| |
––––––––
MEDRAUT BACKED INTO the darkness. Although Trelleir had not participated in Gault's beating, his gaze never left Brial's defender. Something about the scholar raised the hackles of his neck. He cursed the fact he could never figure out why Trelleir triggered the ethereal warning. The only thing he knew was the overwhelming urge to flame Trelleir into ashes.
A quick turn and he raced down the path of flattened grass between the picket line and the circle of wagons.
"All my efforts wasted," he snarled. His thoughts shifted, placing blame on the rider. My plan was perfect. Gault told me he was skilled with a sword. That he had killed at least six men with his bare hands. All that stupid herder had to do was force Karst into a fight and kill him so I could comfort Brial in her time of grief. But Karst did not take the bait. Instead, Gault allowed himself to be manhandled like a disobedient wench.
He stopped and looked back in the direction of the animal pens. A held breath escaped when he saw no evidence of being followed. "Next time I won’t fail. Trelleir will die no matter how skilled his woman is with a sword. I will find out what is blocking the thrall and Brial will come to me of her own free will."
He slipped into the brush alongside the path to let the two men dragging the stumbling Gault walk past. What to do about that one? I cannot risk him being made to talk.
Silently he followed to see what wagon they locked Gault in. A plan formed when he saw who sat on the wagon steps as a guard. I already worked my control of this man once to get additional servings of food and to have the man clean the dung from the picket area so I didn’t have to. It will be even easier to make him obedient this time around. I just have to decide what to do about Gault, Medraut thought. Should I have him fall on a sword or have the guard kill Gault while trying to escape?
Benefits and risks swirled in his head until he settled on a plan. When the clans people go to bed, I will put the guard under my control, then have him walk Gault out to the picket line. He can help Gault steal a horse.
The idea lightened his dark mood. One side of his mouth turned up in a smirk. Simple, easy, and the guard won’t remember a thing.
Medraut stifled a chuckle. The guard might even get in trouble if someone suggested he fell asleep on duty.
BRIAL WATCHED DENEAS encourage Sunfire as the stallion tried to find a path through the dunes for the wagons. All the old timers said the area had never been this impassible. More than one remarked that more than wind had remade the ancient trail. They suspected the hand of man was involved in the disappearance of the stone road that caravans had used for generations.
The red desert sand coated everything and worked its way beneath both mask and headscarf. Even the food gulped down while walking a team or in the saddle tasted of grit. Repeated stops because a wagon – or two or three – bogged down in the sand, slowed their caravan’s progress until they rolled long into the night.
At least, she thought, the sky is clear and the moon bright. She mentally cataloged the familiar groupings of stars learned at her mother’s knee. On the left was Serth the mountain goat named for the four points of its antlers. Grafanc the cat filled the lower sky. If one looked carefully, they could see strings of minor stars hanging from the three bright points of each paw. Nothing appeared amiss in the sky or on the ground, still, the sense of impending danger loomed.
More than the difficult terrain had everyone on edge. The closer the caravan got to Nawddmir, the more Brial watched Karst withdraw into his thoughts. She had her own reasons for reflection. I am the reason Karst is here. I am the one who brought danger to the clan. Her kin risked more than just trading opportunities by having him along.
It is not just me who feels the tension, she thought. Although there has not been any trouble since Gault stole a horse and disappeared, my grandfather ordered extra guards at night and the scouts ranged farther ahead than normal. Every mount was put under saddle for a faster defense of the wagons. Age and skill level made no difference, nor whether the person walked, sat a bench, or rode a horse, all had their favorite weapon close to hand.
Even Tywyll felt the danger. The bird wouldn't leave me until my grandfather allowed me to join a scout team. At least that way the helwr would be airborne searching for any sign of the lost road.
Deneas' wave signaling a change of direction, sparked a splinter of hope and Brial urged her horse toward the other woman. The clack of horseshoes on stone rather than the swoosh of animals pushing through sand told what Deneas had found. Someone had laid a bed of stones to create a road. Although a thin layer of sand covered it, the road served its purpose.
A quick exploration of the area not only determined the width of the road, but a sense of its direction. It aligned with Grafanc's sparkling claws and the way to Nawddmir.
After a hurried meeting with her grandfather confirmed the route had finally been located, Brial rode along the line of wagons to pass the news and offer encouragement.
Senses already stressed noticed the change in the wagons' rhythm. The wheels rolled smoother and the hauler beasts moved with less effort. A candlemark later the caravan had covered twice the distance of the previous day. At this rate, Brial thought, we’ll be in Nawddmir by mid-day.
True to the estimate, the sun was directly overhead when the first wagon rolled up to the stone cairn marking the outer boundary of Nawddmir. A wave of excitement rolled from wagon to wagon. A final word of encouragement to Emrys for his handling of her hauler beasts and Brial coaxed her horse into a faster gait. Two men on horseback waited in the middle of the trail. Columns of dust showed where Deneas and Trelleir headed for her grandfather.
Only one thing dampened the upcoming event. Karst won't be there. As soon as the road was found, he dropped back to ride drag at the end of the wagon train. Then he volunteered for guard duty.
A sigh Brial did not even try to hold back escaped. He won't be with me at the welcoming dinner tonight either.
FLAMES IN THE FIREPIT lit the entire circle of wagons. Karst watched the face of every person gathered around the wagons in search of anyone he knew. So far he had been able to avoid Geren. His gaze kept returning to the grouping of benches where Feldt and the two blacksmiths worked out the logistics of the journey to the convocation. Unlike the other trading sessions he had been party to, Karst noted Feldt and the men near him all wore desert headscarves and loose-fitting robes. The robes allowed freedom of movement and could hide weapons. But, why the headscarf, he wondered. It was past sundown so no protection was needed from the sun. Even more puzzling none of the traders had the cloth covering their face.
No matter how desperate he was to avoid contact with the residents of Nawddmir, Karst couldn’t stay hidden. As Brial went from wagon to wagon, chatting with the villagers or providing an encouraging smile to one of the young women engaged in bartering, he followed her. Drawn to Brial like a moth to a flame, but always forced to stay in the darkness.
I have to be close, he thought, to protect her if my father shows up.
Not if, he corrected. When.
A heavy silence drew his attention to the wagon closest to the village. People stopped talking and moved apart, opening an aisle. As if the mere thinking of the name summoned the person, the head slayer strutted through the opening. Close on his heels, a taller man followed. "So that is what happened to Gault," Karst muttered. "He ran straight to my father." Ice froze his breath. "Brial is in greater danger than we believed."
"Greetings, Elder Feldt. My apologies for not properly greeting you." Caldar said. He cast a withering glare at Geren, who smiled back. "I was not notified of your arrival." A gesture dismissed the blacksmith. "Elder, we have much to discuss. How much do YOU as head of the caravan need to bring the trade wagons to Darceth?" The jingle of coins in the velvet bag he withdrew from within his jacket sounded loud against the quiet covering the area.
Feldt stood, the burly trader overshadowing the smaller Caldar. "Slayer Caldar, my clan has set up our camp at Nawddmir and will be staying here. And just for your information, my clan and I make honest deals. Neither they nor I accept bribes."
"You will come to Darceth." Red splotches appeared on Caldar's face from the force of his scream.
Karst watched, waiting for his father’s or Feldt’s next move. However, the clansman ignored the other man and continued his discussion with Geren as if they had never been interrupted. He swore his father stomped his foot.
"If you and your wagons don’t return with me, you will suffer the Goddess’ vengeance. Your goods and wagons confiscated." A harsh edge filled his voice. "Your people will be put into the chamber of judgment ... as will you."
Now his father's tone took on the condescending tone Karst remembered so well. "Come, Elder Feldt, there is no need for unpleasantness between us. Come to Darceth." The clank of coin against coin reached Karst's observation place. Unbidden, the image appeared of a hidden lever that sent a stream of molten rock toward a chained victim. "Please, Feldt, don't fall for my father's lies," he whispered. The words came with a vow to break cover at the first sign of the trader's agreement.
His fear eased at the clansman's sharp laugh. "Sorry, slayer. I don’t believe in your Goddess of the volcano nor her vengeance. Your offer is rejected. This meeting over." His wave at a wagon brought the man who had been lying on its roof to his knees. His hands held a drawn bow with an arrow notched and ready for release. "Feldt’s loud, "Now," and a dozen more heavily-armed men rose from hiding. Each had a drawn bow. Without another word, he reached up to adjust the head cloth to cover his face.
Loud gasps came from the villagers. Now I know why Feldt wore the traditional desert garb, Karst thought. He honored the residents of Nawddmir with the use of their traditions. His last action was an obvious acknowledgment of an ancient desert saying. "Never show your enemy your face."
Chest pain reminded Karst to breathe. The head slayer was not known for his tolerance when he didn’t get his way. And Feldt’s actions were more than a rejection, by covering his face, he openly insulted the slayer.
The sense of being the focus of intense scrutiny told Karst he had been spotted, but by whom? His answer came a heartbeat later when Gault leaned over and whispered in the older man’s ear. The grin on the rider’s face heralded what would happen next.
Caldar spun on his heels and jabbed a finger toward the wagons Karst stood between. "Slayer Karst, as head of the Council of Elders I order you to return Geren and his father to Darceth to face the Goddess’ judgment."
Geren jumped to his feet. "What am I charged with?"
Caldar didn’t back down, if anything his stature increased. "Geren, you and your father, Gabha, have been found guilty of theft of village property and depriving the village of Darceth of needed blacksmith skills."
A strident, "Enough," came from within a group of women. They parted and two women moved into view. As soon as he saw them, Karst knew who dared interrupt his father’s speech. Deneas, one of the few people who had thwarted Caldar's plans. The other woman Karst recognized from her time at Darceth, Geren’s wife.
But it was Deneas who commanded the crowd's attention. Her hand lay on the hilt of her sword. "Caldar, you have no authority here. Neither as Head Slayer, as the Goddess' representative, nor as leader of Darceth's council of elders." She turned to the villagers now lined up behind Geren and his father. "These men stole nothing from Darceth. Brought nothing with them that was not theirs."
The way Deneas countered his father's accusations reminded Karst of another time she thwarted the elder's plans when the councilman tried to confiscate Deneas’ home.
As if the woman in front of him didn't exist. Caldar straightened and pointed at the watching blacksmiths. "They took wagons and horses from Darceth. Wagons loaded with iron, tools, and the village anvils."
"My grandfather's father made my anvil and my father cast his anvil with his own two hands." Geren's outburst ended when his wife laid a hand on his arm.
Deneas' deep sigh of someone long-suffering broke the heaviness in the air. Silently Karst cheered her on. Her words and actions would infuriate his father.
"Your memory is short, m'lord." Her sweet tone emphasized the barbs her words held. "You allowed them but one horse and that was returned to Darceth. The wagons Geren and his father took were built of gifted lumber." A quick wink at Karst to remind him of his father’s failed attempt to confiscate Deneas’ home and her demeanor changed. "Lumber gifted by me, if you recall."
This time Karst was ready when his father shifted his attention back to him. Regret at Tywyll's absence returned, but the bird had not yet returned from hunting in the desert. My father murdered Tywyll's mistress. The bird marked my father once and deserves his revenge. He stiffened his back. For the first time in his life, he would tell his father what to do with his orders.
"Karst, strip Deneas of her weapons."
His pulse leaped. Before meeting Brial and her kin he would have obeyed without a second thought. Sadness at the man he used to be fought with the man he now wanted to be. Squaring his shoulders, he decided on the perfect response to his father’s demand. "No!"
FRUSTRATION RAGED THROUGH Medraut. "Gault failed me again." The rider was supposed to get the villagers to attack the wagons. And a bonus if Karst was "accidentally" killed. Instead, the traders made a fool of the head slayer. Ideas on how to separate Brial from her kin surged forward to be tossed aside until only one remained. The other man’s red face as he pushed his way through the crowd with Gault on his heels provided the final clue. Attack. And the weapon would be Caldar.
Slipping from shadow to shadow, Medraut followed the other man to the quarters assigned to him by the leaders of Nawddmir. By the time the pair stopped at the smallest, ramshackle hut in the village, he wished he had grabbed the bottle of wine he had stashed beneath his bed. Instead, so that the pair didn’t get too far away, he just grabbed the map. Good thing I helped myself to Feldt’s desk before we reached Nawddmir.
They must be friends of the blacksmiths, he thought, to put Caldar at the far end of the village. With the well located in the village center and the locals refusing to provide jug service to him, the head slayer not only had to walk some distance to the well but draw his own water. "By now, Caldar should be ready to attack the caravan, with or without a reason." One corner of his mouth pulled up into a smirk, "And I will give him one."
The snarled, "What?" to his knock on the door, confirmed Medraut’s impression of the other man’s mindset. After a quick introduction by Gault, he gave his proposal. As soon as he said the word, "Attack," interest entered the other man’s eyes. Encouraged, he continued. "Gault is to serve as a liaison. He knows the caravan’s procedures and their defensive measures and can advise your men."
"You ride with the wagons," Caldar countered. "Why would you betray them?"
This one is now mine, Medraut crowed. "Feldt and his kin have repeatedly insulted me. Instead of providing suitable quarters, they make me ride in the single men’s wagon. I am assigned the lowest drudge duties and when I am allowed to join a scouting group, my horse is a sway-backed nag, not fit to eat, let alone be under saddle."
"And Gault?"
"He had to bear the worst treatment from those traders. Gault did nothing to earn his punishment. All he did was pay a woman a compliment. And for that he was beaten, tied up, and thrown into a supply wagon. For a mere misunderstanding, he faced a life of servitude. He was lucky to escape."
Each statement increased the slayer’s interest until Medraut swore the man purred. Finally, it was time to set the hook. "Slayer Caldar, let us work together. How many men can you put under sword?"
The tally of fifty fighters was so small Medraut fought to keep the disdain from his face. But he had to humor Caldar. "That many? You must be quite a leader. May I suggest we use them tactically?”
A quiet word to remove the mesmer and a map appeared in his hand. Medraut ignored the other men's gasps as if what had just happened was commonplace. "This is from Feldt’s private files. I copied it just for you." His gaze never left the other man’s face as he pointed out several ambush sites. Now to get Caldar to agree to the one I want. He pointed to a circle two sevenday’s ride away.
"That is so far away," Caldar complained. He lay a finger on another spot. "Here looks better."
Medraut crushed the snarky response that surged forward. I need to manage Caldar until after the attack. If the son kills the father, so much the better. Feldt will kick Karst out and I win. If not, there is always Gault to do the deed. A deep breath and he explained in a calm tone. "Feldt and his men don’t consider you a friend. Even I caught the significance of him covering his face. They will be on heightened guard until they are some distance from Nawddmir." He tapped the map to draw the other men’s attention to it. "Unless your men are already here in Nawddmir?" His look rounded the room as if three dozen men would magically appear. "You need to return to Darceth and gather supplies." His finger traced a path. "This trail will cut off a sevenday worth of travel and allow you to catch up with the wagons."
Caldar’s sharp, "I never heard of that trail," again tested Medraut’s control.
"Only the traders know of the trail," came out without a hint of condescension. A rap on the map sounded in the room. "This spot has several advantages. The traders will be there for several days for what they call a festival. Everyone's guard will be down."
"No one is allowed to fight during the event. No weapons are allowed. Not even a belt knife, let alone a sword," added Gault. "The last night is a pairing event. After the night with a woman, none of the men will be in any condition to fight. And the men who remained in camp will be too drunk or too hungover to hold a sword." His tone rose in excitement. "I understand Darceth is short on eligible women. Without the men to protect them, the women will be fair game. Except for one," he growled. "I claim the caravan leader’s granddaughter, Brial."
Caldar's lips parted at the mention of conquests. His thoughts were so obvious Medraut wondered how the village elder achieved his position.
How did I get involved with these two, Medraut wondered. I can understand Gault. He wants Brial. But Caldar? He should know better than to get distracted. To release some of the frustration, he pictured himself in his true form flaming Caldar into ash. Instead of acting on the illusion, he considered a different option of control, using magic to take over Caldar’s will. As he gathered his magic, he decided against the total removal of the slayer's will. Caldar would be too far away to keep an eye on and prevent him from going astray. It was better to make the slayer a willing accomplice than a mindless slave.
Just a little magic, he decided. Just enough to make the two men amenable.