Offspring (The Sword of the Dragon) (41 page)

Other warriors of the Hemmed Land pushed through the forest and, when he glanced that way, yet another winged human took to the skies. “Three?” Ombre was incredulous. “What is going on here?”

Unable to answer his own question, Ombre left the area, gathered the warriors of light, and marched them back to Fort North. Along the way he kept an eye out for Ilfedo. Something sinister had clapped its hand on this place. He could feel it. Ilfedo had been acting strange of late, very strange. And now he’d encountered an Art’en alone. Ombre remembered the glassy appearance of the Lord Warrior’s eyes, and he shuddered.

Ombre breathed in the crisp night air. The dew had wet his clothing, and he was looking forward to changing into some dry clothes. He said goodnight to Honer and Ganning as he entered the fort, went to the main building, and entered his quarters. He lay in bed and tried to sleep. Troubling questions ravaged his mind and his dreams were filled with screaming Art’en. At last, in the midst of his troubled imaginings, he turned his thoughts to Caritha, and with her lovely face in his mind he was at last able to rest.

The dinner bell rang through the compound, and Ombre got out of his bed. He donned a black shirt and trousers, threw a white sash over his left shoulder, and tied it to his belt. The leather strap for his sword’s sheath lay nearby. He put it on his other shoulder and dropped the sheath to his left hip so that he could easily reach for his sword with his right hand.

He paused at the door to fix his eyes on the gray wolf head hanging on the wall. The days of hunting with Ilfedo had long ago passed, and he missed them. He’d kept the trophy as a proud reminder of how he’d saved his best friend’s life. Best friend, brother—Ilfedo was both to him.

With a frustrated growl he left the room, slammed the door behind him. He made his way to the parade grounds where most of the warriors had gathered to eat at long tables. Homer and Ganning sat among them.

“Ombre!” Ganning beckoned with a grin. “Hurry along; we’ve saved a seat for you.”

Ombre walked to the barrack’s far end. A tall young man with dark, curly hair flipped eggs on an outdoor stove and stacked them on the table. His other arm skillfully stirred sliced potato and blueberries in a pan. Thick slices of bread soaked in a bowl of milk. The man flopped the slices onto the stove and chuckled to several warriors with plates in hand, as if sharing in a joke Ombre hadn’t heard.

“There’s plenty, plenty, plenty for everyone. Take your fill and take your pick!” He sounded like an auctioneer, only he wasn’t getting paid for this.

“James McCormick,” Ombre interrupted him, pushing his plate forward. He grinned. “How’s it going?”

“Pretty good. I can’t complain.” James wiped his goatee with a sleeve and picked up the plate. “You want something fresh?”

“Watching you, I just know you do love to cook.”

“Yes. I don’t do it too often, but I have to admit, I do enjoy it.” He flipped eggs and toast onto Ombre’s plate and sprinkled cinnamon on top. “Are you feeling all right, Ombre?”

“To be honest …” Ombre shook his head and sighed.

James set the plate down and glanced at the line of waiting men. He reached for a selection of spices and held a straight face. “I could spice up your toast with a little jalapeño pepper.”

Ombre picked up the plate and chuckled. “I’ll be fine without that. But thanks for trying to boost my spirits.” He started walking away, but the cook held up a hand.

“Here.” He stabbed a fork into a thick steak at the rear of the stove and set it on Ombre’s plate, holding up his forefinger. “You’ve gotta have steak.”

“Thank you, James.” He left the line and walked to the table, sitting next to Ganning. The morning chill refreshed him, though the heat of the rising sun warmed his back. Honer and Ganning, between mouthfuls, talked about the Hemmed Land and reminisced about their hunting days.

“Seems like it was only yesterday that we could travel for hours through the forest and never run into anyone.” Ganning let the steak juices drip between his lips and closed his eyes with a grin. “Oh, James knows how to make these.”

Ombre played his fork in his eggs. “Now … now there are people every few miles.”

Honer dug his fork into a stack of two pancakes. Butter oozed between them. “I miss those days. Back then we hunted to our heart’s content and roamed freely. Sometimes I worry about our children—”

Ganning paused midway through his steak. “How do you mean?”

“They are growing up in a changing culture, a society that is gradually rejecting its heritage in favor of a more comfortable life. People are chopping down the trees and trampling the wild animals’ habitats without a second thought. They build new homes, new towns, and new roads. They are making for themselves an
easier
life. Yet they are forgetting that nature is not their slave to be used and abused. It should be cared for, respected.”

“In all fairness, I must point out that nature
is
our slave and without its resources we would be unable to live. We kill the creatures and eat them. We take timber from the forests and build homes.”

“But, Ganning, how long do you think this prosperity will last? The trees we take down are not being replaced, and the animals are being driven farther from us. Unless we conserve the Hemmed Land’s resources, we will end up exhausting them. There will be nothing left for our children. Do you see what I mean?”

Ombre felt compelled by Honer’s postulations to break into the conversation. He put his half-emptied plate to the side. “There will be new challenges and different lessons for the next generation. They will face new frontiers and build on what we have started.”

“Ah!” Honer raised his finger to emphasize his point. “But the question is, are we laying a proper foundation?”

“How do you mean?”

“If we continue to destroy the forests and kill off the animals, there will be
nothing left
for the next generation. Will the Hemmed Land be able to sustain our growing population, or will subsequent generations drain its resources? In fact, at the current rate, I foresee that our country’s natural resources will reach a critical low even before I’m an old man. To our north is desert, to the south is desert, and the Sea of Serpents guards our eastern border. The western forests may permit a little expansion, but that is a small territory. We are cut off from the rest of the world, and we know little to nothing about it. We are
hemmed in
.”

He bit into his last pancake and swallowed. “I mean, if we ever need to expand, I suppose we could explore beyond our borders and scope out the territory. But if hearsay is true, the western forest is cut off by a vast swamp, in the midst of which is an active volcano.”

“I never knew you had such an interest in geography,” Ombre said. “Since when have you become an expert on these matters?”

“Since I finished the National Archive building. There are all sorts of little-known facts in our ancient scrolls, and I’ve been reading through them.” He shoved his plate to the side and wiped his mouth. Crumbs fell from his pants as he got out of his seat. “We’d better get going, Ganning.”

“Get going?” Ombre stood up and started toward the kitchen. “Why the rush?”

“Haven’t you heard?” Ganning grabbed his plate, took Honer’s, and waved him away.

After putting away his dishes, Ombre turned to his friend. “All right, Ganning,
what
was Honer referring to?”

“Ilfedo called for a special meeting this morning with all his counselors. You weren’t informed?”

Ombre frowned and stomped toward the main building. Ganning limped after him and whispered into his ear as they walked into headquarters. “Take it from me, Ombre, Ilfedo is acting strangely.”

“Yeah, I’m beginning to notice.”

“Do you think it has anything to do with that Art’en creature we saw last night?”

Ombre shook his head. “I wish I knew.” He stepped into the council chamber. He wished the Warrioresses would make a surprise visit. They would know what to do.

The room wherein he now stood contained a circle of high-backed, wooden chairs, one for each of Ilfedo’s military commanders and a few extras for invited guests. Ombre sat with Honer and Ganning, fairly close to the seat Ilfedo occupied.

“My subjects.” Ilfedo rose from his chair. “It has been brought to my attention that we have a certain prisoner and that that prisoner refuses to talk. Therefore I have called this meeting to give permission to torture the creature.”

The members of the council looked horrified, and each and every one, much to Ombre’s relief, rose and offered objection. “This goes against our moral standards, our laws, and your policies,” they cried. “Why do you even suggest such an evil?”

“Silence!” Ilfedo roared. “Sit down, all of you!
I
am in charge here.”

Ombre gazed at the enraged man’s eyes. They reflected the light as if they had been made of glass. It was even more apparent now than it had been last night. He stood and addressed Ilfedo. “My lord, as commander of your army and your friend I formally add my objection to your proposal—”

“Sit down!” Ilfedo’s face reddened, and he breathed rapid, short breaths. “Your objection is noted, but my plan goes forward. Order the guards to do as they please with the creature.”

Ganning rose and put up his hand, opening his mouth as if to speak. But Ilfedo pounded his fist on the wall. “Any more objections, and I will consider it an act of betrayal to me and the country. I did not call you all in here to voice your opinions! Now, go. All of you.”

Heaving a sigh, Ombre left the room. Outside the door to the viper’s prison he spoke to the guards. “Lord Ilfedo wants you to torture the prisoner, then report any and all information that you learn directly to him.” He started to walk away, thought better of it, and added a final word of advice. “For your own good I recommend that you disregard this order. The Warrioresses will not be silent on this matter when they return.”

The men nodded their heads, but their eyes told him that they did not mean it. He shook his head and left the fort. He strode through the south gate and walked into the fields. A lot of the forest in this part of the country had been cleared long ago to construct the fort. He was alone at last, and he breathed deeply of the air to let it clear his troubled mind.

To the south a flock of black birds rose from the trees with loud cries. He strained his eyes. What was that coming over the rise? He could just pick out several massive forms lumbering into view. Was this a new enemy? At a time like this? He turned to the fort and called to the watchmen. “Summon the Lord Warrior, Honer, and Ganning … and hurry!”

F
ight, my love! Fight! Don’t let it win!” Dantress’s tears splattered on his neck as he knelt at her feet and clutched her to him.

Ilfedo felt the warmth of her body against his. He could feel a cold darkness surrounding and choking his will, but with her so close he fought on, determined to win the battle. “What is happening to me? Why am I here?” He looked into her eyes for an answer. “Am I dead?”

Dantress pulled him roughly to his feet, laced her arms around his neck, and held his gaze. “You are not dead—not yet.” She sniffled. “Fight it, Ilfedo, don’t stop resisting, or you
will
die!”

He put his fingers in her hair and ran them through the soft, silken strands. It smelled like freshly cut roses in spring. His resolve faltered. In his being he longed to let the darkness win. Then he would die—and be with her again. “I am tired of fighting, my love,” he said. “I want to be with you. Don’t you see that I am wearied and sick of the world? It is filled with violence. The Hemmed Land … it is a speck in the vast stretches of existence, a glass that may easily be broken. I want to get away from it all, to leave and be rid of the physical elements.
You
are all that matters, and all that has ever mattered since I met you.”

Waving her hand in a semicircle, Dantress created an image of their daughter. “There is
nothing
there for you? What of Oganna? Are you ready to leave her alone?”

He pressed her closer to his body. “She has your sisters and Ombre. What can I give her that they cannot?”