Victim of Fate (34 page)

"It will be done," Ayerl said.

"Now will you ride with me?"

Mordrim grumbled something and then turned
and glared at the others. Seeing no challenges, he took Patrina’s
hand and then jumped up and managed to scramble awkwardly onto
Winter’s hindquarters. He turned and glared again when he heard a
few snickers. Only Garrick was grinning.

"Mind your manners, boy, or I’ll teach you
when I get back!" Mordrim growled at him.

Garrick laughed and offered his fist to his
chest. "I look forward to the lesson!"

"Come, Winter, as fast you can! We’ve much
work to be done and not enough time to do it."

Winter neighed and stomped the ground with
his foot, and then lowered his head and was off like an arrow from
a bow.

Alto stumbled out of the cave, tripping on
the first rock he failed to notice. He forced himself up on a knee
and looked around, trying to pierce the thick air. It was brighter
and colder outside the caves, but the air was filled with a strange
fog. He thought it was snow at first when he saw it landing on his
arms, but the flakes were large and didn’t melt.

Alto brushed the gray flakes off and caught
the lingering odor of charcoal and sulfur. He turned and looked
behind him to where an increasing volume of dark smoke was pouring
out of the cave he’d exited.

He hadn’t wasted any time after he’d
recovered from the terrifying vision that drinking Thork’s potion
had given him. The rumbling in the depths of the mountain had given
him wings, causing him to rush through the passage in hopes of
finding an exit. He’d encountered two more groups of goblins and
had slain or wounded them all. He hadn’t stopped to check in his
haste. The smoke had come then, choking him and urging him to hurry
if he hoped to ever see daylight again.

Now the smoke was littering the countryside
with ash. Alto reached up and brushed it from his hair, watching as
it fell to the ground. He coughed again and searched for the sun in
the sky. A brighter spot amidst the gray background hinted that the
sun was setting in the west.

Alto paused and thought back, counting the
time he’d spent in the mountain. "Two days? Three?" he mumbled to
himself. He heard a noise and turned back, hand on his sword. A
faint tremor passed underfoot in time with a rumble he heard in the
tunnel. A fresh burst of smoke and dirt burst out of the entrance
but then it seemed to have sealed itself off, for no more came
out.

"Time to go," Alto reminded himself. He
turned away and started down the mountainside. There was snow
underfoot but it was stained gray by the ash. His makeshift boots
protected his feet but made each step treacherous and slippery.

Four times on his solitary trek to the south,
he found himself waiting quietly while groups of goblins, ogres, or
wolves would wander by. The wolves he feared the most, thinking
they might smell him, but the ash that was slowly lessening seemed
to help disguise him. That and all of the creatures seemed more
concerned with getting away from the mountain than with anything
else.

The sun set and plunged the world into a near
total darkness. Alto stopped, fearful of hurting himself or running
into foes at night. He’d made it to the foothills, but where that
put him in relation to Holgasford or Highpeak remained a mystery.
He wintered beneath a snow and ash covered pine tree, shivering
through the night even though the ash provided a layer of
insulation that trapped some of the heat from his body.

With morning came a new day and a new start.
The sun shone down on him when he emerged from his shelter. With it
came an icy wind that set his teeth to chattering. His dwarven mail
made for fine protection from swords but it did nothing against the
cold. Alto turned himself to the south and started out, determined
to move as fast as he could.

He’d traveled less than an hour when a
creature burst out of a dirty snowbank he’d been using as a
windbreak. It made him think of the mud monster from the caves,
except the new threat looked like the snow had come alive and
walked on two legs.

Alto fell away and managed to come up on one
knee with his sword drawn in defense. The creature’s foot kicked
him in the stomach, sending him sprawling again and knocking the
wind from him. He managed to keep his grip on his blade but it was
of no use when he felt claws dig into his scalp and yanking his
hair and his head up and back.

Alto pushed up with his legs, slamming his
back into the creature’s chest and dodging the arm that swept in
with the intent of tearing out his throat. He twisted away from the
monster and slashed with his sword as he staggered free.

Facing it squarely, Alto got a good look at
his adversary. It was nearly the size of an ogre and covered in
long fur that had been white before the ash fell from the sky. Five
fingers ended in dangerous-looking nails that came to points. Blood
was darkening its right arm where his sword had cut. Alto knew what
it was even if he’d thought them creatures of myth told to
frightened children.

The yeti howled and rushed at him. Alto
jumped forward and to the yeti’s left, confusing it and cutting his
sword across its left shoulder. They both spun to face each other
but Alto was faster. He stepped back to the other side and cut low
this time, hewing into the creature’s thick leg. It wobbled and
tried to retreat but Alto pressed his attack, scoring minor wounds
that confused it and then plunging his sword into its chest to kill
it.

"I’m warm enough now," Alto mused after a few
moments of breathing hard and calming down. He stared around,
anxious to find out if anything had heard the fight and was coming
to investigate. By the time he felt safe, the chill from the wind
had started to set in again.

Alto glanced at the yeti’s dirty fur. "Since
you’re not using it anymore," he muttered and then drew out the
magical dagger Thork had given him. Taking great care, he skinned
the yeti and cut the fur clear from its torso and back. The yeti’s
hide reminded him of a black bear that his father had killed a few
years back. The skin was thick and the creature had fat built up to
keep it warm.

He cleaned it with snow as best he could, and
then after trying to dry it with pine boughs and wind, he draped it
over his shoulders as a cape and continued through the forest,
heading south. An added benefit Alto hadn’t considered but soon
realized was how well the cloak served to hide him in the snow.

Shortly after the sun had crested and began
its downward plunge, Alto emerged from the foothills to rolling
plains. He spun and considered his position from what he
remembered. He guessed that Highpeak was a day or so to the
northwest, putting him farther west than he’d expected. That meant
Holgasford was several days’ travel by foot.

Unbidden, the memory of Alto’s family being
butchered flashed through him. He frowned and turned to the west.
If he pushed hard, he could be there in a couple of days. Perhaps
less, now that he was in safer lands.

His decision made, Alto started out. He
pushed himself into a jog and ran until his lungs were screaming
for air. He slowed but kept walking, putting distance under his
feet until he felt his breath return so he could run again.

Alto continued this form of travel,
alternating speeds, until well into the evening when he crossed
over the road from Portland to Highpeak. The only traffic he saw
was a rider far to the south heading away from him. He pushed on
and did not feel the first hunger pangs until after the sun had
set.

He weighed his choices while stopped and
leaning against a tree. It had been days since he had eaten. His
hunger had gnawed at him for a while and then faded and brought a
weariness with it. Then he’d met Thork and the troll had helped him
recover from his time spent in the river. He hadn’t been hungry
anymore and he’d felt like he was at full strength. He’d started to
feel hungry again when he’d fought the goblins and ogre, but after
drinking the potion he’d been refreshed and full, if concerned for
his family’s sake. Now more than a day had passed and he was
starting to swoon from lack of food, yet he had no priest, shaman,
or potion to make do.

This was his land, though, or near enough to
his father’s farm that he knew how to hunt it. After a day of
running, he doubted he had the energy left to chase down a rabbit,
nor did he have a bow. He had two knives and a sword. Alto took out
his old dagger and searched for suitable places to dig some holes.
He used his shield to provide light while he set four traps and
then covered them with sticks and leaves. Now that he was out of
the mountains, the ground wasn’t frozen and the snow wasn’t
sticking around.

He huddled up in the yeti cloak that night on
the lee side of a small hill. In the morning, he found his traps
empty; though something had fallen in one of his pits, it had also
made it back out. Miserable and hungry, Alto pushed on for another
day’s forced march.

Alto dined on three small apples that were
high on a tree that evening. Long past their prime, one of them was
shrunken and the taste was off, but he was ravenous enough it
didn’t matter. Other than briefly quieting his stomach, it did
little to offset the weakness he felt.

The famished warrior awoke the next morning
and forced himself to his feet. His body ached and even his chest
felt heavy when he tried to draw in a breath. He was close, he
knew. A few more hours and he’d be there. His mother would insist
on feeding him then. With thoughts of being stuffed so full he’d be
forced to spend another week unable to eat, he pushed himself into
a jog through the rugged back country.

He slowed as he neared the farm. He saw
landmarks he hadn’t thought of it a while, guiding him in. He found
the hill where earlier that year he’d first met the Blades of
Leander and then helped them drag the bodies of the goblins to
burn. He came across the field where his father had been injured
when a goblin spooked Gemini, his plow horse.

Alto stopped, breathing deeply and feeling a
strange chill run down his spine. What if they were gone? What if
it hadn’t been a trick of the potion? He shook his head. It
couldn’t be; they had to be there still. How would Beck even know
where his family lived? He had mentioned knowing Alto was a farmer,
but Alto made no secret of his past.

The former farm boy pushed ahead, walking
along the side of the field and coming around the edge of a stand
of trees. He saw his father’s barn as he walked past the trees. His
stomach growled, the promise of food hastening his step.

Alto stumbled and came to a stop when he
neared the corner of the barn. A cold breeze blew a smell he
thought he'd left in the mines. It was the smell of blood and
death. He frowned and stepped around the corner, only to stop
again. Scattered throughout the yard between the house and barn
were the bodies of chickens, cats, and a few goats. The barn door
was smashed open and inside he saw the sightless eyes of Gemini
staring out at him. His father's horse lay in a pool of its own
blood.

Alto turned, his eyes going to the house. The
front door and all the windows on the lower level were smashed in.
He turned again, his heart in his throat and the apples he’d eaten
the night before feeling rancid in his stomach. He found what was
left of his family on poles near the path that led from their farm
to the road beyond.

Alto moved forward without realizing it. His
body was numb and his mind fogged over. He stopped and stared up,
seeing the heads of his brothers and sisters where they rested on
poles driven into the ground. On either side of them, he found his
mother and father, both crucified to timbers. He stared up at them
until he realized his view had changed. He was on the ground and
everything was blurry. His vision hadn't been a cruel dream; it had
been a foretelling of what was soon to come.

Had Thork known all along? Was Alto just a
plaything to him? Was this how the saint of fear and his followers
tormented others? And would it have made any difference? There was
nothing he could have done to stop this, nothing save heeding his
parents and never having left to become a warrior.

But then they might have all been killed when
Sarya's forces swept through the region. Alto gasped as the vision
flashed through his head again. Caitlin wasn't here! He was still
alive and so was she, or at least she had been when Beck had taken
her in his vision. He forced himself to look up at the remains to
make sure she was missing.

"Ah! Good, you’ve finally returned. That
trouble in the mountains had me worried that you’d gotten yourself
killed."

Alto lifted his head enough to see Beck
walking towards him from his father’s house.

"A bit cold out here, don’t you think? A nice
fire should fix that, though." Beck turned and gestured to one of
the men who followed him out of the house. Three of them removed
the stoppers from flasks of oil and splashed them on the house. The
fourth struck flint to steel until the torch he held caught a
spark. The mercenary protected it from the wind until the flame had
taken and then he straightened and turned back to Beck.

"Oh dear, seems I’ve forgotten something.
What was it…"

Alto lifted himself up and felt the cold and
confusion drain away from him. His tears forgotten, he reached for
the sword at his side.

"No matter," Beck said. "Let’s have that fire
now."

The man took Beck’s signal and stepped
forward to touch it to the oil sprinkled on the house in multiple
places. Flames leapt slowly at first, and then climbed faster. A
moment later, a scream pierced the stillness.

"Oh! Must be I forgot someone inside. Now who
could that be? Ah yes, a young girl. Oh well, I can get another
whore anywhere."