The Trees And The Night (Book 3) (2 page)

Hnarg’s packs slowed as they neared an unusually tall band of waving grasses. The ripe seed heads swayed a full foot over the lead Hackles’ heads.  Hnarg sensed their fear. The Eru horsemen used such locations as a means of ambush when the Ulrog ventured south. They laid their well trained beasts low in the cover, then sprang up as an Ulrog pack wandered close. When effective, the maneuver devastated many an Ulrog pack.

Hnarg pushed past his men toward the lead. Usually the priest chose to motivate through pain, but this circumstance was unusual. Hnarg spun on his Hackles.

“There will be no stopping,” shouted the Ulrog priest. “We have no choice but to pursue the Seraph. Once we left the Scythtar we were committed. If we do not return with the old man’s head, Lord Woil will take ours!”

Hnarg turned back to the high grasses and plunged in amongst them.

“Do not fear the Eru.” called the priest as the tall grass rustled in a display of his movement ahead. “Fear your masters!”

The remaining Hackles quickly glanced to one another then plunged forward themselves.

Kael could not be sure how long they languished in the saddle, but he knew his chestnut neared exhaustion. The signs were far too evident to ignore. The animal’s gait grew stiff and tentative. Foam gathered about the horse’s mouth and she snorted, fighting the bit placed there.

“Ader,” called the boy. “We need to rest.”

The Seraph spun and quickly appraised the boy’s mount. Immediately he nodded his head. The signs were obvious. If they pushed any harder, Kael would lose his horse, and the small group would lose its advantage of speed. The old man waved ahead.

“The next sign of water,” stated Ader. “Make sure you tend to the horses before yourselves. They are our only salvation.”

Shortly, they came upon a small pond surrounded by the high grasses of the Erutre. Animal trails ran to and from the water. Kael dismounted and led his chestnut down a trail to the water’s edge. He removed the horse’s reins and allowed it to drink. As the chestnut stood near the pond, Kael retrieved some of the fresh water and sprinkled it across the animal to cool it.

Sprig slid from Tarader’s back and darted into the grasses. Ader and Eidyn also dismounted.

“I have led us east, but have edged south as well,” began Ader. “I hoped this might dissuade the Ulrog from following. The more we journey south the more uncomfortable they will become. They do not like to roam too far from the Scythtar.”

“It does not seem to have effected their goal,” replied Eidyn. “When last I encountered them, they moved forward unhesitatingly.”

Ader grimaced and nodded his head.

“Death is the great motivator,” returned the old man. “The priests drive them forward with threats and in turn are driven forth by the threats of the Malveel. I fear that their leader has everything to lose if he abandons the chase.”

Kael’s chestnut shook its head and snorted. The water helped, but the beast wearied.

“We will reduce our speed,” stated Ader with a look of concern, “but we cannot afford to rest. Ready your mount, Kael.”

Within moments they abandoned the pond.

Hnarg eyed his tracker critically as the stony creature hunched over the water’s edge.

“Well?” snarled the priest impatiently.

The tracker rose and bowed to the priest.

“The group remains intact,” growled the tracker through broken teeth. “They halted here for a brief time. Refreshed their mounts, then sped on.”

“They did not tarry?” snapped Hnarg.

“No, my lord,” answered the tracker. “They were here only a few moments.”

Hnarg cursed and spat into the pond. He needed to wear them down. Each moment they endured became another moment the Seraph led his group into the damnable lands of the horsemen. He felt the resolve of his pack wane with each stride through the tall grasses.

The Eru were to be feared, and for good reason. The horsemen owned great successes against the Ulrog. The Eru were nomads, constantly on the move. Unlike the Zodrians, the Eru possessed no towns or villages to protect. The horsemen kept scouts roaming the Northern plains and simply melted into the tall grasses when the Ulrog ventured within their lands, only to surprise the stone men when the Ulrog attempted an exit.

Hnarg’s tracker read the anger in his leader’s eyes and like most of his brethren he knew the importance of currying favor with his superiors.

“However,” added the tracker, “one of their mounts grows lame.”

Hnarg turned on his subordinate.

“The beast’s gait has become stiff and short,” continued the tracker pointing to markings in the mud and grass around the pool.

“How long?” questioned Hnarg.

“I cannot be certain,” replied the tracker, “one, maybe two days, but its usefulness cannot last beyond that.”

Hnarg grimaced. Two days more in the grasslands was far too much. However, his packs were a small party and their quarry even smaller. With luck they might avoid the nomads and bring the head of Ader before Izgra. The priest scowled knowing his alternatives were limited. He turned to face his pack. They milled about glancing nervously at the tall grasses surrounding them.

“You heard,” shouted Hnarg. “One of their mounts grows lame. Within a day we will have Ader DeHartstron in our hands.”

A low growl of anticipation ran through the pack, but it remained listless. Hnarg charged forward and slammed his balled fists into the hunched shoulders of a particularly lifeless Hackle. The creature howled in pain and gnashed his broken teeth as the priest’s stony hands locked around his head and drew him forward.

“Think,” hissed Hnarg. “Think of the reward you will find in Kel Izgra if we return with the head of the Seraph.”

The howls of pain were replaced by roars of approval as the Hackle’s face twisted into a maniacal expression of fervor. Hnarg released the Hackle and addressed the pack.

“We are NOBODY!” shouted Hnarg. “Without the head of the Seraph we are all condemned. The Malveel will waste no time disposing of us. They will make us examples for leaving our post.”

The priest turned and pointed to the muddied tracks about the pond.

“Here lies your hope,” growled Hnarg. “Once this animal falters, the Seraph must slow, and even the Eternal Horse cannot carry three upon its back. We must push them. Keep them running and they will be ours.”

The pack howled. Hnarg motioned east and the Hackles turned and sprinted from the pond.

The air grew thin and cold. Vieri fought to catch her breath. The climb proved difficult and as the Borz Windrider looked up she realized they were nowhere near the top of the ridge line. A muffled cough from behind turned her head. Cefiz struggled up the slope behind her, keeping one hand over his mouth. When he reached her, the Guardsman looked up.

He didn’t appear well. The fall into the Frizgard and the subsequent beating against its rocks did great damage. His face grew ashen and he shivered uncontrollably. Anger entered the Windrider’s thoughts. This Keltaran giant drove them to their deaths. Vieri turned back north.

“We must stop and rest,” called the Windrider.

Granu already outstripped her by thirty yards, highlighting the insane pace at which he pushed the trio. The giant halted and turned down slope, narrowing his eyes.

“The heights are safety, girl,” growled the big man. “To tarry is folly.”

“The Ulrog packs race across the plains in search of Holy Berbati,” argued the girl. “No one follows us.”

“Are you so certain?” questioned Granu. “Certain enough to gamble all of our lives.”

Vieri hesitated.

“Yes,” she stated finally.

“Humph,” snorted Granu. “We’ve already proven many of your beliefs faulty today.”

Vieri reddened in anger and fought hard to control it. She stomped up the slope to confront the giant.

“My beliefs are immaterial to this discussion,” shouted the girl. “It will not matter if the Ulrog have or have not followed, if Cefiz is dead from exhaustion.”

Granu sneered at the girl as one of his huge hands shot out and locked on her shoulder. The giant firmly moved the girl aside then walked toward the Guardsman. Cefiz stood hunched over, struggling for breath. His chest heaved and produced a hacking cough. Granu looked him up and down then turned back to the Windrider.

“He is fit,” declared the giant and he strode past her up the mountain.

Vieri’s eyes widened and her jaw dropped. She turned to protest but felt the soft touch of another hand on her shoulder. She glanced back to see an exhausted Cefiz smiling at her.

“He is right,” said the Guardian. “I will do what I must.”

Vieri nervously returned the smile then nodded her approval. Cefiz grinned and moved past her up the slope.

An hour later Granu slowed and halted. The ridgeline they traversed continued to rise, but a spur broke off to the East and wandered across the face of the mountain. Vieri witnessed such spurs on their climb. Granu encountered no difficulty determining their path earlier, but this appeared different. A twenty yard, rain washed, granite slab comprised the area where the spur met the ridgeline. No earth or grit lay on its rugged surface. Granu slowly walked back and forth across its face.

“What is it, Keltaran?” interrupted the Windrider.

The giant ground his teeth and continued his perusal of the slab.

“I look for signs,” said the giant flatly.

“Of what?” scoffed the girl. “There is nothing to behold.”

“I do not want to lose the Ulrog party guarding Lilywynn,” growled Granu. “This country is unknown to me. Perhaps there is a quicker route running north and east simultaneously. If so, the Ulrog will take it and we will lose precious time.”

“How are you ever to know?” complained Vieri. “If the Ulrog turned from their climb here, we will never know. There are no signs.”

Granu took his eyes from the slab and glared at the girl.

“Perhaps to the untrained eye,” said the giant. “But I know rock and stone.”

He turned and pointed up the mountain.

“The Ulrog climbed higher,” stated the Keltaran. “Many of these spurs are nothing more than dead ends.”

Granu began to trudge up the steep slope. Cefiz and Vieri eyed one another and obediently followed. The girl looked troubled.

“He has some amazing abilities,” stated Cefiz in an attempt to assuage the Windrider.

The girl recognized the attempt and smiled to the Guardsman.

“He sees something in the stone I do not,” commented Vieri. “He has been trained on stone. Have him track a man across the shifting sands of the desert. Now that is a talent.”

“Can you do that?” asked Cefiz in surprise.

“I am competent,” replied the girl. “But it is Rada who is a true expert.”

“That seems ... impossible,” said Cefiz shaking his head.

“Seems,” smiled Vieri, “but it is not. All things leave their mark. Even in the shifting sands of the desert. The wind carves a pattern in the sands. Anything that disrupts that pattern alters it forever.”

Cefiz cocked a brow in confusion.

“But the wind and the sand cover the trail.”

“True,” replied Vieri, “but there is a time between the disruption and the cover when all is revealed. It depends on how quickly you discern the signs.”

“So it is with stone,” said Granu.

The pair nearly walked into the giant who stopped and stood pointing at the path.

“To the untrained eye, the surface of the rock is barren and lifeless,” continued the giant. “This is far from true. If you look closely, intently, at the tiniest elements of the stone you will see a minute world of growth and life.”

Vieri and Cefiz followed his pointing finger to the surface of the stone. Vieri leaned closer and studied the rock. She looked perplexed. Granu straightened.

“I will try to teach you a rudimentary knowledge of tracking in the mountains,” announced Granu to the girl. “Agreed?”

Vieri hesitated for a moment then bowed her head.

“Agreed,” said the Windrider. “I am honored.”

“Excellent,” returned Granu. “First, you must learn to differentiate between naturally caused disturbances and those caused by human or Ulrog. The signs are almost .....”

Granu continued to instruct the pair as they slowly made headway up the ridge.

Woil growled, gnashed his massive jaws and barked orders at the Ulrog packs under his command. He drove the Hackles forward relentlessly. The Malveel was concerned. Not only did he hunger to catch the Keltaran entering his sphere of command, but he was also eager to overtake the pack dragging the captured Elf back to Kel Izgra.

Woil saw the opportunity for glory in these circumstances and refused to let it slip away. He snapped at the pack as they trudged up the ridgeline past him, then he turned up slope as well.

“Ettreck,” shouted the Malveel. “What do you see?”

Immediately the hairless, rock encrusted head of his lead tracker rose above the hunched and running figures of the pack. The tracker narrowed his eyes and stared down the slope at his master.

“Members of the Vendi pack dragged the Elf this way almost a full day ago,” responded Ettreck. “The Keltaran and his group follow. They are making good time, my lord.”

“Granu of Keltar intends to attempt a rescue,” stated Woil.  “This captured Elf must be the Seraph. Ader Light Wielder acted as bait. The Old Man could not attempt a rescue himself for we would have been drawn to him.