Ways of Power 1: Power Rises (8 page)

On one occasion the grass even topped Rancoth's height, completely obscuring the view of both men. It was about mid-morning on the fourth day since passing Tower City when they descended into a forest of tall green stalks.  After walking only a few feet, Dorbin decided that it was time for a break. "Let's stop, lad, and rrest a minute."

Rancoth pulled up short, and walked back to Dorbin. "You can't be tired already! We only just got started a couple hours ago!" he exclaimed.

"Aye, I know, lad, but trrust me we should sit forr a minute. You'rre gonna need it," Dorbin said with a wink. Rancoth was confused by this; he felt refreshed and ready to go. They had slept well the night before on a soft bed of dried needles under one of the rare pine trees that they had come across, and they had dined well that morning.

Dorbin managed to flush out a fat, pot-bellied hog that had been nosing around in the bushes, and Rancoth thunked it on the head with his sturdy walking stick. The fatty white meat was juicy and delicious, and had gone well with the carrots Rancoth had dug up the night before.

More than anything, however, Rancoth was anxious to be on his way because he knew that they were drawing closer to Illineas, and just beyond that his childhood home. "How much longer do you think it will be before we get to Illineas?" He asked, desperate not to stop, and hoping the reminder of their close proximity would spur the little man on.

"Well, we've been going arround fourrteen miles a day, so it should be laterr today," he answered, placing his pack and shield on the ground before sitting down. Dorbin looked up sternly at his young companion, letting him know that he wouldn't be budged for a few minutes anyway.

Rancoth finally threw his hands into the air in surrender. He lowered himself next to his friend. "So how long a rest do you think you'll need?" Rancoth asked, as he pulled his flask off his shoulder and drank a few gulps of the sweet spring water they had come upon the day before yesterday.

"Eh, it's not forr me. The rresst is forr you." Dorbin stated, with a slight grin on his face.

"But I feel fine. I'm ready to go
now
!" Rancoth shouted. He re-plugged his flask, and hopped to his feet.

"Wait, wait. Sit down," Dorbin ordered. Rancoth sighed but did as he was bade, frustration and impatience boiling throughout him. As soon as his rump hit the ground, Dorbin leapt up, sack and shield in hand, and deftly mounted Rancoth's shoulders, his heels kicking down hard on Rancoth's chest.

"Hey! What are you doing!?!" Rancoth bellowed, fighting to get the little man's legs off his neck and shoulders. Dorbin then promptly started whacking him on the head, all the while saying "Up, up, up, up."

Rancoth jumped to his feet, hoping that maybe that would dislodge the man.

"Therre, that's betterr!" Dorbin exclaimed. He was now head and shoulders above the grass and could see where they needed to go. Realization of what the little man had been scheming all along finally dawned on Rancoth.

"You could have just asked you know. I wouldn't have objected," he stated, sulkily.

"Yeah, but this was morre fun!" Dorbin said, with a hearty chuckle. Rancoth then jabbed him in the knee, which Dorbin responded to in kind with a swift heel to Rancoth's ribs.

"OUCH! That hurts, you know," Rancoth said, forcing his hand between Dorbin's foot and his chest to rub the now- throbbing area.

"Well, rrespect yourr elderrs and you won’t get hurrt," Dorbin said with another whack on Rancoth's head. "All rright now, turrn to the rright a little. That's it. Now
march
!"

Rancoth began to trudge along, knowing that he would have to endure being a pack mule until they were out of the impossibly tall grass.

After only a few feet, Rancoth realized why Dorbin had said he needed to rest for a minute. Despite his diminutive size Dorbin was thick--thick and heavy! Rancoth could already feel the ache starting in his shoulders; it was as if he had been throwing things over his head all day. This, coupled with the added weight of Dorbin's equipment and his propensity to wobble around, sent Rancoth careening to and fro as he slowly made forward progress.

He was thankful however for his staff. It proved a valuable balancing point with Dobin's added bulk on his shoulders. He hadn't had this much trouble walking a straight line since his last encounter with too much ale.

After what seemed like miles, Rancoth could feel his feet begin to rise in elevation. He was finally going uphill, which hopefully meant they would be out of the grass and he could dump his unwelcome load back onto his own two feet. Or with any luck, his round little bald head! Rancoth thought.

The sweat was now pouring from his brow, and somehow finding its way into his eyes, where it seemed to magically turn into acid, burning and blurring his vision. This of course wasn't the only place that the torrents of sweat were attacking him.

It was also spilling through his shoulder blades, and down his back to invade the dark valley between his buttocks. Itching and tickling, dripping and running. He couldn't decide which torture was worse, but he was going to get even with the tiny old man for making him endure it.

As he crested the hill, Rancoth could feel the cool breeze on his face once more. Finally he had gotten above the vile forest of grass.

"All rright now put me dowwwwww. . ."

Rancoth hooked his hands under both of Dorbin's heels and sent him tumbling backward off his shoulders. With the sudden loss of extra weight, Rancoth felt feathery light; his arms seemed to float up by his sides, and the ache in his back vanished.

Rancoth bent forward and rested his hands firmly on his knees as he sucked the cooling air into his lungs. It took several breaths before he was able to calm his breathing to a more normal state.

"I guess I deserrved that," Dorbin said, scrambling back to the top of the hill.

"Oh yeah, you did," Rancoth said, his heart still pounding in his chest.

Fortunately for Dorbin the grass on top of the hill only came to roughly the center of his chest. That coupled with the height of the hill allowed for an easy view of the land around them. "Look therre!" Dorbin exclaimed, tapping Rancoth on the shoulder. Rancoth stood, and turned to see what had excited Dorbin so much.

Only another mile or so south stood the shining city of Illineas. Though it was only half the size of Tower City, it was a beautiful sight, especially after the endless grass of the last couple of days. The city seemed to sparkle in the sunlight. Rancoth had been told that the Magi who lived in Illineas preferred to use large blocks of quartz, instead of stone, in their architecture. He had not been sure that he had entirely believed the tales, but now there was no room to doubt. Each building looked like a shining star upon the landscape.

Rancoth smiled down, and Dorbin smiled up. "We made it! That wasn't so bad," Rancoth said, but before Dorbin could answer they both heard a crack, and felt a sudden sharp pain at the base of their skulls. And then….

Darkness.

12

The ache radiating out from the base of Rancoth's skull finally woke him. When he first opened his eyes he thought that the blow must have caused him to go blind.

Slowly, however he began to make out that he had a bag covering his head, preventing him from seeing anything other than the folds and creases of the dark canvas.

He already knew there was no use in trying to say anything; the gag in his mouth was causing the drool to gather and trickle down his cheeks. It was obviously some form of cloth, and tasted like dirt, with a slightly salty hint of sweat.

     His hands were bound to his chest, and his feet were bound together, and he had the strange sensation of floating. Am I on a boat? He thought for a second—no, even on a boat he would feel the hard surface of the wood beneath him. Then he felt the criss-crossing pressure of being surrounded by a net; he was being carried and swaying back and forth through the air.

"GRRR MAHH HEAAE HARIWAA!" Rancoth recognized the familiar growl of Dorbin coming from the side, and realized he must be gagged as well. After a while he let his other senses take over to try and give him some indication of where he was, and in what direction they were going.

The breeze was warm, but that provided little information, he could feel the sun on his left side, but without knowing what time of day it was that didn't help either. His sense of smell did him no good at all. The only thing he could smell was the inside of the rank and musty bag. He wasn't positive, but Rancoth was pretty sure that the last thing the bag had been used for was to haul some sort of animal excrement. The smell was truly vile.

He could hear the footfalls of what sounded like multiple feet, but it was impossible to get a count of how many. He did notice that with every step, there was the sound of crunching. They were no longer walking through the soft fields of grass, they were now on gravel. That at least was something.

It was some time before he finally felt himself being lowered to the ground. Resting on his side on the rocky surface was uncomfortable, and there was a tiny pebble that had decided to take up residence against his temple. Try as he might to scoot it away, it was no use. Either the pebble was secured firmly in the ground, or he simply could not gain enough leverage with the bag over his head to effect any progress.

Rancoth had no idea how long they had been traveling before he managed to regain his senses, but he hopped that if they did manage to escape they wouldn't be too lost. He heard some scuffling on the ground behind him, and once again the familiar growl of an angry Dorbin. "AGRRR WHOO LAAR LOOW!"

"Oh shut up, you little toad!" came a man's harsh voice, followed immediately by a loud
FWAHHP
and a groan of pain. Rancoth thought it best if he just stayed quiet, and hoped that whoever their captors were, they would soon start talking and give him some more information to go on. He didn't have to wait long.

"So, what do you suppose Mic's gonna want to do with ‘em?" It was a woman who spoke. She had a sultry voice; the kind that just the sound of it could stir a man's loins. Rancoth shuddered as unexpectedly his own anatomy betrayed him.

"He'll talk to them, do his best to try and get them to cooperate with him. They'll refuse of course. Just like all the rest, and then he'll kill 'em." The man who struck Dorbin was the one who responded, his voice harsh and scratchy.

There were others speaking quietly together in hushed voices that Rancoth couldn't quite hear. He did however count at least three separate conversations coming from different directions. That meant, including the two talking right next to him and Dorbin, there had to be at least eight people, and there were probably more than that. But eight was the minimum that he had to expect.

The odds did not bode well for him, and his ferocious mentor. Their only hope now was if their captors were foolish enough to remove his gag. As a Summoner, Rancoth needed to speak in order to utilize his power. As such it was unlikely that they would be tricked into giving him the opportunity to speak, but it was the best he and Dorbin could hope for.

"I hope we make it back to camp soon, I'm starved," the harsh-voiced man said.

"We all are. Mic will wanna make them wait on edge for a bit, so there will be plenty of time for you to try and find something to eat before having to play with these two," the woman said.

"Yeah, well, eating aside, I hope Mic doesn't want to wait too long. I do so enjoy causing pain. AIN’T that right, TOADY?" the man said before raining another blow on Dorbin, who had started to stir again. Dorbin groaned and was still once more. The woman laughed, and Rancoth felt his anger rise. He would get even for his friend and mentor. These two, and their companions, would regret the day they took them hostage.

"All right! That's enough rest you lot! Let's go!" the man shouted. A few moments later Rancoth could feel himself being lifted into the air once more. It was an interesting sensation, floating suspended in the air. Had it been under different circumstances, it would probably have been quite soothing.

After a couple of hours Rancoth heard some excited shouting in the distance. "Finally, home!" the harsh-voiced man exclaimed, with anticipation in his voice. "Anton, Seldin, Gregor, and Quinn get these two to the hole. The rest of you, job well done, go enjoy some much-earned rest! Come on, Celeste let's find something to eat!" he exclaimed. Rancoth heard several members of the capture party running ahead, obviously eager to celebrate their successful return.

The four who had been charged with storing them quickened their pace as well, and in a relatively short amount of time, the breeze abruptly stilled, and Rancoth felt the sudden cooling of being brought in out of the sun.

He and Dorbin were ungraciously dropped on what felt like a dirt floor, and their bearers left without a word, leaving them, bound, gagged, blind, and netted, to wait on edge, as the woman had put it, for this Mic character.

Completely devoid of any sensory input, and at a loss for an idea of some action to take, Rancoth eventually slipped into a nightmarish sleep.

13

"Muahh haa hhaa." The laughter was cold and evil, as it reverberated through the darkness. A hot, powerful hand had him by the throat; he couldn't breathe, the suffocation burning through his chest adding to the painful fire around his neck.

Rancoth could see the face of the demon that murdered his mother, its black, soulless eyes, deep within its dark red skull, radiating malice and hate. The small white bony spikes leading from its nose up over its head adding to the ferocious glare.

"You will never be my master. I will laugh over your corpse as I gorge on your entrails, you weak-minded, overly virtuous pathetic excuse for a life form." The creature's hot moist breath against Rancoth's face was rancid, smelling of putrid rot and decay. It had several rows of small, pointed, yellowing teeth, and a forked black tongue. Rancoth struggled to respond but couldn't, his windpipe all but crushed, and his hands too small to grip the powerful leathery arm that held him.

"Muahh haa hhaa, that's it, yes, struggle, you worthless little creature. Pretend you have the hope of life. It makes it all the more pleasurable when I see the essence extinguished from your eyes." The monster then spread its boney,  thin-skinned wings, and issued an earsplitting roar, its rumble shaking the foundation of the world.

It then pulled Rancoth's face closer to its own gruesome visage and with a quiet snarl still lingering in its throat whispered, "You are nothing." The demon then eviscerated Rancoth with its razor sharp tail. He could feel his ropey bowels as they slithered out of the gapping maw of his stomach, coiling in a heap on the ground. The pain was unbearable. Rancoth longed for a death that would not come…

Rancoth opened his eyes and shuddered, the now-familiar image of the moldering bag a welcome sight in place of the demons face. The pain in his abdomen was no longer the agony of a fatal wound, but merely the cramps of hunger. The back of his head still throbbed, and his throat was devoid of moisture. He imagined it cracked and flaking like a dry riverbed. At least I can no longer taste the rag in my mouth, he thought.

He heard someone, or a couple of someones, approaching the "hole" they were being held in. Rough hands were peeling back the netting he had been carried in, and he was forced to sit up. His knees bent to his chest for balance, eased some of the groaning in his stomach. The bag was ripped from over his head, and Rancoth had to blink back bleary-eyed tears from the sudden harsh light.

In reality, the medium-sized fire (which he wondered why he hadn't noticed before) provided only a moderate amount of illumination, but to Rancoth it was painfully bright.

Once his eyes adjusted, he surveyed the situation as best he could. They appeared to be in an underground chamber of some sort. Whoever had removed his head covering was behind him attending to Dorbin, and there appeared to be no one else in the area. The floor, walls, and ceiling were all dirt. It was logical to assume they were in a manmade chamber dug out of the side of a hill, as there were no mountains for hundreds of miles, unless he had been unconscious for far longer than he had thought.

Looking over his shoulder Rancoth saw that there was a large dark tunnel leading into their accommodations. It turned sharply into the room, and he could not see past the bend that led off to the right. There was no way to tell how deep they really were. Judging by how long it had taken for them to be dropped by their four curriers however Rancoth assumed that the exit was immediately beyond view. The lack of visible sunlight in the tunnel could be explained by the time of day, or a door of some kind.

Finally the person finished untangling Dorbin, and stepped into view. It was a Hulden man of average height. He had short unkempt hair a few shades darker than Rancoth's. He was light complected, and had pale gray eyes. He was missing one of his front teeth, and he was filthy. His tattered gray pants, and brown shirt appeared to have not been washed in weeks.

The man bent low, getting close to Rancoth's face. His breath was awful; it smelled like stale wine and partially digested food. It was disgusting, almost to the point that Rancoth had to try and keep from dry heaving over the foul nature of his captor.

"So, what the hell is a bright eyes like you doing running around in the wilderness with a toady?" he asked with a sneer and a jerk of his head toward Dorbin. As the man spoke he had little streamers of saliva that clung to his teeth, making it appear as though he had a mouth full of cobwebs. More importantly however, it was the hated harsh-voiced man!

Rancoth wanted to leap up and throttle him, but even if he wasn't bound he couldn't have. He was too weak from lack of food, water, and a restless sleep.

They had done their jobs well. He didn't know what kind of shape Dorbin was in--probably worse than him since he had been kicked every time he made a sound, but he knew that he himself was nearly broken. If only he could have some water, maybe that would make a difference.

"Waaahweerr…" he managed through his gag. Muffled though his speech was, it was clear what he meant.

"Oh, you want some water, bright eyes? Well too bad, Mic's camp hasn't lasted this long by being a bunch of fools. There isn't a breaths chance in hell that I'm moving that gag. You might summon a rock to fall on my head, or turn me into something unnatural," he said with mock fear, and a grin.

"GGGGEEEEBBB AAHH OOHY UM WAAERR UU HOG!" Dorbin attempted to shout.

A look of pure hatred flashed across the man's features before he stood erect again. "I thought I taught you to shut…up…TOADY!" He kicked Dorbin thrice, once for each pause in his hate-filled exclamation, the third and final time hardest of all as he spat out the cruel moniker he was using for Dorbin.

              "That's enough, Crujen. Get a tube to slide under the gag, and put some water down the boy. We wouldn't want him to die of thirst," came an impossibly deep and commanding voice from a shadowed corner.

              The man glared down at Dorbin for another moment before responding. "Sure thing, Mic, whatever you say." Crujen turned and left through the tunnel. 

After Crujen returned he slid the end of a copper tube past Rancoth's gag. The cool water felt wonderful, but was hard to swallow with the gag still in his mouth. The man in the shadows ordered Crujen to un-gag Dorbin and then dismissed him. As Crujen turned to leave Rancoth did his best to mumble a thanks for the water.

Crujen stopped and looked over his shoulder, "imagine that, Mic, a bright eyes with manners. You're welcome, kid, but lose the toady." He waved to the shadowed corner, "I'll be outside if you need anything," and he left.

"Who the hell arre you!? And what the fuck do you want?" Dorbin demanded. Glaring at the shadows.

"My name is McRoy Connery, but I'm called McRoy the Red, and I need your help." As he spoke the man stepped into the light where Dorbin and Rancoth could finally see him.

He was the largest, most powerfully built man either of them had ever seen. He was a Hulden, which surprised neither of them, but his sheer mass was astounding. He was easily seven and a half feet tall if not eight. He was adorned in long black trousers, which Rancoth and Dorbin could have easily picked a leg and stood in with plenty of room to spare. He had long gray-streaked black hair and a full, thick, bushy black beard. His left eye was missing, and a long ugly scar traced from the center of his forehead down through the empty and shriveled socket.

"Arre ye daft? You don't kidnap and abuse people you want help frrom!" Dorbin exclaimed, bewilderment and anger plainly evident on his face.

McRoy produced a lopsided grin thanks to the scar on his face, "I assume you were headed to the crystal city for a reason. I could not afford to have you refuse my plea based on your own goals and intentions. So I ordered my men to bring you here by any means necessary. I do apologize for the bindings and the gags. We simply can't take chances with magic casters." His last comment was directed solely at Rancoth.

"And, as for Crujen's actions and temper towards you, my little friend—well, he has reasons for his malice, which are not mine to reveal. I will however guarantee you, that he will not harm you again without provocation on your part." McRoy then crossed his huge tree-like arms in front of his massive barreled chest.

"What good is the worrd o' a kidnapperr?" Dorbin demanded.

"Point made, and taken. A man's word is more important than his life, because it is what gives him life. Without his word he can never earn trust, and without trust his potential allies will become certain enemies. Without allies he can never endeavor to live a full life and reach his goals. Trust, however, is a two-way street. Very well, I will extend a trust to you, in the hope that it will be returned." McRoy turned his massive head, to fix his one dark green eye on Rancoth.

"If I remove your gag, will you promise to not use your powers to harm me or any of my men, unless we move to harm you or your furious friend?" McRoy asked, his single eye never blinking.

After a few excruciating moments Rancoth nodded slightly.

"Good enough for me," McRoy said, reaching down with a hand the size of Rancoth's head to remove the gag.

"Thank you," he said, his words simple his mouth dry and cracked. His tongue felt shrunken and desiccated. The few drops of water that Crujen had given him had not been enough to fully quench his thirst.

"I will have more water and food brought to you. Once you are rested and ready, I hope you will hear my plea." His deep rumbling voice conveyed no ill intent, and his single eye was stricken with desperation and hope. The great hulking man then turned and left.

"All rright now, summon one o' yurr beasties, and let's get out o' herre!" Dorbin whispered harshly.

Rancoth almost imperceptibly shook his head.

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN NO!?!" Dorbin bellowed, outraged by his former pupil's foolishness.

Rancoth looked up at the little rage-filled man, sadness in his eyes. "That man is desperate for help. What could cause such a colossal being to plead for help from two complete strangers? I have to know…and I gave my word." Rancoth said, looking down to his still bound feet. He knew that Dorbin was upset with him, but if they managed to get out of here alive, his old teacher would eventually find it in his heart to forgive him. He would not however be able to forgive himself if he ignored whatever it was that could drive a man such as McRoy to such desperate measures.

"A worrd given underr thrreat o' forrce is not valid," Dorbin said, trying to calm himself. "You hearrd them the same as I did beforre we arrrived. He'll kill us if we dont agrree. It's best if we make a brreak forr it while we still can."

Rancoth shook his head again. "They knew we were listening. I think what they said was staged to try and help us decide it was in our own best interests to cooperate."

It was Dorbin's turn to shake his head, realizing that Rancoth's mind was made up. "I hope that this curriosity, and demented sense of honorr of yourrs doesn't cost us ourr lives." He growled.

True to his word, McRoy had a young girl; Rancoth guessed around fourteen, deliver some water, and some roasted meat.  Once the provisions were on the floor the girl made them promise not to hurt her, or try to run away.  They did and she cut their bindings. She slowly backed out of their holding place, knife raised just in case they were not true to their word.

The water was cool and fresh, though both of them wished there were more of it. But after eating and drinking they were able to stretch themselves out on the soft dry ground, and exhaustion took over.