Well of Sorrows (31 page)

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Authors: Benjamin Tate

BOOK: Well of Sorrows
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“As the others did?” Aeren glared at Eraeth. His Protector’s flat but forceful statements infuriated him. “No. You saw what happened to the other wagons, what the dwarren did to them.”
“You approached this group against my advice. You tried to warn them back, to get them to return to the lands below the Escarpment, where there is relative safety from the dwarren and the plains. And when they would not listen, you led them to the burned wagons and the dead in hopes that they would return then.”
“The warning came too late!” Aeren spat. He stepped away from Eraeth and his other guardsman, ignored the look that passed between the two. He watched the settlers instead, the group of men racing about, gathering together a small scouting group while the rest prepared the wagons for travel. Women were salvaging what they could from the burned wagon and gathering up the wounded, loading the man that had taken an arrow in his shoulder into the back of one, some of the smaller children in the others. He had never seen so many children at once. Alvritshai children were rare and precious. They certainly would not have been allowed onto the plains at such a young age. The robed one, who appeared to be an acolyte of some kind, moved among them all, parents and children alike, comforting them, leading some in short prayers while they clutched the strange pendant he wore. A few were gathering up the dead, laying them together to one side.
Aeren felt something dig into his chest at the sight of the bodies. “It came too late,” he repeated.
Eraeth moved to his side. “Yes, and you ordered us to help defend them against the dwarren scouts. But if there are scouts, then the army will not be far behind. You know they cannot defend themselves against the dwarren armies, even with our help. And it is doubtful they will be able to outrun them.”
“Except that the dwarren army isn’t interested in them.” Aeren turned to Eraeth, saw his Protector scowl. “The dwarren scouts weren’t looking for these people, they were looking for their own kind. We’ve stumbled into one of their tribal wars. If we can determine where the other dwarren tribes are coming from, perhaps we can elude them.”
Eraeth’s eyes narrowed. “You are correct. The dwarren are not interested in the human wagons. That does not mean we should risk our lives—Alvritshai lives—for these . . . these savages!”
Aeren’s brow creased at the venom in Eraeth’s words. He held his Protector’s gaze, then asked, “When will the other Phalanx members return with news of the other dwarren’s whereabouts?”
Eraeth hesitated. “Not for some time.”
“Then we have time to help them further.”
Anger flared in Eraeth’s eyes. “No. You have risked yourself and the rest of your Phalanx already by simply contacting these people, let alone aiding them against the dwarren. And now you have given them the Blood of Aielan, the proof of the success of your Trial, all to save one man’s life? A man you did not even know! You have more than satisfied your obligation to these people. I refuse to allow you to continue. You will rejoin the House contingent waiting to the north and return to Alvritshai lands with us. Immediately.”
Shock coursed through Aeren at the tone in his Protector’s voice, even as Eraeth turned away, toward the other Phalanx guardsman. He’d spoken to him as if he were a child. No, as if he were a
student
.
But he was no longer Eraeth’s student.
“Protector!”
His voice cracked across the grass, loud enough and forceful enough that even the group of humans paused in their activity. Eraeth stilled, back stiff, then turned.
Aeren closed the distance between them in two short steps, stared hard into Eraeth’s eyes. “I have passed the Trial. I am now a full member of the House, with all of the rank and privileges and responsibilities that such entails. And whether you like it or not, these people are our responsibility. It began when we shared our food and wine with them. Or had you forgotten? We entered a bond with them then, and I intend to see that bond fulfilled, for the honor of my House.”
Eraeth held his gaze, unflinching, although the anger and defiance in his stance had abated. Something else flickered there instead—pride, regret.
Resignation.
He let out a low breath, then nodded. “Very well.”
The tension in Aeren’s shoulders relaxed, and he found himself trembling. He caught the other Phalanx guardsman’s gaze, then turned toward the group of humans. Tom had stepped forward, concern on his face, but Aeren motioned him away. Tom hesitated, then returned to the group of men ready to mount their horses.
“We will help them,” Aeren said, “for as long as we possibly can.”
 
Like fucking prairie dogs.
Paul’s words came back to Tom as he lay on a ridge of ground, Walter, Arten, and another Armory guardsman to the side. Eraeth had crawled up to the ridge with them, but Aeren and the other Alvritshai were behind, hidden from sight in the depression behind the ridge, along with the horses. Tom hadn’t thought the Alvritshai would be able to keep up with the horses on foot—and they hadn’t, but they hadn’t been that far behind them either.
Below, in a large, flattened portion of the prairie, a hole gaped in the ground, a cavernous opening that slid into the ground in a gentle incline so wide it could hold at least three wagons side by side. The opening was shaded by a huge multicolored tent, the material bent and twisted around thick poles driven into the ground, the entire edifice practical but at the same time strangely artistic. The curves of the tent, which billowed out in the wind from the plains like sails, flowed from one stretch of cloth to another, the colors blending into one another, shades of tawny gold and muted blues and greens. They all seemed to flow to a vivid red center.
The large tent was surrounded by hundreds of smaller tents. They spread out from the central tent in a haphazard fashion, as if they weren’t permanent structures, although none of them were set up before the entrance to the burrow.
The entire tent city teemed with dwarren and gaezels. Men charged back and forth from the entrance to where nearly a thousand others had gathered on the plains before the burrow, divided into ranks of twenty. Most of these divisions were on foot, but a few were mounted on gaezels or held the fleet animals in check to one side.
As Tom watched, a sickening pit opening up in his stomach, a few more divisions emerged from the burrow and formed up near the back of the group.
“Diermani’s balls,” the Armory guardsman said to one side, his voice low. “There’s more than a thousand of them now.” At Arten’s glance, he added, “There were only a few hundred when we were here before.”
“Did they see you?” Arten asked.
“I don’t know. We charged up the ridge, following their trail in the grass, but as soon as we saw them we turned and headed back.”
“Saw,” Eraeth said, succinctly and with conviction.
Tom and Arten turned toward him.
Arten grunted. “It doesn’t matter. Their scouts know we’re there. And it looks like they’re headed in our direction. Let’s hope Paul and Sam managed to get the wagons loaded and headed out, although I’m not sure where we can run.” He frowned. “I don’t see any wagons. Or women.”
Eraeth grunted and motioned to the gathered force, the air, the tents, and the ground. “Dwarren above, wagons below.”
“They supply the army from belowground?” When Eraeth nodded, Arten said, “Then they must have more entrances like this.”
“So what do we do?”
Arten turned to look at Tom, his face grim. “We run, and hope that they don’t find us.”
Eraeth slid back from the ridge, moving to Aeren’s side. Aeren listened to what he had to say, then instantly turned to the other Alvritshai guard and gave him orders. The other guard tore out across the plains, heading in a straight line, but not toward the Andovan wagons. Instead, he angled slightly away from them, east and north.
“Where’s he going?” Arten asked.
Tom wondered the same thing. He began slipping down off the ridge, the rest following. That hollow pit in his stomach had expanded, and he found he couldn’t focus on anything. He kept thinking about Ana, about Colin. He’d dragged them to Portstown, had forced them to stay, then drafted them into this expedition onto the godforsaken plains.
“Where are you going?” Arten asked, as Tom slid into the saddle of his horse.
“Back to the wagons,” he said, and heard the roughness in his voice, the rawness. “Back to my family. It’s the only chance we’ve got.”
He spun the mount and kicked him toward the east, toward the heat-blurred horizon, not waiting for the others.
10
 
C
OLIN HALTED AND TURNED AT THE SHOUTS, Karen doing the same beside him, edging a little closer as the wagon they trailed continued on ahead. Neck craning, he saw horses tearing toward the wagons through the grasses of the plains. Something caught at his throat, made it hard to breathe, and he reached for Karen’s hand.
“He’s there,” Karen said, her voice strained as she entangled his fingers with her own. “They’re all there.”
Colin didn’t relax until his father charged past them, heading toward the front of the wagons, where Sam and Paul steered the wagon train east. Arten and the others sped by on their own horses a moment later, none of them sparing anyone in the wagon train a glance. They were followed by Aeren and Eraeth on foot.
All their expressions were grim.
Colin felt the pressure around his throat tighten. “They look worried,” he said, catching Karen’s gaze. Her eyes were slightly widened. She glanced back toward the west, where the riders had come from, and bit her lower lip.
“Whatever it is,” she said, turning back, “we’ll outrun it.”
Colin nodded, even though he heard the doubt in her voice beneath the forced conviction.
One of the Armory guardsmen, still on horseback, suddenly skidded his mount to a halt beside the still-moving wagon. “We have to pick up the pace,” he gasped. “We need to move!”
He made to turn away, but Colin halted him with a shout. “Why? What is it?”
“The dwarren,” the guard said, irritated. “Hundreds of them, headed this way. A war party. So get these wagons moving!”
Before Colin could respond, he kicked his horse, the animal leaping forward with a snort, head lowered as it charged toward the next wagon.
“Help me,” Karen said, and Colin turned to see her herding the children nearest to them toward the back of the wagon. “Get them up inside. We’ll want to push the wagons as fast as possible, and we don’t want the children to slow us down.”
Colin hefted a little boy up from beneath the armpits, the boy instantly bawling. He handed him off to the boy’s older sister, already inside the wagon.
“Where’s our mom?” the girl asked, voice trembling.
“I don’t know, Lissa,” Karen said. “I’ll try to find her. Just take care of your brother for the moment, please?”
Lissa nodded seriously, hugging her wailing brother closer, her eyes as wide as saucers.
As soon as Karen hoisted the last kid in, Colin slapped the wagon’s back and shouted toward the driver. The wagon lurched forward, trundling over the rough ground, bouncing and rattling. One of the kids cried out as they were thrown from their perch, but then all of them hunkered down beside the supplies. Colin and Karen broke into a trot at the wagon’s back. Colin could see Lissa’s terrified face over the back of the wagon, her eyes watching him, almost pleading. He swallowed against the bitterness in his own throat and looked away. He could think of nothing to say to her, nothing that would make things better.
They ran, the entire wagon train moving far too slowly across the open plains. The initial surge of adrenalin and fear pushed them through the evening hours, but then it began to wear off. Wagons began to lag, people to falter. The Armory rode back and forth along the train, urging everyone forward, but as darkness settled, clouds beginning to move overhead, obscuring the emerging moon and stars, even the Armory began to flag. Lightning flickered in the distance, the ethereal purple lightning of the plains, but they heard no thunder. The storm was moving toward them though. Colin could taste it on the wind, metallic and cold.

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