Cold misting rain beaded on Dallas’s face and hands, and in Swift’s mane, as they slowly climbed another hill searching for the missing sheep and humans.
The longer it took to locate them, the more Dallas worried.
The female who placed the spell on the sheep certainly knew sheep well enough to surround their chests with ichur bands, restricting their breathing, but he could not think of a reason why she would do that.
They crested the hill. Swift saw the first sheep half way up the next slope and broke into a trot, skidding on the wet grass in her haste.
“Steady,” Dallas bought his attention back to the ground around him when Swift skidded for the second time. “Slow down before we both take a tumble.”
Swift slowed to a walk, ears flicking back and forward, listening.
“Better keep alert. The female could be waiting for us to walk into a trap.” Dallas finally realised that the female could have used the spelled sheep to get him away from the dwellings so she could capture Swift.
He rested his left hand on his staff, ready to defend against magical attacks, even though he could not see any humans on the slope of the next hill.
Two more sheep crested the next hill and walked towards the other three calmly grazing half way down the slope. “I guess the rest of the flock is just over the next rise.”
He found the rest of the flock grazing on the eastern slope of the next hill. Alone.
No women or children in sight. No men either. Misty and Sweetness were also missing.
Swift whinnied, calling to Sweetness, but the only sounds they heard were bleating sheep. She sent an image of a body on the ground to the north of the grazing sheep seconds before she trotted north across the slope.
Dallas searched the breeze swept, swaying long grass and finally saw what Swift’s sharp eyes had noticed. A hand and forearm covered in a wet brown sleeve peeked out from a clump of long grass.
He dismounted and pushed the grass aside to study the body. The arm moved. A soft moan sounded as Dallas recognised the shepherd’s youngest son, Bert.
He eased Bert into a sitting position and searched his body for wounds. None.
Bert rubbed his head and moaned again.
“What happened?” Dallas unhooked the strap of his water canteen from the saddle and removed the lid. “Drink.”
He held the canteen to the still groggy male’s mouth and waited for him to drink.
When Bert pushed the canteen away Dallas replaced the lid. “What happened?”
“Too many of them. Took the three youngsters, and May and Eloise, and headed south.” Bert rubbed his head again. “One was fightin’ Olly over there.” He pointed further around the slope towards a spindly tree. “I blacked out then.”
“Wait here. I will check if Olly is still there.”
“Slavers! Need to get back to Da before they capture the little ones.” Bert stood and looked around the area. “Remember a female standing over there.” He pointed south. “Too far away to know for sure, but looked like the female who called on us a week ago.”
Dallas hung the canteen on the saddle, and removed his staff. “Swift, search for Sweetness and Misty. I will look for Olly.”
He walked around the slope in the direction Bert said Olly was fighting one of the slavers. He located a body. It was not Olly.
The dark haired, dead male had a long nose and high cheekbones. Both common features of a Morecrag citizen.
Dallas knew Morecrag slavers grew rich selling slaves to many southern slave owners, but they did not have the right to cross Convane’s southern border and steal Convane citizens.
Blood stained the collar of his shirt. He pushed the male’s head to the side and studied his slit throat. Two drops of dried blood formed an inch from the start of the knife cut. Dallas rubbed the closer one with his thumb. A small hole was all that remained from whatever pierced his skin an inch before the knife slashed his throat.
He stood, wondering what type of knife would make small holes before the blade cut a wide slash.
Suddenly, he knew.
One of Misty’s throwing stars!
The metal discs had four pointed blades and two long curved blades. He had not seen the damage they could do before, but he now understood.
Misty must had thrown one of her stars from a distance and it spun as it flew through the air towards the male. The two small holes were made from two of the pointed blades, the second deeper than the first as the point dug into the slaver’s neck. The third long curved blade sliced though skin, sinew, and windpipe. Because the throwing star was not embedded in the wound, it must have continued spinning.
He turned the male’s head so he could check for small holes on the other side of his sliced neck. Only one small hole.
A quick glance around the area told him the throwing star was not there. Misty had time to pick it up before she fought the next slaver.
He followed boot tracks away from the body, worried he would find Misty next.
Why would Misty enter a fight with unbeatable odds?
She should have ridden Sweetie back to the barn to get help.
Swift whinnied once, but kept trotting in a wide circle around the slope, hopefully searching for Sweetie’s tracks.
Dallas located a second body.
Same dark coloured hair, long nose and high cheekbones. Another Morecrag citizen. This one had a long black beard. He also had a slit throat, but this time a knife was used, not a throwing star.
He kept walking through the long grass, searching for Misty.
He found Olly, Jeb’s daughter’s husband, sprawled face down inside a clump of grass, with an arrow through his back. Drag marks led away from Olly. Whoever killed him dragged him across to the patch of long grass to hide him.
Dallas realised the slavers took the time to hide all the evidence of their attack to gain time in their escape.
He kept searching until Swift returned, but he could not locate Misty.
Swift sent an image of Sweetie galloping south.
“Thank you, Swift. You did well.” Dallas scratched under her chin. He was torn between returning to the barn to warn the old shepherd of the attack or following Sweetie’s tracks so he could rescue the women and children.
Bert walked over and cleared his throat. “Yonder be Misty’s doing?” Water dripped from his hair and chin onto his wet shirt, but he stood straight without swaying.
“I believe so.” Dallas patted Swift’s neck one last time. “Olly is dead.” He pointed to the large clump of long grass. “Arrow in the back.”
Bert spat on the ground. “Slavers!”
“Two slavers are also dead.” Dallas pointed towards the slaver bodies. “No sign of the women or children, but Swift found tracks leading south.”
“Slavers!” Bert spat again. “You going to report this to the councillors?”
“Are you well enough to walk back to the barn and tell your da?” Dallas glanced south. “He can decide if the councillors need to know or not. I want to catch up to the slavers and rescue your women and children before they reach the border.”
Bert rubbed the back of his head while he thought. Then he lowered his hand and nodded. “Go.”
Dallas mounted Swift. “If any of these sheep show signs of wheezing keep them separated from the rest.”
Bert nodded once.
“They will be dead before you can ask my mother to come and remove any spells.”
Bert remained silent.
“If you find any of the slaver’s horses roaming free, keep them.”
“Go. Find their tracks. Expectin’ they be heading south.”
* * *
Dallas figured the slavers had four or five hours start on him. Which meant he should reach Misty and Sweetness around midnight, if Swift did not lose Sweetie’s tracks.
He wiped moisture off his face before he searched the ground looking for any tracks. Could be slaver horses or the captive’s footprints. Nothing.
The rain stopped just after dark but the breeze kept blowing.
He held the staff and imagined a bright light spreading from the top. A silvery glow pushed the darkness back in all directions for three yards. He pushed more ichur out the top of the staff and the silvery glow spread a further three yards. The light would display hazards well before Swift needed to avoid them, if she kept to a walk, or even if she trotted. And safer to only use ichur so no one in the area would see the light.
Swift kept her head lowered while she walked, smelling Sweetie’s tracks, but Dallas knew she enjoyed the light as much as he did.
Another hour passed, without locating the slaver’s tracks, before Swift stopped. She snorted.
Dallas dismounted and pulled his staff out of the saddle holder. He held it high while he walked forward.
His heart pounded when he located the body, because he thought it was Misty.
He hurried forward and rolled the body over.
It was another dark haired male, younger than the other dead slavers. His throat was slit. There was too much blood to see if he was killed by one of Misty’s throwing stars.
As he straightened from inspecting the body, he noticed a heel print close to the body filled with muddy water that reflected the light from his staff. He studied the ground and found another heel print.
Misty had dismounted and walked around the dead male. Why?
Dallas circled the body, keeping away from Misty’s heel prints. Then he noticed two stems of grass sliced from the edge of a large clump of grass.
He nodded. One of Misty’s throwing stars fell to the ground, cutting through the blades of grass.
Because she missed her mark or because she dropped it?
If she stopped to retrieved her throwing star, she had to be confident the rest of the slavers could not see her. Or, she was removing any traces of her involvement in killing the male.
Either way, she was thinking clearly and taking time to retrieve her weapons. Better than her rushing in to rescue the women and children and end up captured along with them.
He returned to Swift. “Not Misty.”
Swift sent an image of hoof imprints in the muddy ground, each indentation filled with water. Then the ground was free of imprints.
“Lost their tracks?”
Swift sent another image, this one of her trotting parallel to Sweetie’s tracks, next to a silvery puddle.
“A spell? Removed the tracks?”
Swift snorted.
“Where is the spelled track?”
Swift moved off the path Misty and Sweetie used, and stopped five yards to the west, in front of a small bush.
That was answer enough for Dallas. If the female mage used ichur to remove the slaver’s tracks, she was aware Misty followed. Which meant they knew she could not see and use ichur, so they changed direction and hid their tracks from Misty.
Their mistake. They did not understand Sweetie was a tracker, so did not realise she could follow the residue of the spell that hid their tracks.
“We know they are heading south to the border. They must have fresh horses waiting nearby and used the spell to stop Misty following after they changed horses.” Dallas walked forward from where Swift stood. “If they are aware Misty is following, she must be close enough to see them, or she is keeping back, trusting Sweetie to follow them.”
He kicked a small stone with the tip of his right boot. The stone rolled forward, displaying a faint trace of silver. The stone showed part of the spell that hid wagon and horse tracks.
The mage used a spell to drop small stones and dirt on top of the hoof prints to hide their tracks. He was aware moving the stones and dirt used less ichur than covering the tracks with a spell to hide the imprints. Could mean a weak mage. Or not!
“If we keep following the slaver tracks, we should cross Sweetie’s tracks again.” Dallas mounted Swift.
Swift sniffed the air before she trotted south in the glow of his staff.