was running low on servants, but she was able to summon one of the Dark Lord’s wraiths to search for Saxthor. Each evil association further corrupted her monstrous soul. Her hatred grew of itself and consumed her more each day.

Prince Saxthor stood between Neuyokkasin’s throne and her, she was sure of it. She would destroy him no matter the cost. Now that the Dark Lord was aware of Saxthor’s energy trace and brought it to her attention, she wouldn’t fail again.

“Fly across the Vos and pick up Saxthor’s trail on the western edge of Lake Pundar. He’s there somewhere; I’m certain of it. Don’t return without killing him, or I’ll see to it the king never releases your soul from torment.”

The wraith searched by night along the shore, but the trail was cold and it lost days in the search. After going up and down the lake night after night and finding no trace of the prince’s party, the wraith searched creeks and streams that fed into it. With no sightings and no trail leading into the interior, the specter concluded the fugitives must have escaped along a streambed. It slithered up several watercourses before finally finding a single scrap of evidence. It then followed the faint trail over the rocky soil to the desert. Again, it lost precious time crisscrossing the sands looking for tracks. It was always lagging behind Saxthor’s party after dry winds blew away their trail.

It was prowling around the desert edges when the forest elves spotted it from the observation ledge overlooking the border hills. They reported the creature to King Ahkenspec, who ordered it observed. They were adept at destroying wraiths from their days in the Wizard Wars. They would have relished the opportunity to dispatch one again, except it would bring its creator’s attention to them. Having seen Saxthor venture into the desert, they deduced the wraith was searching for him, and thus they had brought him into their world to warn him.

Earwig went berserk when she felt the second wraith vanish. She ranted and raved in her tower for a full day. The poor duke trembled hiding behind his gold in the dungeon. Again his blood was too low, too weak, and his health too feeble to be of use. Servants fled the Earwighof, having again noted the sudden and unexplained disappearance of one of their own. The simultaneous appearance of some dark thing slinking from the tower started the stampede.

The bedraggled witch became even more frantic to destroy the second in line to the throne. The Dark Lord would be watching her clumsy efforts to eliminate what he must perceive as a minor annoyance. He’d frown on her repeated failed efforts and question her usefulness. The thought of his retribution turned her stomach. What could she do now to strike at the prince who’d grown to manhood?

* * *

The exhausted travelers straggled into Botahar. The desert’s heat drained them even after their refreshing stopover in the elfin village.

“Anyone want to offer advice about the town?” Saxthor asked.

“All I want is rest, a decent meal of something fresh, not dried, and vegetables,” Bodrin said.

“What can you tell us of Botahar?” Saxthor asked Hendrel.

“Botahar is the most important trading center for Sengenwha’s interior. The products from most of northeastern Sengenwha come to Botahar for trade locally or shipment down the river to Lake Pundar and points south. There’re numerous shops and warehouses and fine homes of merchants made rich off trade with river traffic.”

“Botahar boasted several inns for travelers before we left the continent,” Tournak said. “At least they were thriving when I last had news of the town.”

No one thought much of four more men straggling into town with a dog. Flitting from awning to awning, no one even noticed Twit.

“Let’s stop at the first inn we come to,” Bodrin said. “I’m too tired to think.”

“We should find the Shepherd’s Crook Inn at the edge of town and away from the river,” Tournak said. “Once before I passed through Botahar, and that inn was a safe place then.”

“It’s still there,” Hendrel said.

Dropping back to let Hendrel lead, Saxthor patted Delia. The others caught up. “You lead the way then. I have no idea where it is. I’ve never been to Botahar before.”

“Keep together and stay on the back streets to the inn,” Tournak said. “Tired as we are, we don’t want to draw attention to ourselves. After the experience with the medrax and the wraith, we know things are hunting us.”

The town was handsome, with well-kept homes and little gardens off the river’s main street. Thatched roofs on the cottages made them appear cozy. Larger homes of timber and stone reflected the city’s former prosperity. The lack of paint on some suggested this year, business had been less than expected and owners had put off repairs for another season, as in Olnak.

The group passed along quaint streets under the light of occasional streetlamps. Sweet oak smoke wafted down the street with sounds of music. Finally, the weary travelers reached the Shepherd’s Crook Inn at the city’s outskirts. A smile on the plump proprietor’s face indicated he was happy to see them.

“How’s business, innkeeper?” Tournak asked.

“It’s not so good.” The innkeeper’s smile disappeared. “The autumn river traffic fell off this year. The farmers who usually stay with me failed to show up this season. I hear floods devastated Sengenwha’s best agricultural region in the spring. A drought followed this summer.”

He threw open the door and ushered in his unexpected guests.

“Come in; come in, my friends,” the innkeeper said, beaming again. “What may I offer such distinguished gentlemen?”

“Bring us food,” Bodrin said. He looked at the others, “I’m starving.”

“We’ll require food and lodging for the night, innkeeper,” Tournak said. “I trust you have rooms for us?”

“I have the finest rooms in the city,” the innkeeper said.

“We’ll need two rooms, a bath, and lots of food,” Saxthor said.

Bodrin perked up. “And vegetables, lots of vegetables.”

“This way, gentlemen.” The innkeeper led them into the dining room, where patrons had eaten earlier at the large central table.

Saxthor popped back outside. “We’ll see you in the morning, Twit.”

Twit ruffled his feathers on the overhang and settled down for the night near the inn’s welcoming lamp, the hub of unlucky lingering moths.

The travelers slumped into chairs at a smaller table close to the fireplace. Delia curled up at Saxthor’s feet, awaiting her dinner. Warmth from the dying fire was refreshing, and the innkeeper added another log to the coals. Candlelight flicked a golden hue on each face.

“I’ll send cook with food, and I’ll get you something to drink while you wait.”

The innkeeper disappeared around the corner to the kitchen. Fragrant ribbons of roasted meats, simmering vegetables, bread, and pies washed over the dining room, swirling around the starving band. Bodrin all but gnawed on the table.

“What’s the plan for tomorrow, Saxthor?” Hendrel asked.

“We’ll discuss that later, not here in the public room,” Tournak said.

Saxthor nodded agreement. “You never know who’s listening.”

The smiling proprietor returned with a pitcher of ale and one of milk. A scullery maid followed with a tray of earthenware mugs, wooden plates, utensils, and cloth napkins. Again, the proprietor disappeared through the kitchen door. Soon the cook and assistant returned with heaping trays and bowls of steaming foods filling, the table’s center.

The travelers’ dull eyes sparkled at such a feast. Abandoning manners, they rushed to grab choice items, knocking a roasted chicken leg to the floor. Saxthor reached down to retrieve it. He noted a dark figure in the corner get up and slip out the door.

“One of your guests just left, innkeeper,” Saxthor said. “I hope he paid you.”

The proprietor frowned. “Now that was a strange one, never saw him before. He’s been here since morning and just sat in that corner sipping ale.”

The innkeeper went through the reception hall following the man’s trail. He returned, scratching his head.

Bodrin looked up. “Gone?”

“Yes, I’m out the price of his drink.”

Saxthor’s companions heard the comments and looked at Saxthor, who tried to hide his concern. They ate their fill in silence and retired to their rooms for the night. When the inn settled down for the evening, Tournak and Hendrel came to Saxthor and Bodrin’s room. 

“We may as well rest tonight,” Saxthor said. “We’re all too tired to travel. Even if a watcher, the man won’t be able to report his discovery before morning. He might just be a strange man. Let’s not let our imaginations get the best of us, or we’ll be changing inns all night.”

Tournak’s hand was on his dagger. “With the wraith and medrax destroyed, something else is sure to follow. We must rise early and leave town as soon as we’ve bought provisions.”

The wizards said goodnight and left for their room. Exhausted, Saxthor and Bodrin were soon sound asleep. Later, whining in the night, Delia woke Saxthor.

“Surely you don’t have to go outside,” Saxthor said in a daze.

Delia stopped poking his arm and looked up at the window. A thin, shadowy figure was peering in, silhouetted by the moonlight. Saxthor jumped out of bed, but the man was gone.

“Wake up Bodrin.”

Bodrin groaned and turned away. Saxthor banged on the wall of Tournak’s room, then rushed to the window to see where the man went. Saxthor was about to pull on his pants when he felt something cold slide over his bare foot. He froze.

Bodrin shuffled and pulled up his covers. “What is it?”

Saxthor looked down and saw a large rattlesnake coiling around his warm ankle. A chill ran up him, but he didn’t move.

“Bodrin.”

Bodrin punched his pillow, snuggled around another pillow and smacked his dry mouth, settling back into sleep.

“Bodrin!” Saxthor looked down at the snake now coiled several times around his ankle. The snake’s tongue flicked, tasting the room. It looked up when Saxthor spoke.

“What you want?” Bodrin resisted moving a muscle.

“Wake up! There’s a rattlesnake wrapped around my ankle.”

Bodrin yawned and turned toward Saxthor, but still didn’t open his eyes. “What?”

Saxthor couldn’t move without alarming the snake. He had the candlestick from the bedside table in his hand. It had been the first thing he could grab and had picked it up for defense when he dashed to the window. It dawned on him as the candle burned, it could drip hot wax on the snake. He shifted his weight a bit, and the snake twitched at the movement. Saxthor tossed the candlestick at Bodrin and it hit him on his shoulder. Bodrin shot up in the bed.

Startled by Saxthor’s movement, the snake moved out of its coil and began climbing Saxthor’s leg. The slight scratch of belly scales, gripping as it slowly climbed his leg chilled Saxthor. Goosebumps rose over him.

“What’d you do that for?” Bodrin was rubbing his shoulder.

Saxthor looked down and faced the rattlesnake’s head, looking up from his knee. Its tongue flicked from the poison-puffed head atop the body spiraling around his leg. Bodrin rubbed his eyes and followed Saxthor’s look down to his leg. The whites of Bodrin’s eyes swelled in the room’s moonlight. He jumped out of bed.

“Cripes!” Bodrin looked up at Saxthor. “What do I do?”

“I wish I knew,” Saxthor felt nauseated. He looked again at the snake. It turned its head out, swaying as it surveyed the room, tongue tasting the air. “Get your sword and wiggle it in front of the snake, but don’t poke it. That’ll only make it mad.”

Bodrin snatched his blade from beside his bed and moved toward Saxthor, by the window. He waved the sword and the snake froze.