The Immortal Mystic (Book 5) (18 page)

Erik glanced back to the crevice and then slapped Tatev’s arm. “Help me climb down and I will cut him loose.”

“You could fall,” Tatev said.

Erik shook his head again. “Do we have any rope in your bag?”

Tatev nodded. “About twenty feet or so.”

Erik retrieved the rope, tying one end around his waist and the other around Tatev’s.

“I don’t like this,” Tatev said.

“That’s why you are the perfect anchor,” Erik replied. “You are scared of heights, so you will stay as far away as you can from the edge. That will give me the help I need.”

Within minutes Erik was slowly picking his way down to the ledge. Halberon was eerily quiet and still. Erik moved in to the locks and turned one over in his hand. He then dropped the lock and pulled his sword free. He raised it high over his head and called forth the flames. He brought it down in a mighty arc and shattered the chains from the box. An explosion of purple and blue erupted as the lid flipped open and a ghastly scream filled the chasm.

“I am free!” Halberon shouted as his dark form spread out like a great pair of wings and he ascended from the fissure.

No, not like a pair of wings, Erik realized. Halberon actually had a pair of wings. The winged spirit dove down and seized Erik. Halberon lifted the young champion up and dropped him on the plateau next to Tatev.

“To be able to stretch my wings again and feel the wind upon my face!” Halberon exclaimed. “You have given me the greatest gift any mortal ever could.”

“You are a Sahale,” Erik said.

Halberon shifted into his full dragon form and stood mightily, straddling the fissure. “I am. That is how Gerharon and I lived for so long, and that is why we sought to build a place where others could come for guidance.”

“I never read any mention of this,” Tatev said.

“That is because I was not a womanizer,” Halberon stated. “Nor did I swindle merchants. My brother and I took vows to remain only in our human forms. Yet, I could never deny the skies. They called to me, beckoned to me.” Halberon moved his mist-like snout down to Tatev’s face. “Tell me, how often have you wished to fly with the birds? If you had such a gift, could you wholly deny it?”

“So you argued about using your dragon form?” Erik guessed.

Halberon drew his head and neck back. “We did. Gerharon felt it was not proper. He preferred to claim only our human heritage. He said that I should leave if I wanted to fly among the clouds. We argued. The rest is as your red haired friend has said. My brother died, and the others bound me and chained my soul to this box.”

Tatev lowered his head. “I am sorry,” he said. “I misjudged you, because what I read was different.”

Halberon shifted into his human form and stood before them. He looked toward the ruin and then back to Erik. “I will show you the way out from here. I spent many days and night flying around these mountains. I know the easiest route. It is steep, but you will make it.” He then moved to step before Tatev. “If you keep your eyes focused on the boy, and don’t look back, you will be alright. Train your eye where you want to go, and don’t let your mind worry about what is behind you.”

Tatev nodded. “I understand.”

“Then let us be off. I can get you over the mountain before the sun sets. From there, I will show you the path downward. It is much easier than the way up and out from this plateau.”

“What will you do then?” Erik asked.

“Then I will return and search for my brother’s spirit. I am free from my box, but my soul still bears the shame and guilt of what I did to him. An accident though it was, it still haunts me.”

“Can you point us to the Immortal Mystic?” Tatev asked.

“I can point you east. From there, you will have to make your own way. As I said before, I know not where the Immortal Mystic resides.”

Erik nodded and looked to the mountains. “Well then, show us the way out.”

Halberon resumed his dragon form and let out a mighty roar that shook the plateau as he launched into the sky.

Dimwater trembled and moaned low as Marlin weaved his hands over her. Lepkin sat on the edge of a chair near the table, looking on and tapping his heel nervously. He couldn’t see the power flowing from Marlin to Dimwater. All he could see were the beads of sweat that coupled together to form rivulets of water that stained the sheets. He had no way of knowing whether she was getting better.

No one else was with them. The field surgeons had nothing to help her with. Lady Arkyn had made her herbal remedies, but Dimwater couldn’t hold the tea down, and her skin reacted badly to the poultices.

Marlin, however, never left the room except for the call of nature. He only ate when others brought food in, and he had forgone bathing altogether. Lepkin loved him for his dedication. He also hated that he could do nothing but watch. How was it that he could protect a monastery from three hundred Tarthun raiders, but he couldn’t help his wife prevail against an unseen disease?

“You shouldn’t give in to those kind of thoughts,” Marlin said with a casual glance back toward Lepkin.

“You can read minds now, Prelate?” Lepkin asked wearily.

Marlin shook his head. “I can see the doubt and guilt swirling in your energy. I don’t need to read your thoughts.”

Lepkin rubbed his thighs and rose to his feet. “Can I get you water, or food perhaps?”

Marlin stepped away from Dimwater and waved off the offer. “I need only a bit of rest.”

“When should the others arrive?” Lepkin asked.

Marlin shrugged. “We sent messengers shortly after the scouting party helped me find the herbs I needed. We have had no reply.”

Lepkin sighed. “Fort Drake uses messenger hawks, we should have heard from them by now.”

Marlin nodded. “I was thinking the same thing. Haven’t heard anything from Fort Drake any of the times we have sent messengers. I doubt King Mathias would leave us without an answer.”

“Either orcs have crossed over and intercepted them, or we have a traitor in our midst.” Lepkin folded his arms. “I will go north then,” he said. “I will find the others who can help with your healing efforts, and bring reinforcements for the walls.”

Marlin shook his head. “The men will falter without you at their side,” he noted. “Perhaps we could send Lady Arkyn instead.

The door opened and in came Al. “I will go,” the dwarf said. “A cavedog can outrun a horse in long distances. It needs less water too.”

Lepkin spun around. “Eavesdropping is not the most kingly activity,” Lepkin said.

Al shrugged and looked to the bed. “I can leave my warriors here.”

Gorin, Peren, and Lady Arkyn entered the room then and fanned out behind Al.

“Send us,” Lady Arkyn said as she indicated with her thumb to Gorin and herself. “The king should stay, it is good for morale.”

“I will stay behind to help you as best I can,” Peren told Marlin. “I know my healing isn’t great by comparison, but I am happy to do what I can.”

Al huffed. “Master Gorin just wants to escape the fighting,” he spat sarcastically.

“I was not the first to volunteer to leave Ten Forts, oh mighty king,” Gorin shot back.

“Not sure why you like this blowhard,” Al commented to Lepkin.

Lepkin smiled. It was small and fleeting, but it was still a smile. The first he had shown in many days. “He grows on you,” Lepkin told Al.

Al nodded and turned around to size up the giant barbarian. “I should imagine he never stops growing,” he said derisively.

Lady Dimwater moaned out and turned over to her side then. The room fell silent and they all looked to her. Lepkin thought hard and then turned back to the others in the room.

“Master Gorin, the road north holds traps. I fear there are either orcs or traitors hunting our messengers.”

Gorin nodded solemnly. “We came to the same conclusion. Fort Drake would have sent a response long ago if this was not the case.”

“That is why I will go along,” Lady Arkyn said. “Gorin will go with the messengers, and I will trail them. I will be far enough away so as not to draw attention to myself, but close enough to plunge an arrow into the heart of any that tries to stop us this time.”

“I could go alone,” Al put in.

Lepkin shook his head. “Stay with me,” he pleaded. “I could use a friend at my back on the field.”

Al almost said something. He looked up to Lepkin’s eyes and then closed his mouth instead. He offered a short nod, then he bowed down. “I am, and always will be, at your service, my friend.” Lepkin stretched out a hand and Al raised himself up and took the proffered arm. They held each other at the wrist and exchanged silent gazes. No words were necessary between them.

“We will go down to the courtyard,” Lady Arkyn said. “Mercer is gathering two more runners to send north.” Gorin and Arkyn left the room. Peren moved in and stood beside Dimwater. He looked back to Marlin and then placed a hand out on Dimwater’s head. Al and Lepkin watched for a bit, and then the dwarf slapped Lepkin’s back and moved to exit.

Marlin let his eyes fall closed and he slept against the wall next to Dimwater’s bed.

Lepkin returned to sitting in the chair, watching Peren try to cast the few healing spells he knew.

Before long, a soldier stormed into the room. Lepkin didn’t actually hear the words he shouted, but he knew the message well enough. There was an attack, and he was needed on the field. Lepkin rose and the soldier helped him fasten his dragon-slayer armor. As he positioned the slender Telarian steel spears into the rings on the suit, Marlin came over and placed a hand on Lepkin’s forehead.

“What are you doing?” Lepkin asked.

“You haven’t slept,” Marlin said.

A wave of heat slammed into Lepkin’s head and in an instant his nostrils flared and his lungs took in a deep, rejuvenating breath. His muscles tightened and his back straightened. Marlin pulled away, but Lepkin could still feel the imprint on his forehead. He offered a thankful nod to Marlin, and then turned to rush out the door.

“Let’s go, beanpole,” Al shouted from somewhere down the hall.

Marlin closed the door and then turned back to Peren and Dimwater. “I might need another short nap before I can continue,” Marlin said.

Peren only half nodded, but Marlin wasn’t really asking for permission to sleep so much as announcing his intent. He slumped into the nearest chair and leaned over onto the table. He was snoring within seconds.

*****

Gorin’s chest burned. The two runners were maybe only twenty feet in front of him, but he knew they were slowing their pace for him. His big, thick legs tromped and stomped through the forest, easily scaring any animals nearby. The runners, on the other hand, leapt gracefully over rocks and old, mossy logs and barely made a sound in their thin-soled leather boots. Although he couldn’t see her, he knew that Arkyn was likely laughing to herself watching the spectacle from afar.

The mountain of a man kept his wits about him though. His eyes scanned the forest around them and occasionally he would turn to watch over his back. He never saw any sign of anything. If there were orcs in these woods, they were sneakier than a pair of gort-mice. The trio didn’t stop running until sundown.

They broke out their satchels and ate their bread. Gorin looked at the small loaf, not even enough to fill his hand, and wondered how someone could survive on such meager sustenance. He pulled his flask from his belt and took a shallow drink to wash the dry bread down his throat.

“You should slow down,” one of the runners said. “That bread is supposed to last the entire trip to Fort Drake.”

Gorin looked down at the tiny remaining crumbs in his hand. “No stopping off to buy real food in any of the cities along the way?” he asked.

The runner shook his head. “Stopping costs time. We are faster if we run straight through. We can make it by nightfall tomorrow if we could push the pace a bit.”

Gorin grunted, taking the obvious implication about him slowing the group as an insult. He made a show of pinching the last crumb between his finger and thumb and then dropping it into his mouth. “Mmmm, such wonderful bread has never been had except by the gods,” he said sarcastically. Then he pushed up to his feet. “Come on then, let’s get back to running if you want to make better time.”

The runners turned their backs on him and tore off small bits from their own bread.

The large man thought about walloping both of the skinny, arrow-necked runners but decided against it. He moved off into the forest to find a decent bush behind which he could relieve himself. His thick feet snapped the twigs and small branches dropped by the large, ancient trees above. Soon he found a nice bush to afford himself some privacy. He stepped closer to it and a pair of flies buzzed up from the ground.

Gorin frowned and bent down to inspect where the flies had been. He lifted a rather large leaf to find a bone with bits of flesh still clinging to it. He pulled his warhammer from its harness and gently pressed it through the bush to move the foliage aside. The bush nearly toppled out as moving it to the side pulled the root ball free from freshly dug dirt. From there he saw the claw marks in the soil and saw that the bone was part of an arm that stuck out from the soft dirt.

Never one to be shy about battle, or its effects, he reached down and took hold of the arm bone and yanked up the body of a Ten Forts soldier. The scavengers had taken most of the flesh from the arm and shoulder area, but there was more than enough body and uniform left to identify him.

He dropped the corpse and ran back toward the other two runners.

Something caught his eye to the right. He wheeled around, bringing his hammer out wide in front of him. He caught a man in the ribs. The force of the blow took the man from his feet and knocked a bloody knife from his hands. Gorin recognized him as one of the runners who had been sent a few days before. He didn’t know the man’s name, but he clearly recognized his face.

“You are already dead,” the man wheezed.

Something tore through Gorin’s leg. Only then did he see a mini crossbow in the traitor’s left hand. The runner laughed and then succumbed to his wounds.

“Up men, we are under attack!” Gorin shouted.

The two runners stood up in the distance.

“Go, get on out of here!” Gorin urged them.

A dozen or so men appeared out from the bushes around them. A flurry of crossbow bolts tore through the air. One man was dangerously close to Gorin, but a large arrow sank into the enemy’s chest and dropped him to the ground.

“About time, Arkyn,” Gorin grumbled. He ran into the fray, jumping behind and around trees to avoid the bolts zinging by. He heard a gargled scream and peeked around a large oak to see one of the runners falling to the ground. The other sprinted to the north and managed to kill one of the attackers with his knife, but then a pair of crossbow bolts caught him in the back and he too fell to the ground.

Gorin closed in on another ambusher and brought his hammer down into the man’s skull. He then picked up the loaded crossbow and fired it at another. Another bolt struck Gorin, this one in the left arm at the base of the shoulder, but he didn’t slow. He charged the next nearest foe and knocked him into a tree. The man went up into the air, bounced off the tree, and caught the full weight of Gorin’s warhammer. The crumpled body flew out to the right.

An arrow dropped the next ambusher. A second arrow slew another, and a third arrow took a man in the back. Gorin leapt through the bushes and took two men with one swing. Their bones crunched and cracked under the force of the blow and then Arkyn’s arrows ended the fight taking down the last two men.

A moment later Lady Arkyn was next to Gorin. An arrow was strung and her eyes darted all about. Gorin dropped the head of his mighty hammer to the dirt and leaned upon it as he caught his breath.

“It burns,” he said as he motioned to his shoulder.

Arkyn pulled the bolt out and sniffed it. “They used tribenary slime,” she said. “It is treatable, I just have to find the right herbs.”

“How long do I have?” Gorin asked.

Arkyn shot him a wink. “You’re a big fella, I expect you will make it alright. Just try to remain calm.”

Gorin smirked. “Ha, I am always calm.” He winked. Suddenly his smirk twitched and his neck stiffened.

Lady Arkyn’s mouth fell open. The mountain of a man dropped to his knees and then collapsed to the side, revealing a short, stout man behind him. The man held a crossbow, but it was different from the others. Instead of one limb on either side, there were two. One set just a couple inches below the first, and it still held the shiny, x-headed bolt.

The short man sneered and squeezed with his finger. The crossbow clicked and then the limbs sprang into place. Arkyn tried to spin away, but the bolt caught her in the abdomen. The force of the strike doubled her over and she fell upon her bow, snapping the lower limb and throwing the arrow out haphazardly. Then came the sting from the poison.

“You did better than most, I’ll give you that,” the shout man jeered.

Lady Arkyn looked up to see him reloading his crossbow. She knew she had to act. She summoned all of her strength, pushing through the pain and jumping up to her feet. The short man’s eyes went wide and he hurried to cock the bolt into place. Lady Arkyn pulled the bolt from her body with her right hand, holding it like a dagger as she came down upon the man. Her left hand pushed the crossbow out to the side.