PURE OF HEART (18 page)

Dean stopped as he felt the ground shake lightly.

Oieda grabbed Bravic’s arm. “It’s not fifteen minutes . . . it’s breaking the cycle! Come back,” she yelled.

Dean looked to his friends in the cave and then back at the sky. The Tarlugs swept right down the face of the cliff, rushing to get to him.

“You’ll never make it,” Bravic screamed.

Dean shook his head. He didn’t know if he could run fast enough, but he knew if he didn’t try, the Tarlugs wouldn’t stop. One of these times, they would kill one of his friends or all of them. Dean turned and sprinted away from the cave and toward the edge of the field.

The Tarlugs shrieked as they swept down. The ground rumbled and groaned.

Every muscle in Dean’s body strained as he sped across the arid ground. The dust kicked up behind his feet.

“RUN,” Oieda cried.

Dean’s lungs flamed, his muscles burned, and his sneakers pushed into the ground. Thirty Tarlugs swept down after the lone figure, racing across the sand. Dean only looked ahead as his feet pounded against the ground, in rhythm with his heart. Three figures watched helplessly as a geyser of steam rose into the air and all the forms in front of them disappeared in its cloud.

“Dean,” Oieda screamed as the heat seared her face and dried the tears in her eyes.

As the line of geysers erupted, some of the Tarlugs tried to fly up and away, only to be roasted alive in the searing steam. The ones that continued forward also perished, the Dragon’s Breath by far the faster in the race.

Dean felt as if his heart was about to explode, like the geysers behind him, as he flew forward. He pushed his body to its utmost and beyond. He heard the geysers blast into the air right behind him. Heat washed over his back and his skin blistered. He screamed.

Before the last geyser stopped, Oieda raced out of the cave, with Bravic and Han just behind. They ran through the smoke that still swirled across the valley floor. The bodies of the Tarlugs lay everywhere, dried and shriveled like burnt meat.

“Dean,” Oieda called out when she saw his body lying in the dirt at the edge of the field.

They raced over to him. Oieda dropped to her knees beside him. Her hand trembled as she rolled Dean onto his back. Dirt caked the side of his face. He gasped for air, and his eyes fluttered open.

“I told you. Mach five.” He gave a small, crooked grin. “But, I think I blew out every muscle in my body doing it.” He groaned and then passed out.

Dean’s eyes snapped open. His back stung, and his legs ached. He sat up and looked around. They were camped in a small rock outcrop. Bravic and Han lay sleeping nearby. Oieda sat on a rock twenty feet away, looking out into the night.

Dean tried not to groan as he got up and walked over to her. She didn’t look at him but instead handed him a leather water flask. He drank his fill then sat down next to the Elf.

“Thanks.” He wiped the back of his mouth and handed her the flask.

“Are you well?” she asked, but she still didn’t look his way.

He nodded. “Sore, but I’m good.”

She slapped him so hard in the face the blow knocked him off the stone and onto the sand. Stunned, he sat there and stared at the girl who jumped up and glared at him with blazing emerald eyes.

“What—?”

“Quiet. They need rest.” She tilted her head back toward where Bravic and Han slept.

“Nice of you to think about them while you punch me in the face,” Dean harshly whispered as he got up.

“It was not a punch. It was a slap. And it wasn’t hard.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Whatever. Why’d you do it?”

“Because you are a fool.”

“For coming out and talking to you?” Dean muttered.

“No. For being willing to throw us away.” Oieda sat back down and glared out at the night.

“You say I never make sense. What are you talking about? I didn’t risk your lives. I risked mine.”

“Do you remember my spear?” she asked.

“The one on your back?”

“No. The one I threw to you, and you killed Taviak with it.”

“Yeah. I remember it.”

“It was destroyed in the acid. I was glad you used it to kill Taviak. It fulfilled its role. Even though it was very special to me, I do not regret it being destroyed.”

“It was special to you? I’m sorry I lost it.”

“You didn’t lose it. That’s my point.” Oieda stood and turned to face him. “If you threw it away, I would be sad. Do you know what a weapon is?”

“What a weapon is?” Dean shrugged. “Something you use to kill something with.”

“No.” She sighed and shook her head. “It’s a tool. One of its uses is to kill. Its purpose is to protect the bearer. To save their life. That’s why I’m not sad that the spear is gone. It protected you. A weapon is a tool. A warrior is a weapon. Only you can stop Volsur.”

“You don’t know that,” Dean said.

“I do. In my heart, I can
feel
it. You alone can kill Volsur, but time and again you risk your life and throw us away. I am a warrior. I am a tool to be used to protect your life.”

Dean searched her eyes. They kept their hard edge. “I don’t want to risk your life,” he admitted.

“Then you throw my life away. None of us may live through this quest, but you are the leader. You must be willing to use us. We will all die for you. Do not throw our lives away.”

Dean exhaled and looked out into the night. “I’ll take watch.”

Oieda stood and stared at him. Finally, she turned to go.

Dean reached out and grabbed her arm. “Wait. Why was that spear special?”

“It was my great-grandfather’s. It was passed from father to son. My father died with it in his hands.”

“I’m sorry it’s gone.”

“I’m not,” Oieda snapped. “It was a tool. It saved your life. It did what it was made to do.”

She walked away and left Dean alone in the night.

****

At dawn the companions set off from the Valley of the Dragon’s Breath. Just before noon a crash of thunder split the sky overhead, tearing it in two, unleashing a torrent of rain. They hurried their pace. There was no shelter near, and they all agreed they’d rather be moving and cold than standing and frozen. The downpour came in fierce bursts, crashing down and then retreating, only to regroup and come against them again.

The rain seemed to stop almost as quickly as it started. Large black clouds continued to swirl overhead, ready to unleash another torrent at any time. The companions spoke little as they walked over the saturated ground, always following the path that seemed to lead them straight to the mountain. They walked until it was almost dark; the day seemed to darken only a little from its present gloom. Oieda found a sheltered area off to the side of the little path where they made their chilly, wet camp. They ate soggy berries Han and Oieda had scavenged along the way. After little debate they risked a small fire to try to dry their soaked clothes.

They awoke from their fitful sleep even more gloomy than the day before and quickly continued on their journey. The next week was spent traveling uneventfully as the mountain drew nearer and the sky grew murkier. The storm stood watch over them like a vulture circling a lost man. It shifted and pulsed, and its stinging, chilled wind fought to freeze their hearts.

The morning they reached the mountain, the storm attacked wholeheartedly. Its thunderous battle cry rose to a fevered pitch, and the winds blew like trumpets as the rain and sleet charged down on them in full force. While they trudged through the wall of rain, Bravic constantly peered forward, hoping for some sign of shelter, but he found none. The rocks underfoot turned slippery as they inched their way up the mountain pass, clutching its rock wall with whitening fingers. As the path turned again, the wind smashed them fully; Han was sent sliding backward into Dean, who supported the little Elvana. They bent into the wind and pushed onward. After the next turn, they came upon a small depression in the wall. It was large enough to shelter only two. Dean and Bravic silently decided that Han and Oieda would spend the night in what little shelter there was, for both were worse for wear from the onslaught of the storm.

They spent a sleepless night as the wind drove the rains down upon them in a constant assault. It pelted them with hail and tried to wrench them from the side of the mountain with sudden, brutal gusts. Soon, all four were numb with cold. The alcove gave little protection against the vicious storm.

As morning came, the rain and winds stopped. Oieda and Han came back with what little wood they could find, and the four huddled around the small fire, desperate for the warmth.

Without breakfast, they started along the drying path that spiraled up the mountain. They came to a ravine whose sides rose above their heads. Their pace was slow. They moved cautiously as they scanned the slopes for any sign of peril. As they came to the middle of the gorge, a rock skittered down the side of the slope, followed by a faint muttered curse. Dean leaped into the deep shadows cast by the wall; Bravic and Oieda dove behind a massive rock. Han stood with feet apart in the middle of the path. His little hands clenched and unclenched in anger as he looked upward.

“Han, get down,” Dean whispered.

“What, what now?” Han screamed at the sky, his patience at an end. “Show yourself, whatever you are,” he demanded of the phantoms as he stomped his little foot.

In answer to his command, a line of silhouettes appeared on either side of the cliff. They numbered fifty or more.

“Hold or be slain,” a voice echoed down to them. “Show yourselves!”

“No, you hold. Show yourselves!” Han stuck out his chin and shook his fist up at them.

Even though Han never flinched, all the color drained from his face as a hail of arrows sunk into the ground to their shafts in a circle about him.

Dean jumped from the shadows and grabbed the motionless Elvana as Oieda and Bravic drew their weapons.

The voice called to them again. “Drop your weapons or die.”

All three turned helplessly to Dean, who drew his sword and laid it at his feet. The others did the same and then raised their hands. Humans, raggedly dressed in dirty armor, walked forward.

“Who are you?” a man asked. He was thin with a rough beard. His armor was in the same unkempt condition as the others.

“We’re travelers,” Dean answered.

Another soldier pushed his way to the front. He looked the companions up and down, and a disgusted look crossed his face. “More refugees?” the soldier sneered. A murmur ran through the circle of the men around them. “We have no room for more refugees.”

“We’re passing through,” Dean said.

“Were they armed?” the soldier asked. Another soldier ran up with Dean’s sword.

“Look!” He whispered something to the soldier.

“Where did you get this?” The soldier held out Dean’s sword. “This is the sword of Panadur the Wizard.”

The group of men took a step back and glared at Dean. Some raised their weapons.

“It’s my sword,” Dean said calmly as he raised his hands. “Panadur gave it to me.”

“Where did you get this?” the soldier now demanded.

“It’s his,” Han interjected as he ducked under Oieda’s arm. “Panadur gave it to him. We’re trying to stop Volsur. And let me tell you I’m pretty sick and tired of no one lifting a finger to help us.”

“Panadur gave the sword to me before he died.”

The leader gasped, and the men murmured amongst themselves. The soldier shook his head. “This is grave news. Carimus is prisoner in our mountain, and now his brother Panadur is dead.” He looked at Han. “Now nothing can stop Volsur.”

“We can.” Dean’s words echoed in the silence that followed.

“You really intend to slay Volsur?” The soldier stared at Dean.

“Yes, we do,” Dean said.

The man looked upward to the top of the cliff. After a moment he said, “We’ve talked too long here. Follow us. Our camp is not far. Do not speak until we’re there.” He raised his fist and all but ten men slipped silently back into the shadows. Another motion and the men around them headed down the ravine in the direction the companions had first been traveling.

Han’s mouth began to open, but Bravic’s poke in his ribs cut off the question.

The ravine soon rose until they again were walking on the mountain path. The gray of the day seemed little different in the shadow of the mountain. The path twisted, turned, and forked often, but the man in the lead never hesitated about the way to go. The companions silently followed, surrounded by men who constantly scanned the mountainside as they walked. At the side of a particularly steep cliff, the lead man turned and seemingly walked into the mountain.

As the companions approached the spot where man after man disappeared, they saw it was a cave opening only one man could fit through at a time—sideways.

As they passed through, Oieda looked behind one last time and, with a look of apprehension on her face, entered the cave. It opened up into a large cavern some hundred feet in both directions. It was filled with the smell of the fifty, rough-looking men who eyed them curiously with their black sunken eyes.

The soldier who escorted them hurried over to a tall soldier with short dark hair. The two exchanged a hurried whispered conversation, and the first soldier handed the second one Panadur’s sword.

The soldier turned and stared at Dean and the others for a moment. He motioned for another to follow him and then strode over.

Han let out a small start, and everyone followed his wide eyes to the wall on the left side of the cavern where the dried skins of four Krulgs hung.

“We care not for the Krulgs, as you can see,” the soldier holding Panadur’s sword said in a voice that was almost too loud in the enclosed space. He grinned as he opened his hands. “Welcome to the remains of the warriors of Mount Hope,” he said bitterly. “I’m Navarro, the leader of these men.” With that, he bowed low. “Now, what can I do for those who wish to stop Volsur?”

“My companions and I would like to know about Carimus. We’re going to set him free.”

“Stop Volsur and free Carimus?” Navarro slapped his leg and laughed loudly. Some of the other men in the room joined in. “There were over two thousand men in Lord Tanaro’s army in the mountain. Now there are less than a hundred living like rats in these caves. We can’t get near the main castle anymore. Yet, you four are not only going to stop Volsur, but you’re going to free Carimus from a thousand Krulgs.” Laughter echoed off the walls.

“We’re going to try,” Dean replied coldly.

Navarro glared at Dean, and the laughter chilled into an uneasy silence.

“Well, you’d better hurry.” A man stepped from the wall where he was leaning. “Some Krulgs we caught this morning said they’re taking Carimus to Volsur’s tomorrow. Something wicked is in the works.”

The man’s appearance was cleaner than the others. He was thin with a sullen expression, dark eyes, and hair falling about his shoulders onto his armor.

“How did you talk to the Krulgs? I thought they only knew how to speak Krulg?” Han asked.

“Some of us here have been around the foul creatures so long that we know some words. You wouldn’t want to talk to them, though—horrible conversationalists.” The man winked at Han.

“Stay out of this, Dalvin,” Navarro growled at the man. “I’m in charge now.”

“No one made you king. Besides, Kala will make it back.”

Navarro shook his head and spat on the ground. “I told Kala that raid was foolishness. Look what it got him. Look what it got us. Twenty more men lost, and I’m sure that Kala was captured. He was brought to Naviak.”