Fool's Errand (31 page)

This of course was an exaggeration. Duncan knew with the extent of his wound and blood loss, Gideon doubtless felt as though he had been run over by the wagon rather than having ridden in it. Even though his wounds and injuries were healed by Duncan’s powerful
oth
, the priest knew his captain was putting on a braver face than most Adami would have been able to muster in his condition.

“Well, good to hear because we need you,” Duncan encouraged, deciding to give his captain the benefit of the doubt. “I’ve done about all I can. I’ve got next to nothing left in me, and the bard, Rarib, is nearly gone. If he is going to live, it is up to you, my friend.”

“This is grave news. I know the Malakim promised I would have use of this healing
oth
once per day to use on others. Right now though, I am not sure I can even walk to the last wagon under my own power, much less summon the will to pour healing into our dying spellsinger.”

“If you don’t, captain, Rarib is dead. What little
oth
I can summon now won’t be enough to save his life. You are his only hope.”

“That settles it, I suppose,” Gideon said through a weak smile. “This gift was given to be used, not to sit idle. I may require a little help to reach him. Still a little unsteady on my feet, you know.”

Duncan well knew. For all the captain’s brave words, the priest was surprised his captain was even conscious. Duncan knew Gideon had been moments from death himself. It would be days before Gideon fully recovered.

Trying to appear to be helping as little as possible, Duncan allowed his shoulder to act like a leaning post for Gideon as he assisted the paladin to his feet. They began to slowly and steadily make their way to the rear wagon; or what was left of it. Melizar and Thatcher concluded their whispered conversation and trotted over to join the duo, lending more mostly-inconspicuous help to their leader.

“Where we going, boss?” asked Thatcher.

“The bard needs Gideon’s healing
oth,
or he won’t live out the next quarter hour,” answered Duncan on Gideon’s behalf. “That Ogre’s spear has skewered him good, and if we don’t get to him soon, he won’t make it.”

“The bard?” replied Melizar. “The bard is a third traitor. He and the cook were in league with Xyer Garan.”

Despite the urgency to reach Rarib, they all stopped and turned to look at the mage with looks of puzzled incredulity. After all was it not the bard’s song that helped to turn the tide of battle in their favor? Was it not Garan himself that ordered the Ogre to silence him?

“Uh, what makes you say that?” inquired Thatcher. “I mean after all he seemed a right enough fellow, and whatever magic was in that song was the difference between victory and defeat today.”

The looks on the faces of the others echoed Thatcher’s sentiments.

“I heard it from Garan,” replied Melizar evasively. “Garan was working for the Blue Mystic. The cook and the bard were prisoners in Cyria, and Garan freed them in exchange for their cooperation. Why the bard helped us when Garan and Podam betrayed us I cannot say, but for certain he was working with Garan at least up until this battle.”

Duncan, knowing the urgency of Rarib’s condition, and now even more than ever wanting time to ask him some questions, prompted the group to move once again toward the back of the caravan.

“We can talk as we walk,” said Duncan, urging them once again toward the rear of the caravan. “We will have no answers if the bard dies.”

“Melizar,” Gideon asked, “if you knew we had traitors in our company, when exactly did you plan to tell us? Why didn’t you warn us before the battle?”

“Because I didn’t know before the battle.”

The confusion in the faces of the others seemed to be growing. There was no way Duncan was going to let this D’zarik mage continue this evasive dance. He would have to tell them something.

“Enough riddles, mage,” Duncan grumbled, showing more of his impatience with the
kashaph
wielder than he intended. “Speak plainly or be silent!”

“Melizar,” Gideon interjected, trying to douse whatever fire Duncan’s words might light in the heart of the mage. “It would help to build trust if you would share with us how you know these things, and how you didn’t know them before the battle started.”

“Look,” Melizar said, his annoyance at the questions clearly showing in his tone. “If you can save the bard, save him. I will make sure we can sort truth from lies when we interrogate him. Beyond that suffice it to say that I didn’t jump on Xyer Garan’s corpse because I have a practice of fondling cadavers. The
kashaph
I used let me see briefly some of Garan’s memories.”

“I knew
kashaph
was at the heart of this,” Duncan interjected.

“Brilliant deduction, priest,” Melizar retorted. “I was trying to find out why he betrayed us. I will explain more once the opportunity presents itself, but for now just trust that I know what I know, and I have never lied to you since we have been adventuring together. Once the current situation is stable, I shall apprise you more fully of certain aspects of myself, which may ease your apprehension.”

“Did you ever notice you start using bigger and bigger words when you get nervous?” Duncan quipped.

This shattered whatever tension had been growing, just as Duncan hoped it would. The others smiled a brief smile as an indignant grunt came from beneath the deep cowl of the mage. There was no time for a reply, however, as they had just reached the remains of the last wagon.

The scene was gruesome. The poor, skinny songster was pinned hopelessly through his midsection to the intact back of the driver’s seat, his hands still weakly clutching the reins of the horses attached to the wagon. The team of draft horses seemed to have gotten over whatever initial fright they had when the boulder hit the wagon and were now standing at rest as though nothing at all unusual had happened recently.

The dying bard, as he saw Gideon approach, began weakly to speak through a blood-soaked mouth.

“I’m sorry, Captain. He told me...I never wanted to hurt anyone...I’m sorry.”

With that the emaciated man passed into unconsciousness. Duncan knew there was no time to lose. He took hold of the spear and ordered Thatcher and Melizar to do the same, leaving Gideon to stand on his own unstable legs.

They wrenched with all their strength trying to pull the spear out as quickly and cleanly as they could, but it was too deeply embedded for them to free. The unconscious bard moaned as their efforts moved the shaft of the spear within the wound. Fortunately, he was not awake for this. If they didn’t get the spear out, however, there would be no
oth
in the world that could heal him.

Just then, their wayward Qarahni bounded up behind them.

“Ouch. I mean I have heard of not liking a performance, but that is a little extreme. So you wonderful healers gonna patch him up, or we planning to stand around and gamble on how long it will take him to bleed out?”

“Well,” Duncan snapped, finding Goldain’s humor extremely ill-timed. “We were waiting to see if any Qarahni royalty was going to wander by and make themselves useful, or if they were just going to stand around passing air from both ends. How about using those muscles to get that poker out of the bard so Captain Gideon can see that he sticks around a bit, huh?”

“All you had to do was ask.” Goldain took a sure grip on the huge shaft of the spear with both of his mighty arms. “Might want to stand back, this looks stuck pretty good.”

He braced one leg on the intact area below the driver’s seat and gave a mighty grunt and heave. The large spear came loose with the sound of splintering wood, and the northerner was so caught off guard by the sudden release of resistance against his pull that he rudely on his backside right between the two draft horses. The horses glanced briefly over their inside shoulders to see what the disturbance was about, but quickly lost interest in the unbalanced barbarian.

With the spear now free from the wound, Rarib began bleeding profusely. He had only a minute or two to live now. Gideon, with a quick prayer to the One Lord, placed his hands on the gaping hole in Rarib’s middle and poured all of his will into the songster. His hands glowed brightly as the heat from the healing
oth
passed through his arms and hands. He collapsed in front of the shattered remains of the supply wagon, falling to his knees from the effort.

Duncan saw there was no longer a hole in their bard, and his pain-riddled unconsciousness had transformed into a slumber of restoration. Given the man’s already weakened physical condition coupled with his blood-loss, it was doubtful the bard would be awake to answer questions anytime soon.

With Duncan’s help, Gideon settled into a somewhat comfortable seat with his back braced against the shattered side of one of the water barrels as the survivors worked to set up camp. The leaders were regrouping at the camp to determine losses and decide the next steps. Captain Tropham gave his report first.

“We cleaned up most of them. One or two may have gotten away, but I’d say we wiped them out almost to a man. My guess is the caravans are safe for now, but the mystery remains of who is behind these bandits.”

At that moment, the trooper Tropham had assigned to prepare the damage report came up, saluted the leaders, and briefed the leaders.

“Sirs, the casualties are bad. We lost thirteen troopers and four others are wounded to some degree but can likely travel. Eleven Durgak are dead with three others wounded but mobile.”

“I see,” Gideon replied with a sad look in his eyes. “And what about the mercenaries?”

“The Shade, Ohanzee, is dead. Kylor and the bard are going to be out of commission for a while. Both scouts got banged up a bit, but they both insist they are fine to go on.”

“How about the transports and horses,” Gideon inquired. “Where do we stand on being able to get everyone out of here?”

“We fared a bit better on that count, sir” the trooper continued. “Two wagons are demolished, and two mules are gone—one dead and one bolted off west. We still have the two draft horses from the supply wagon, and we managed to round up all twelve horses the bandits were riding.”

“How do we sit on provisions?” asked Captain Tropham.

“Pretty much all the supplies are gone as well. We salvaged about a day or two of rations from the remains of the supply wagon, and the troopers have another day or two each in our packs, but the water other than what is in the canteens is gone. The scout, Sable, says she knows of a ground spring back just this side of the Narrows and a bit off the pass to the north, but the best we can do is fill the canteens and water skins. All the water barrels were destroyed with the wagon.”

With that, the leaders thanked the trooper for the damage report. The duelist saluted and returned to the duties of clearing up the aftermath of the battle and burning the enemy bodies. The ground was too rocky to bury the fallen troopers and berserkers, so they would have to use a wagon or two to transport them back to Stonehold for proper arrangements to be made. At this point both Sable and Arreya wandered into the meeting.

“You boys aren’t going to have all the fun without us, are you?” bantered the Zafirr
chats-enash
scout.

It seemed like battling together had removed the initial distrust and animosity between the scouts. They were acting now as if they had been best friends all their lives. There was nothing like the heat of battle to forge a solid sense of brotherhood, or sisterhood in this case.

“Please, join us by all means, ladies,” said Duncan. “I mean we have more than enough ugly at this table, we could use a little beauty.”

Goldain’s hungry stare at the Zafirr
chats-enash
tipped Gideon that in the northerner’s mind, Duncan was right on the money at least with Arreya. Sable was beautiful for a Fenratu, but the Ayabim
races’
chats-enash
seemed to much more strongly resemble their nonhuman parent while the Malakim races’ half-bloods seemed to have much more human features. Gideon would have to watch how close those two grew. Sometimes emotional entanglements within a fighting company were a recipe for trouble.

The scouts did join the discussion. Gideon was forced into unusual silence, due to his debilitated condition. Thankfully Tropham, Goldain, and Donovan were all experienced leaders and more than took up the slack in doing the lion’s share of the planning.

“We need to get word back to Aton-Ri as fast as possible,” Goldain advised, “telling them what has happened and that for the moment the caravan threat should be abated. Certainly we have more work to do finding out who is behind this, but with the blow we dealt the raiders today, it will be a long time before they could muster the forces to threaten another armed caravan.”

“If there are no objections, I’ll take that job,” spoke Arreya. “I’m faster than any horse and can cover more ground on less food and water than anyone. Besides, I’ve been stuck in that wooden cage since we left Stonehold and I am anxious to stretch my legs.”

“Fair enough,” said Goldain. “After you get word to the mayor of what has happened, you high-tail it… uh no offense…back to Stonehold, and we will meet up with you there.”