The Dragon Ring (Book 1) (18 page)

Only muffled chewing sounded around the fire. The general cast a worried glance at Saxthor from time to time. He turned to Tournak.

“Wraiths hunt beyond the pass. I have horrible memories of those bodiless souls damned to serve the evil masters who summoned them from the grave.” A chill ran down his spine. He glanced at Saxthor immersed in his own thoughts and fidgeting in the flickering firelight.

“No one is certain what else inhabits these mountains. Tomorrow we go in search of something unknown. We’re going purposely lost to find it. I hope Memlatec is right about the boy. I’ll not sleep well tonight.”

With the fire extinguished, they rolled in blankets and tried to rest in the shadows at the clearing’s edge.

Alerted by a noise late in the night, Saxthor sat up. “What was that?” Asleep next to him, Bodrin woke up.

“Shush!” Socockensmek hissed in the dark.

Frozen and instantly alert, the boys’ eyes locked on darkness.

Heavy clicking came from the trees higher up on the ridge. Scratching sounds followed moments later. Closer to their camp, leaves rustled. Both sources moved toward them.

Alert with adrenaline, Socockensmek was hypersensitive to every sound.

Something searches among the bushes to flush out prey close by, he thought. Good thing we camped downwind.

Bodrin poked Saxthor and pointed to the summit as he peeked through the bracken fern.

“What is it?” Saxthor whispered in Bodrin’s ear.

From the underbrush near the pass, all watched the profile of a huge hybrid animal above the ridgeline. The head of a bird-of-prey, larger than a man’s, stood out in the moonlight. The thing’s eyes glowed like two orange disks as if lit from within. The enormous hooked beak constantly snapped, making the clicking sound that first alerted them to the creature’s presence. It kicked at the leaf litter and the silhouette of a horrific clawed bird’s foot shot up.

“Can you believe those long scaly legs, and wings with a man’s chest and arms,” Bodrin whispered in Saxthor’s ear.

“Yeah, the monster claws and giant beak must tear up anything the beast scares up.”

The general kicked at the boys, who shut up.

The brute’s head jerked up and scanned the hillside above the campsite. Cringing and holding their breaths, the campers froze.

The creature lifted each foot in turn, toes pinched in like an umbrella. The foot descended with silent precision as the creature crept down the slope toward them. Only Bodrin’s measured drawing of his knife disturbed the men’s otherwise motionless presence in the shadows.

“Caw!”

Something jerked and twitched, rustling the leaves above them. A single grunt suggested alarm. Socockensmek crouched with sword drawn.

The raptor-man leapt up, its massive wings shot out and held it suspended over the undergrowth. The general drew back ready for the air attack.

The fluffy, owl-like feathers made no sound as the bird-beast hovered in the air. It stared and locked onto something in the brush.

The general saw both boys scrunch down in leaves behind him. His heart pounded when the creature dove down little more than a man’s height above him.

A wild boar squealed. The bird-man kicked his razor sharp claws into the screaming hog with sickening thuds. Thrashing and snorting shattered the peaceful night amid the fatal struggle. More thuds sounded as the bird-man’s toenails ripped into the pig’s gut. The flailing boar’s gaping squealing snout slashed the undergrowth with arcing tusks. Its head raked side to side, trying to gouge the predator’s huge legs. The bushes shook; limbs snapped and flew up in the air in a whirlwind of bracken fronds.

Blood splattered on Socockensmek’s forehead. After the shrieking stopped, the thuds of stabbing feet continued for a fleeting moment before silence again descended. No one moved or breathed. Amid rustling twigs, the raptor-man stood up, the bloody, slumped meal dangled in his arms.

One of the boys moved. The predator’s head jerked to stare at their hiding place. The old general poised to jump up and skewer the monster should it drop the boar and leap at them. In the suspense, the creature searched left and right to get a fix on the sound’s source. As eternal minutes crawled by, the travelers remained frozen.

Finally, the beast hopped up and flew over the ridge with the lifeless boar. The men kept silent until dawn, when sunrise exposed the raw evidence of the night’s struggle. The black blood shocked the boys.

“I’ve hunted wild boar in the mountains closer to the coast, but I’ve never seen anything like what we witnessed last night,” the general said. “As big as a bear, the beast’s massive clawed feet could disembowel a man with one swipe.”

“I thought the thing was going to get us for sure,” Saxthor said.

They ate a cold breakfast and packed with a renewed sense of urgency.

“Lucky for us, the boar was sniffing out our camp,” Bodrin said. Glad the hog was here or that bird thing, whatever it was, would’ve gotten one of us.”

Bodrin noted Saxthor hung back, downcast, staring at a piece of gut on the ground. He went over to him and put his arm around Saxthor’s shoulder.

“Don’t let this get you down.”

“Whatever I’m supposed to do is serious. I feel so helpless and stupid. They’re depending on me, but I’ve no idea where to go.”

“That ends the campfires,” Tournak said as he buried the ash-shrouded coals.

“We’ll finish packing and head over the pass.” The general poked Tournak, watching Saxthor’s slumped stance.

At the mountaintop, the men scanned the scene below.

“An endless series of high ridges and low gullies stretch out to the horizon like massive ripples on a sandbar,” Tournak said.

“I make out three towering peaks in the haze at the horizon,” sharp-eyed Bodrin said.

“I can’t see the cursed things.” Socockensmek squinted towards the mountains then turned and stared at Bodrin, or rather his youthful eyes. Frustrated, he pulled on his mustache ends. “They must be the Highback Mountains. They’d seem to be our objective. We’ll head that way. You take the lead, boys. At least you can tell where we’re going.” He glanced at Tournak, who was grinning. “What?”

“Nothing, General,” Tournak said. He looked away and followed the boys.

They hiked for hours over endless ridges three to four times the height of a man and descended into gullies preceding each ridge. The landscape appeared the same behind them as in front. Days were hot on the open terrain, the night’s cold. On occasion, a stream trickled down a gully, the only relief in the endless ripples crowning the heartland of Tixos. Due to more reliable rain, the western coast had forests, but that wasn’t where Saxthor led them.

“I’m tired from days of climbing up and down hills,” Tournak said one day.

“I’m not,” Bodrin chimed in.

His zeal ruffled both older men, who flashed him envious glances.

Saxthor didn’t join the grumbling or enthusiasm for adventure. He stumbled on ahead, hunched over. At times, he’d stop and search the horizon as if looking for a sign of some sort.

“What if I fail to find the way? What if I fail?” he said under his breath.

Socockensmek noted Saxthor’s introspective frustration.

“I wish I hadn’t complained,” Tournak said.

“The short thorny bushes on these sunbaked peaks tear my clothes and bake me inside,” Socockensmek said. He adjusted his hat, wiped his brow, and replaced his handkerchief. “In the troughs, those sparse tufts of grass and sedges clinging to the gravel offer no relief from the sun. Nothing survives here that can’t make do with the dew before dawn. Only hyrax and rats seem to tolerate these desolate waves of hills.”

“Uh-huh,” Saxthor said.

Shortening footprints recorded their slowing progress over time. One night, while camped by a stream in one of the endless ravines, they settled in their blankets for sleep. More sensitive to sound and movement since the bird-man incident, all scanned the horizon before drifting off.

A slight noise up on the hillside jolted Bodrin’s awareness. As he turned to poke Saxthor, the general put a firm hand on Bodrin’s shoulder. All alert, the four studied an orc’s outline trudging along the hill’s crest, a silhouette on the rising moon’s face.

“Do you think it spotted us?” Saxthor asked.

“What was the thing? A short, ugly, stocky, hairy man – or something I don’t want to know about?” Bodrin asked.

“An orc, a creature of Dreaddrac’s sorcerer-king, the Dark Lord,” Socockensmek said. He held his stare on the horizon as his voice trailed off. “No one’s seen one outside of Dreaddrac since the Wizard Wars. From his steady, unbroken pace, I doubt he was aware of us. Nonetheless, Tournak and I’ll take turns on guard tonight in case the orc returns. Try to get some sleep boys.”

“Yeah, like that’s going to happen,” Bodrin said.

Next morning the deep lines in Tournak’s brow and his agitation revealed his worried state. Likewise, the general gathered the others in a huddle and he shared his concerns.

“It’s too dangerous to continue wandering through these exposed hills when we’re not even certain we’re headed in the right direction. Saxthor, are you confident about where we’re going and our progress?”

“I’m not sure, but I feel we’re headed the right way. I can’t tell you why. What else can I say?”

Though restrained, consternation scrunched Tournak’s face. “I’m sure the general believes intelligence reports and not intuition determine survival.”

“Yeah, well I don’t have those.”

“A campaign based on ‘I feel pretty sure’ leaves something to be desired.” Socockensmek said. “You feel pretty sure, do you? Humph. Tournak, you ‘feel pretty sure’ about Saxthor’s level of confidence, do you?”

Tournak shrugged with a weak smile. “His intuition is all we have to go on.”

No one said anything else. Socockensmek turned to each member of the troupe and got no other response, so the party rose and walked on in silence. Shaking his head, the general brought up the rear.

Later in the afternoon, as they walked along beside a stream, Twit was aflutter about something crushing dried leaves behind them. The sound caught everyone’s attention.

“What now?” Tournak said.

“As usual, we’ve no cover and whatever is coming is in a hurry,” the general said. He scanned behind them. “I hope the orc from last night hasn’t returned.”

Socockensmek flicked his hand to motion the others forward. Without speaking, he pointed to the ground to indicate they should be careful not to disturb the wiry clumps of sedge. His weathered finger, pointing above, directed them to a ledge on an unusual rock outcrop.

No sooner had they hidden, than along the ravine came the moldy, mottled gray fur of a hairy orc almost disguised against the silvery sedge foliage around him. The orc sniffed the air. He squinted, scanning the streambed ahead, accentuating his protruding boney brow.

“A hairy orc maybe?” Saxthor asked.

“A hairy orc for sure,” Socockensmek said. “The long fur keeps out cold in the northern mountains. The thick coat differentiates them from their plains orc cousins. I suspected the rock-dwarves were in the far highlands, but no one has reported seeing hairy orcs since the end of the Wizard Wars in the Ice Mountains of Dreaddrac.”

“What’re they doing here?” Tournak asked.

“I don’t know. The orc has followed us up the streambed. He’ll be puzzled when the trail runs cold. Keep quiet, he’s getting close.”

The orc stopped right under them to scratch. After a forever moment, the orc inspected its grubby fingernail for a parasite, then again followed the stream past them and out of sight.

“Someone needs to make Memlatec aware the Dark Lord’s monsters are on the move. Neither Tournak nor I want to leave you lads in this dangerous environment,” the general said after the orc passed. He took a deep breath. “I’ll accompany the boys on to well…where Saxthor leads us. Tournak, return to my place. Send my adjutant with a message to Memlatec. As soon as you can, come back and help me guard these boys on their quest.”

“I don’t like leaving them now,” Tournak said.

“Someone’s got to warn Memlatec. I’m familiar with Tixos, you’re not, and I’m better at military situations. Now go and hurry back.”

“I think it’s safe to get under way,” Sococken-smek said when Tournak was out of earshot. “We’ll need to detour in case that orc backtracks.”

Bodrin’s face pinched. “What’s that foul smell?”

“Cripes!” Socockensmek barked.

His hand jerked Bodrin back under the overhang. Stunned, Bodrin stumbled back against the rock.

“What did I say?”

The sound of metal ringing as the general’s sword flew out of his scabbard surprised the boys. Socockensmek was leering up at the hairy orc peering down from the overhanging outcrop, sizing them up. Its foul stench drifted over them as the beast knelt and raised his club over his head. A sinister grin emerged as he selected his victim.

“Phew,” Saxthor said before he realized the source.

A thought popped into the general’s head: Hairy orcs’ simple minds focus on killing anything human. In a second, he’ll swing that club smashing one of us.

The setting sun’s rays flashed off the general’s sword as it arced and missed the ducking orc. The swishing sound jolted Saxthor and Bodrin. Both dropped, crouched, and looked up following the sword’s arc.

“Watch out for the club!” Bodrin said. The club smashed into the rock and just missed Saxthor as he jerked to the side.

Socockensmek recovered and drew back his sword. The orc hopped down on the ledge. His sword raised, the old general stood between the shocked boys and the advancing orc. Again, the sword sliced the air, but deflected off the club into the rock wall. Chips and sparks flew. He heard Saxthor and Bodrin draw their swords behind him.

Seeing the general’s exposed flank, the orc swung his weapon around from the side, but the general dodged the blow. Undaunted, the grinning orc swung again, arcing the cudgel down then up. Trapped against the ledge wall, the general couldn’t outmaneuver the second attack. It smashed into Socockensmek’s exposed leg before he could raise his sword. Crunching bone halted them all when the leg snapped. Socockensmek collapsed and lay wounded and vulnerable to attack.