The SteelMaster of Indwallin, Book 2 of The Gods Within (29 page)

Chaos reigned all about them, blades clashing, people crying out, the horses whinnying. One of the donkeys brayed and began bucking and kicking.

“Call off your dogs,” Morgin shouted in Tarkiss’ face. “Call them off or I’ll drop your head at their feet.”

“Brakke!” Tarkiss screamed. “Stand down. Let them go.”

It took some moments for the fighting to stop, and when it did a stillness descended upon them all. One of the donkeys was down, the victim of a misplaced sword stroke. There were two Kulls down, and Val clutched his sword arm against his side.

Morgin kept his sword at Tarkiss’ throat as he barked out orders. “France, get our horses and the unhurt donkey. Cort, help my uncle into his saddle. Val, scatter the rest of the animals, but save one for Lord Tarkiss here.”

They moved quickly while Morgin and Tarkiss stood like statues amidst the silently unhappy Kulls. Val set a spell to frighten the Kull horses, and they scattered into the forest bucking and kicking. And when Morgin’s companions were mounted he walked Tarkiss out of the camp at sword point. They bound his hands behind his back, then helped him onto the bare back of the extra horse. And with Morgin leading his horse by the reins, they traveled for about a league before Morgin called them to a halt. “This is far enough,” he said. He turned to Tarkiss. “You can climb off that horse, or I’ll kick you off it.”

“What are you going to do with me?”

“Nothing. You can walk back to your friends and try to find your horses.”

Tarkiss stared at him for a long moment, then dismounted. “You’re the Elhiyne, aren’t you? The renegade wizard? The one they call the ShadowLord? Aren’t you?”

Morgin ignored him. “Let’s get out of here,” he said to his friends, and he spurred Mortiss into a fast trot.

Chapter 16: Pursuit

After releasing Tarkiss they redistributed the remaining donkey’s provisions among them, stuffing as much as they could in their own saddlebags, discarding what they couldn’t. Then they set the donkey loose and rode hard for several leagues. They needed to put some distance between them and the pursuit that would soon follow. But Tulellcoe’s injury bothered Morgin more than any danger from behind, for his uncle’s face lost more color with each stride of his horse, and Morgin saw an ever-widening red stain growing beneath the hand he kept constantly pressed against his side. When he leaned forward slightly, a prelude to doubling over in the saddle, Morgin realized he must be in great pain.

Morgin eased Mortiss up beside Tulellcoe’s horse, leaned over and took the animal’s reins, pulled the two horses to a halt. Cort too had been watching Tulellcoe, was not surprised by Morgin’s actions, though France and Val trotted a short distance up the road before they realized what had happened and came to a stop themselves. France shouted back, “What’s wrong? We don’t have time to stop.”

At that moment Tulellcoe’s eyes rolled back into his head and he started to fall. Morgin spurred Mortiss into a side step toward Tulellcoe’s horse, and on the other side of him Cort did the same, pinning Tulellcoe’s animal between them. Morgin threw out an arm and caught his uncle about the shoulders. “Keep his horse calm,” he barked at Cort.

They eased Tulellcoe out of the saddle, laid him down in some soft grass beside the road. Cort produced a small dagger, cut open his blouse near the wound, examined it carefully, shook her head and declared, “It’s deep.”

Tulellcoe opened his eyes, grimaced, forced words out between clenched teeth, “I know. A thrust, not a cut, though I think my ribs deflected it some.”

“What can you do?” Morgin asked Cort.

Cort shook her head, looked about desperately. “With the proper spells I can do quite a bit. But my healing kit was on that injured donkey we left behind, and I also need time and that’s just what we don’t have.”

“No we don’t,” France said. “Those Kulls will have a dozen horses rounded up within an hour, and they’ll be hot on our trail.”

Morgin pressed Cort. “You helped me once without preparation or spells, back at Gilguard’s Ford.”

She grimaced. “But I pay a heavy price for such wanton use of power.” She looked at Tulellcoe who seemed unable to find a comfortable position. “Though I guess I have no choice. But then I’ll be as much an invalid as he, though neither of us will be as bad as he is now.”

Morgin demanded, “Will you both be able to ride?”

She nodded, her attention wholly on Tulellcoe. “Yes. We can ride.”

Cort appeared to do nothing beyond sit down beside Tulellcoe, take him in her arms and close her eyes. She sat that way for some time with her lips moving almost imperceptibly as she chanted spells none of them could really hear. But then after some minutes she opened her eyes and stood unsteadily. Her face was pale and drawn, her eyes shadowed and dark. Tulellcoe, however, was able to stand on his own, and while he did not look at all well, the bleeding had stopped and he looked much better than before.

They rode without rest through the morning, and shortly after midday left the forest behind and entered an open, grassy land of gently rolling hills. “This is Rastanna land,” Val said. “Tarkiss will have no trouble getting fresh troops and mounts, so we’ll have to stay well ahead of him.”

“Shouldn’t we turn south?” Morgin asked. “Try to make for Yestmark?”

Val scanned the horizon. “Eventually. But there’s a large river between us and there that flows hard and fast coming down out of the mountains. It marks the northern border of Yestmark, and we’ll find no fords or crossings until we get farther east. At least another two days of hard riding.”

They continued east across an open countryside dotted with small farms and hamlets, though they avoided any contact with the locals. Near midafternoon they came upon a wide valley squared off in neat little farms. They took to a small cart track that led down into it and spent the rest of the day crossing the valley floor. Near dusk, as they followed the same cart track up out of the valley, Morgin glanced back the way they’d come, and in the distance he saw Tarkiss with a dozen Kulls just entering the valley.

Cort seemed better, but Tulellcoe looked worse. The bleeding had started again so they stopped for a short rest, and again Cort applied her magic to Tulellcoe’s wound, and again he improved while she withered.

They rode on through that night, but to throw Tarkiss off their track they tried the unexpected and headed north for several leagues before again turning east. It worked, and shortly before dawn they stopped long enough to eat something, and to sleep for a few hours. When they rode on the next day they were somewhat revived, though Tulellcoe still needed Cort’s magic to stay in the saddle.

Through that entire day they saw no sign of Tarkiss so they slowed their pace somewhat. But Tulellcoe grew steadily worse, and each time they stopped for Cort to apply her magic she withered even more, and Tulellcoe improved less.

They decided to find a place to stop and hide and rest for a day or two, give Cort the opportunity to take proper care of Tulellcoe’s wound. But without her healing kit she needed certain herbs in some abundance. “I’ve been keeping my eyes open as we ride, and most of them don’t seem to grow wild in this countryside. We’ll have to find a village large enough to have an open market. I can probably get what I need there. We can also get something to eat other than jerky and journeycake.”

“I don’t think you should ride into any village,” Morgin told her. “Female
twonames
are much too uncommon. In fact,
twonames
in general are uncommon so Val is out of the question as well.”

Morgin looked at France. “Looks like it’s you and me, old friend.”

Cort shook her head. “But you won’t know what to look for.”

“But I will,” Morgin told her. “My mother taught me healing, though I certainly don’t know the art as well as you, but I know the plants and herbs you’ll need, and the other materials also.”

“All right,” Cort agreed reluctantly. She scanned the horizon. “A village the size we’re looking for won’t be in the middle of nowhere. It’ll be where there’s a fair amount of traffic. We’ll have to stop cutting cross-country, find a well-traveled road.”

It didn’t take them long to find a road that was more than a cart track, but it forced them northeast for the rest of the day, cautiously cutting across open fields to avoid the smaller hamlets. Late in the day they found a village large enough to serve as the local market, but not so large as to warrant a garrison of troops. Small clumps of forest dotted the countryside around it. But the day was too far gone and the market long since closed, so they left the road, cut southeast across open country for a good distance, set up camp deep in one of the larger clumps of forest. And that night they all got a full night’s sleep, the first they’d had in several days.

~~~

At dawn the next morning Morgin and France returned to the road at an easy trot. They knew they’d raise suspicion if they appeared to be in any kind of hurry, so when they were within sight of the village they reined their animals back to a walk.

From a distance the place was no more than a cluster of low-lying buildings and thatched mud-and-wattle huts sprawled on either side of the road. The morning was still and calm, with no clouds in the sky and the sun just barely above the horizon, though already there were columns of smoke rising from two buildings, swirling slowly up into the thin mist that hung on the morning air. As they entered the outskirts of the village Morgin heard the ring of a smith’s hammer, and he sensed that the steel the smith worked was of poor quality.

The street that cut through the center of the village was deserted. In the middle of the village they paused in front of one of the few wooden buildings there, one of the two buildings producing a column of smoke. As they both dismounted France said, “This’ll be the common room.” He pointed at the other column of smoke rising from a building near the far end of the village. “That’ll be the smith. The smith’ll have more authority here, but we can get better gossip from the innkeeper.”

France stepped between their two horses, looked conspiratorially up and down the street. Satisfied they weren’t being observed, he lifted one of the rear hooves of his horse, and producing a small dagger he pried at the shoe for a moment, loosening it slightly. “You go in and see what you can learn from the innkeeper. I’ll wander on down to the smith, get this loose shoe fixed, see if he likes to talk while he works.”

Morgin stepped through the door of the inn into an empty common room, a damp and musty place, with a bar along the far wall, and a low, beamed ceiling that would have forced Morgin to crouch had he been any taller. But the smells wafting from the kitchen made his stomach growl, and he thought breakfast would be a good excuse to strike up a conversation with the innkeeper.

Morgin crossed the room to the bar, rapped on it with his fist, called out, “Innkeeper. You’ve a hungry man out here.”

The innkeeper appeared almost instantly, a short, round, little fellow, with puffy red cheeks wearing an apron that rode up high over his protruding belly, and wiping his hands in a towel. “What can I do fer ya, kind sir?”

Morgin smiled through his beard, which had grown quite scruffy. “Would the food I smell be fer yer guests, or is it private fare?”

The innkeeper smiled. “If you got the coin for it it’s yours. Fresh biscuits me wife is bakin’ this instant, with butter and honey, and bacon fried up crisp and lean.”

Morgin tossed a few coins on the counter. “Well I ain’t a rich man, but it all smells too good fer me to pass up. And you wouldn’t happen to have some hot tea to wash it all down with, would you?”

The innkeeper scooped up the coins. “We got a kettle startin’ to steam this instant.”

The innkeeper disappeared into the kitchen. Morgin found a table, sat down on a stool with his back to the wall where he could keep an eye on the kitchen door, the entrance to the inn, and the low stairway that led to the rooms upstairs. He didn’t have long to wait; the innkeeper reappeared carrying a tray laden with food and steaming hot tea. As he transferred the contents to the table he asked, “Are you travelin’ alone, sir?”

Morgin shook his head, smeared butter on one of the biscuits and thought guiltily of his friends waiting back in the small clump of forest. “No. I’m travelin’ with a friend. He’s down havin’ the smith check a loose shoe on his horse. In fact that reminds me. He’ll be here shortly, and I’m sure he’ll want some of this fine food.”

The innkeeper nodded. “We’ll have it ready when he arrives. But there’s just the two of you, eh?”

Morgin nodded. “Is that a problem?”

“Well I should warn you, sir,” the innkeeper said with a serious frown on his face. “There’s some Elhiyne outlaws rampagin’ across the countryside. Five of them, I’m told. One of them’s this ShadowLord. You know, the rogue wizard. Travelin’ in small parties ain’t safe, I’ll wager.”

Morgin frowned worriedly. “Is anyone doing anything about them?”

“Oh yes they are, sir. Why old Lord Andrew sent his own son to this very inn just last night. In fact young Lord Stetha should be down shortly. And he has a company of soldiers camped just out of town, he does. As long as you’re here you should be good and safe.”

Morgin tried to smile gratefully, though his heart wasn’t in it, and his appetite was disappearing by the second. “Well that makes me feel a lot better.”

The innkeeper returned to the kitchen, and once out of sight Morgin rose to his feet, started stuffing his pockets with biscuits, crammed a handful of bacon into his mouth. But just then the door to the street slammed opened. So Morgin sat down quickly, tried to look like he was enjoying a leisurely breakfast.

A young, adolescent boy stepped warily into the room. He was a large, oafish lad, and after scanning the room quickly he was unable to hide his distrust of Morgin. He sauntered past Morgin’s table, stepped around behind the bar, and keeping an eye on Morgin he leaned through the kitchen door and hollered, “Malachi. Come out here. It’s important.”

The innkeeper appeared in the doorway instantly. He and the boy conversed in hushed tones for some seconds while frequently glancing Morgin’s way. Then they appeared to come to some agreement. The boy disappeared up the stairs to the rooms above while the innkeeper remained behind the bar busying himself with some sort of work. But where he’d been friendly and open before, he was now suspicious like the boy, and he refused to meet Morgin’s eyes with a direct look.

Morgin was trying to think of a way to exit discretely when again the door to the street slammed opened and France stepped into the room. He looked about for a moment as his eyes adjusted to the dark, spotted Morgin and joined him at his table. “The smith was not at all talkative, and seemed quite suspicious of me. And there were two Rastanna mounts stabled with him. Their owners are probably staying in this inn.”

France reached across the table and grabbed a biscuit. “I know,” Morgin said. “And I learned there’s a company of Rastanna troops camped somewhere outside of town. And we’re the reason they’re here. Evidently Tarkiss got the word out rather quickly.”

“Aye,” France said. “The smith also had two apprentices when I first showed up, but he sent them on some errand. I don’t like that.”

Morgin looked at the innkeeper. “Was one of them a large, clumsy boy?”

France nodded. “Aye.”

“Well he showed up here a few moments ago, talked to the innkeeper for some seconds, then went upstairs. I think we’d better get out of here.”

France stuffed some bacon into one of his pockets and stood. Morgin stood with him, but as they turned for the door the innkeeper called out, “Don’t yer friend want any breakfast?”

Morgin replied over his shoulder, “A little later perhaps.”

“But it’ll be cold by then.”

France and Morgin reached the door, stepped out into the light of morning, but as Morgin closed the door behind him he heard the innkeeper cry out, “They’re getting away!”