Fool's Errand (24 page)

 The D’zarik, the reptilian Noni, and the Umbra had vision so attuned to the darkness that the light given off by Shadowdeep’s various species of glowing lichens allowed them to see as well as an Adami in bright daylight. Even in complete darkness, D’zarik could see as well as Adami could at dusk.

The other Shadowdeep races had excellent eyesight in darkness but not quite as perfect as the D’zarik. If the caravan was attacked at midday, both Melizar and Ohanzee would be at a great disadvantage under the full light of the sun. If however any attack or pursuit led them into caves or underground, both he and his rogue wagon-mate would be the best equipped to lead the charge.

On the fourth wagon, Bardrick was chattering away about adventure, booty, cleaving heads, and all such male warrior-type nonsense. Jeslyn pretended to be listening attentively to the young braggart’s tales of adventure and fortune, but her mind was far from her wagon-mate. Jeslyn’s thoughts filled with the many wondrous companions she had met on this journey and with the hope that she would find what had become of her father.

When she set out from her small village in search of her father, she knew the path would lead to Aton-Ri. Not only had that been where her father hired on with a caravan to earn enough money to feed them through the winter, but it also was the place where any rescue force would depart from.

Aton-Ri was formerly a large Rajiki settlement, but many years ago Adami from other places, as well as many other races came to settle in the port city. It grew far larger than any other Rajiki settlement. Her father told her it became an independent city-state only a few decades ago. The first mayor, the father of the current mayor, had put forth a policy that any person of any race who came in peace would be welcome to settle in Aton-Ri. It was a great melting pot of all races and the ideal destination for anyone seeking adventure.

While exploring Aton-Ri and making inquiries, she heard that a caravan would be departing for the west led by a Qarahni prince. Goldain had become almost like an uncle to her since she rather insistently convinced him to allow her along for this adventure. He bought her the first properly made Rajiki arrows she had ever owned and assigned Bardrick to look after her. She was not so sure this last item was a blessing, but the young warrior, for all his bragging, did seem to know which end of his axe to hold. She was not worried much about that though. She could take care of herself.

She wished, however, that she could handle herself as well as their scout Arreya could. The way she had jumped that giant brute Xyer Garan was awesome. She moved so quickly and with such grace and ferocity. Jeslyn thought Arreya might be the mightiest warrior in the caravan. She was not sure if Arreya’s offer to teach her some things had been genuine, but certainly hoped so. Jeslyn was as deadly with her bow as any warrior in the company was, but if someone got too close she knew she had a long way to go before she could properly defend herself in close combat.

Then there was that boy. The young rogue Thatcher had hardly said two words to her the entire journey, despite the two of them being the youngest and only two years different in age. He was certainly all googly-eyed over Arreya, but so were most of the males in the caravan. There was just something about him she could not get out of her head.

He certainly was cute enough with his jet-black hair all wild and roguish and his piercing green eyes, but there was something of an old soul about him, which contrasted his actual age. She asked Goldain to tell her more about him and found out he had been orphaned since he was very young. He had grown up on the streets of Aton-Ri. She supposed such a thing would put years on anyone. The grim thought entered her mind that if she discovered the worst about her father’s fate, they would share another thing in common.

Atop the fifth wagon, Kylor and Duncan were a perfect match. Kylor was the quiet type, and Duncan was perfectly content to take more than his share of the conversation. Duncan talked about the mountains, about his childhood, about the finer points of Durgak ale, but most of all, he talked about the One Lord.

He shared the details of his faith with the young ranger, who listened attentively. Kylor had always believed on some level that the stories of the One Lord were true. The world was so magnificent, and there were so many races and animals and plants, whose complexity and variety was witness enough of a creator. The vastness of the stars and the sea spoke of a maker whose power was beyond comprehension. Truly, anyone beholding the wonders of creation while denying a creator was without excuse. Duncan’s sharing from the
Great Book of Writings
, which was the collected writings about the One Lord by all the prophets and holy men, had deepened his understanding and his conviction over this past week.

Kylor believed now more than ever that the One Lord was real and that he must follow Him. When he shared this news with Duncan, he thought the stout Durgak might truly burst apart at the seams.

“Why laddie that is fantastic news! At the first river we come to, I personally will perform the ritual of The Washing as a witness to your accepted faith in the One Lord.”

Kylor began to look forward to this event, but the nearest river would be beyond the western end of Dragon Pass and, thus, beyond whatever trouble had been intercepting the caravans. Kylor hoped that he would live to experience The Washing.

The last wagon was, for the first time on this journey, the quietest. Goldain had asked Rarib to forego the traveling song, which had graced and sped their journey thus far. First off their travel from this point on would be very slow and deliberate, giving ample time for Sable to spot and report anything unusual ahead but even more so to make sure the marching troops were battle-ready whenever trouble reared its head. On top of this was the consideration that in the narrow valley, the bard’s song would carry far and likely give more warning and advantage than they could afford to whoever might be lying in wait ahead. Rarib was in deep thought as to how he even wound up on this dangerous journey, and Cookie was in a particularly grim mood and not very talkative, so the two passed the time in silence; each locked into his own thoughts.

With Sable scouting ahead and Xyer Garan guarding the rear of the caravan, most of the rest of the troops felt fairly at ease. Their biggest challenge was staying limber and battle-ready in the cramped wagons. Since they would not be able to show themselves outside the wagons until it was time to battle or until they reached the western end of Dragon Pass, each wagon had been equipped with a couple of chamber pots should the need arise. Arreya, feeling quite caged and restless, thought that the Durgak and Adami troops in with her were odiferous enough without the reality of a partially filled chamber pot to add to the mix. This not to mention that the small hatch, which allowed access to the drivers, brought wafting her way the strange scents of the Shade and the as yet unidentified but definitively not-Adami smelling Melizar. She had not yet mentioned her observations about the aroma of the mage to anyone else, but certainly, she would be looking for an opportunity to find out exactly what type of being carried that particular scent.

Gideon continued to wrestle with the mystery of the Parynland shields they had discovered in the raider’s lair. Were they related to the missing caravans? Was someone from Parynland truly behind this as Garan had suggested? What was truly behind Garan’s attitude? Was this man what he appeared to be, or was there something more? So many questions and so few answers. Whatever else lie ahead, Gideon hoped that beyond whatever conflict they encountered were answers to at least a few of them.

Goldain sat nearest the back door of the second wagon. The northerner loved to enjoy life, ale, women, and song, but what he loved most was the thrill of battle. He was raised to be a warrior as all of his brothers were. The heat of battle, however, had forged this young prince into a human weapon. Despite some being stronger and all being more experienced, none of his brothers could best him with a blade. He was the warrior’s heart that beat in the chest of the Wolf Clan, and his father had faced some stern opposition at the decision to send Goldain to the south as an ambassador.

Truth was, however, that there were no politicians or diplomats among the Qarahni. The strongest warriors negotiated terms of peace with foes, usually at the head of a large contingent of battle-hardened barbarian warriors. Diplomacy by superior force was the general rule for the clans, so Goldain understood his father’s decision to send their best representative warrior to negotiate treaties of trade. Goldain believed, however, that his brothers played no small part in convincing their father to send their little brother, who was constantly showing them up on the battlefield, far away from them.

As they proceeded westward through Dragon Pass, they noticed the walls of steep mountains drawing closer to the north and south. Duncan and Donovan had told the caravan that there was a fairly narrow bottleneck about two hours west of Stonehold. That place had multi-leveled cliffs above the pass and was a place where it would be nearly impossible to defend against a coordinated attack from above.

They paused several hundred yards before the part of the pass known as the Narrows to allow Sable, Duncan, and Donovan to scale the cliffs and scout for activity. They even asked Arreya to slip out of the wagon to join the efforts. After about half an hour of scouting the cliffs above the Narrows, all reported no signs of activity on the cliffs above, so Arreya took her place back in wagon three, and the caravan proceeded carefully through the Narrows. What took the swift and sure-footed scouts a half an hour to scout took the caravan nearly three times that long to traverse as the Narrows continued for nearly three miles before the pass widened again.

All breathed sighs of relief when it was announced they were safely through the Narrows. From this point on, there were a few other places where there were higher trails along the mountainside, which paralleled the pass, but the pass itself would continue to gradually widen until at the western mouth, which exited the mountains in the plains of Parynland, the distance between the northern and southern peaks would be nearly a half mile.

Gideon was chatting with Tropham and Donovan through the small hatch connecting the front of wagon one with the rear area when Sable came trotting back to the caravan shortly after midday.

“Captain,” she said addressing Donovan, “I don’t like the looks of the stretch ahead. There is a wide but gradual incline on the south slope leading to a trail above. There is a raised ridge on the north side of the trail obscuring sight. From one angle I swear I caught a glimpse of what may be part of a cave entrance. There is also a similar high ridge on the northern mountain. That ridge may or may not be hiding a trail, but there is no easy egress to the pass from the north side.”

“Does this northern rise look man-made?” inquired Donovan.

“It looks like the ridges may be worked stone but hard to tell without getting closer. If we scout it, and it is the ambush site, whomever we send up will die, and we are already close enough to be in range of any ambush. The pass is still just narrow enough to prevent an easy turnaround. I were setting an ambush somewhere other than the Narrows, this would be it.”

“Good work, Sable,” Donovan answered.

“Well, Captain Gideon,” Tropham spoke gently through the hatch between the driver’s area and the rear of the lead wagon. “What do you think?”

Tropham, the veteran commander, looked quite grim. He had been through many battles in his long career, but he had never been in a position to be the bait in a trap. It was dangerous tactically and a hard order to give to his men as a commander.

“Sable,” Gideon answered, “as quickly and as inconspicuously as possible go pass the word to the other wagons to be ready for action at a moment’s notice.” The Fenratu nodded and slipped quietly off to carry out this order.

“Captain Tropham, we came all this way to lure an ambush. If this is the place, scouting it would lose us a scout and fail to accomplish what this plan was designed to do by tipping our hand. There is no way now but through the fire. Once Sable has returned from warning the other wagons, send her no more than fifty feet ahead and have the caravan move out slowing and casually behind her. The only good news is, if we can’t see them, they likely can’t see us well either, so give all the drivers the signal for weapons at the ready and let’s do what we came to do.”

Tropham gave two short bird calls, “
Whip-o-whill, whip-o-whill,
” which was the signal for all wagons to ready weapons and prepare for battle. Soon, he heard six answering calls, “
Too-twee,
” which meant the other wagons were ready. Sable returned to the front and, after receiving her orders, she slung her bow across her back, readied her sword and shield, and headed out.

As they rolled slowly through the pass ahead, all eyes fixed on the raised rock walls above them to the north and south, which may be hiding countless bandits or worse. The easy, wide ramp leading up the south slope to an obvious trail above seemed to mock them like the outstretched tongue of a taunting youth.