The column reached the East-West Road late in the day and here they stopped. The great road stood barren before them, its wide span thick with mud and seemingly sullen. A settlement had been here once but all that remained now were dilapidated and decaying buildings.
West along the sea lay the Barony of Klaive; across the swamps to the great sea lay the Twin Sonnets, the Free Cities of Mir and Veter. East, a great distance along the great road lay the end of Great Kingdom and the beginning of the Western Territories. Here the land was shrouded in ancient woodlands, a forest as deep and rich as the whole of the Territories, Eastern and Western. Directly to their south lay South Province and its capital Quashan'. To the north, Imtal awaited their return.
From here, a small complement of ridesmen, two detachments and the sergeant at arms, Emel Brodstson, would continue south. The remainder of the great company would follow the gradual westward slope of the road for a few more hours.
Adrina watched as the detachment rode away to the south and she rode westward. Decidedly, she would miss Emel. She wanted to chase him down and wish him a safe journey or maybe mumble through an apology, but held back.
She would have continued riding west and never spoken the good-bye she was harboring if a few moments of hesitation hadn't changed her mind. She wrapped the leather straps tightly in her hands and pulled them sharply to one side to turn the mare quickly. A swift kick to the hindquarters sent the animal charging. Her sworn protectors hurried to catch her, having been earnestly chastised for letting her out of their sight on previous occasions.
Not sure what she wanted to tell him, she was slow to call out to him. She wanted to tell him that it wasn't his fault. She wanted to tell him what she felt for him in her heart. She wanted to tell him that she would miss him.
As he turned to look at her, she lost her resolve. "Please give my regards to Prince Valam. Tell my brother I can't wait until his visit next summer," she said, saying what was safe and not what was in her heart.
Emel stopped Ebony momentarily and told her frankly, "Someone is shadowing the column, Adrina. Watch your every step."
Vilmos followed where the pull of the rope lead him, the world around him was now so black that he couldn't discern anything from the darkness. Not knowing when they would come to a rut, a hill, a ravine, he placed each foot down softly and uncertainly. He tried to keep his thoughts from wandering and think only of placing one foot in front of the other. This was a difficult chore as he fought exhaustion.
The single hunter continued to follow them, howling out at regular intervals, perhaps telling companions that followed silently that the hunt was still on.
Staring into the darkness and not being able to see anything was at times overwhelming, and during those times, Vilmos felt utterly helpless. He could only follow the tugs at the rope and hope that the person tied to the other end was still Xith—for exhaustion made him doubt even that.
His thoughts did wander, though, even as he fought to keep them focused on putting one foot in front of the other. He thought of home, the villagers, Lillath and Vil. Surely if the powerful shaman feared the creatures that chased them, the three villages were in danger. Yes, days of forests separated them, but how far did these creatures roam?
Vilmos groped his way around a tree that seemed to suddenly sprout in front of him. The ground beneath his feet was damp now. Vilmos knew this because of the thick mud clinging to his boots, making heavy feet that much heavier. Far off he heard the sound of running water as if a stream lay somewhere ahead. For a time his thoughts filled with a longing to drink of its cool waters.
They were coming down a long steep hill when suddenly the rope went slack. Vilmos' mind filled with alarm. Xith normally signaled with a double pull on the rope when he was going to stop.
Vilmos groped with his hands about his waist until he found where the knot in the rope began. Then he began to take up the slack in the line. When he had pulled in about five feet without the line going taut, he stopped. He was almost afraid to keep pulling. His hands way ahead of his thoughts kept working though and Vilmos soon found the end of the line in his hands.
Vilmos tried to rationalize. He told himself Xith must have untied the rope from around his waist. Perhaps the stream was just ahead and Xith wanted to tell him this. The running water did sound awfully close.
Bravely, Vilmos took a step forward into the darkness, then another, and a few more. The stream was there all right. He found it by stepping into it with a slosh. The water was cold.
"Xith," Vilmos whispered, "Where are you?"
No answer came.
Vilmos whispered in a slightly louder voice, "Xith?"
Vilmos heard movement behind him and spun about, nearly losing his balance. He saw the dull glow of a pair of eyes about halfway up the steep, forest-covered hill but the glow wasn't soft silver.
He stood deadly still. He heard growling now and then a howl, joined by many more. Confusion, exhaustion and panic mandated his actions.
Instinct and human nature took over his thoughts. The will to survive became his only objective. Blue sparks danced across his fingers tips without him even realizing it.
The light only served to fill in the images missing from his mind's eye. Halfway up the hill he saw them, a pack of the creatures that though they looked like wolves he knew they weren't. No wolf he'd ever seen had two heads. No wolf he'd ever seen was as large as a bear.
Vilmos slowly backed into the stream. The creatures inched forward. He inched backward.
When the waters swirling around him were knee deep, Vilmos stopped. The lead creature, the largest one of the whole pack, stood no farther than ten feet away from him now. Vilmos was suddenly sure this was the beast that had hunted and howled after them while the others in the pack had hunted silently at its side. It seemed to signal to the others to wait as it approached.
Instinct and the will to survive still at the forefront of his thoughts, blue sparks continued to dance across Vilmos' fingertips. He waited, staring down the strange two-headed creature, wondering why it did not attack him, wondering if it could lunge ten feet in a single, swift move using the powerful legs he saw.
Vilmos began to back up again, and the creature continued to approach. Each took one small step at a time, and stared the other down. Vilmos' two eyes matched against the creature's four, each daring the other to make a move.
The water about his legs was now only ankle deep, but Vilmos gave it little thought. He dared not waver his eyes from the position they held locked to the creature's. Soon Vilmos found that he was no longer sloshing backward through water. He had come to the far bank. The strange beast waited on the opposite bank, only a few precious feet away.
In the soft blue light, the creature's double set of fangs glistened white-blue. Two heads meant two mouths filled with up- and down-turned canine fangs. Vilmos and the creature stared each other down, seemingly to find out whose will power was stronger.
Something brushed against his shoulder. Vilmos let out a scream that echoed long into the night. He whirled about, fists poised ready to fend off the unseen attacker, only to find soft gray eyes fixed on his.
"Xith!" Vilmos shrieked, "Thank the Father!"
"Do not thank him yet," Xith said, "Back up slowly now. The Wolmerrelle will not normally leave an area they are protecting, but let's not give them any reason to think they should."
"Wolmerrelle?"
"Suffice it to say that beasts from different realms were not meant to mate, for when they do, the result is not for the greater good."
"Where did you go?" Vilmos asked as he inched backward.
Xith held out something in his hand that the boy didn't dare to look at. "They were leading us all right. Another pack was shadowing us, waiting until they had us cornered."
Xith put a heavy hand on Vilmos' shoulder, indicating they should stop. Vilmos noticed there were no trees around them. He stood in tall grass that stretched to his chest. The lead Wolmerrelle was still staring them down, but now it was a good twenty to thirty feet away. Vilmos groaned and put his hands to his face to rub bleary eyes. As Vilmos did this, Xith lost the support he had been using to keep upright. He staggered and fell.
Vilmos grabbed Xith's waist to help the shaman to his feet. He felt moisture against his hand. Xith's robe was saturated from his neck down.
"Do not worry." Xith's voice was weak. He coughed. "Most of it is not mine."
Vilmos knew then that it was blood he touched. For a moment, a small sliver of the moon shined down upon them as it broke through heavy clouds. Vilmos saw the shaman's prize. It was a head of one of the beasts, up close it was far larger and even more frightening than he had imagined.
Vilmos tended to Xith's wounds. He did as the shaman instructed and cleaned the wounds against infection then touched the stones of the river to them. "The stream is a tributary to the distant river Trollbridge that divides the Free Cities of Mir and Veter. It runs a long way from Rain Mountain in the center of the forest to where it joins the Trollbridge and helps feed the swamps. Its stones are healing in their own way," Xith had said, and Vilmos did not question that they were.
For the next several hours, Vilmos lay at Xith's side, afraid to let sleep take him. Several times as he stared through gaps in the tall grasses to the far side of the stream, he saw the strange creatures Xith had called Wolmerrelle. Xith had been right about one thing—they were best left unnamed. Putting a name to the horror he saw only aided their terrifying grip on his mind. Somehow he was sure that one day he would return to Vangar Forest and when he did the Wolmerrelle would be waiting for him.
Next time Vilmos knew he would not be so lucky. He would not escape as easily.
Captain Brodst called the company to a halt. The low road that lead down into the murky lowlands, aptly dubbed the Bottoms by both those few who dwelled there and by those who frequented these southerly lands, lay before them.
He cast a glance heavenward; the sun was well past its zenith and the storm clouds of morning were gone. His customary frown lengthened. He reconsidered his alternatives, to take the king's road or to skirt the mire. He had discussed these choices with Keeper Martin, Father Jacob and the other captains the previous day. The obvious choice was to take the shortcut through the swamp. They were already behind schedule, yet something Duke Ispeth had told him the night before last was bothering him now.
"Not a single messenger—and few travelers—have come north for more than a week," the duke had said, "tis a strange occurrence indeed."
At the time Captain Brodst hadn't given it much thought, he had been tired and angry. Duke Ispeth could be a stubborn man when he wanted to be. Captain Brodst remembered that just after the duke had said that he'd scratched his head and said, "It's probably nothing. In another week or so, I'll probably find that the roads were washed out again… Damned rainy season approaching, you know."
Something in the way the old duke had said it told Captain Brodst he didn't really believe what he'd just said. It was true Duke Ispeth was eccentric and suspicious of everyone; even so, Captain Brodst had never seen anyone as agitated as he'd seen the duke that night. He had ranted and raved for hours. He had told them about reports of strange travelers passing through his lands at night, peasants complaining that whole crops were disappearing and many other things.
Captain Brodst took in a deep breath. If the weather had been better, surely they would have been ahead of schedule and he could have opted to skirt the swamps. He had discussed this route with King Andrew because they both feared the closeness of the rainy season. Captain Brodst found it ironic that since the rainy season had arrived early he now seemed forced to make a completely wrong choice in an attempt to save time.
None of this worrying will save time, he told himself. They were at least one day behind schedule and needed to make up the lost time. The only way to do it would be to turn south. He gave the signal, pointed to the southernmost road and then spurred his mount on. In a few hours Captain Brodst planned to call a halt for the evening and, by mid-morning of the second day along this route, they should enter the outer mires.