Tarah Woodblade (9 page)

“N-no, papa,” she said, then jumped as something heavy slammed against the front door, rattling it in its frame. “B-but-.”

“Of course you ain’t afraid. Tarah Woodblade fears nothing,” Grampa Rolf lectured. Suddenly he was sitting at the small table beside her, a steaming mug of tea in one hand. His eyes twinkled under their bushy brows and his thin gray mustache stretched as he gave her a reassuring grin of his own. “You can take that thing, girl. Tarah Woodblade can handle any situation.”

Tarah nodded and her staff appeared in her hands just as the door to the outside shook again. This time great cracks appeared in the wood. She looked to her papa for assurance, but he was gone from the doorway and the bedroom beyond was enveloped in blackness.

“Papa!” Tarah called, but there was no answer. She looked to Grampa Rolf, but he was gone too, his cup left steaming on the table.

She took another step backwards and the front door exploded inwards, shards of wood scattering into the room all around her. The moonrat eyes still glowed in the night beyond, but they were now at equal height with hers. A hand reached out of the darkness and gripped the doorjam. It was a human hand, each finger glistening with jeweled rings.

A man slowly pulled himself into the room, straining as if the darkness was trying to pull him back. A long black wizard’s robe enveloped his form and the glowing eyes came into the house with him, glaring at her from within the thick hood that covered his head.

Tarah held back a scream as, with a grunt, the figure tore free of the night and pulled a jagged dagger from within its robes. A horrible voice echoed from within the hood, “Uglyyy Giirrrl.”

“Tarah Woodblade is no girl!” she snarled and swung her red staff at his head.

The man lurched backwards and the end of her staff caught only the fabric of his hood. The hood tore free, revealing a head that was a hideous mix of moonrat and man. The moonrat eyes bulged out from the sides of a skull covered with mangy gray hair and a shortened snout was pulled back in a toothy snarl. Saliva dripped from its jaws as it said, “Youu are nooo Wooodblade!”

The creature surged forward. Tarah swung her staff in an overhand chop, but the tip struck the low ceiling and the creature’s dagger slashed under her upraised arms. Its wicked blade cut across Tarah’s chest, scoring deep.

Tarah stumbled back, clutching the wound. It was bad. It was real bad. She was pretty sure it went all the way to the bone. Hot blood poured down her belly and her vision swam. If only she had been wearing her armor.

The moonrat man chittered in triumph and licked its bloody blade. “Youu feeaar me. Youu are scaaared, uglyy giirrrl!”

“No,” she gasped. “Tarah Woodblade fears nothing.”

“Youu are scaaared and youu wiill looooose.”

“No!” It was wrong. She refused to lose. She refused to die.

She let go of the wound, gripping her staff with both hands. As her blood touched the wood, the runes carved into it glowed with a blue light and the pain and fear were sucked away. With a cry of defiance, she thrust with her staff as if it were a spear.

The tip of her staff burst its right eye and exploded through the back of the creature’s skull. It dropped its knife and clutched at the staff. Steam shot from the wood as the runes seared its hands and the moonrat man collapsed.

Tarah pulled her staff free and the creature reached a quivering hand towards her. Its jaw worked as it said with a weak gurgle, “Uglyyy Giirrrl . . .”

 The moonrat man fell still and with a soft pop, its left eye fell free from its skull and rolled towards her. Tarah stared down with horror as it came to rest at her feet. The yellow light in the eye grew until it filled her vision and an awful but familiar voice echoed in her mind.

“
Tarah Woodblade, you are marked for death
.”

Knock, knock knock
!

Tarah sat up in the soft bed gasping and drenched with sweat. The morning sunlight from the small bedroom window hurt her eyes and she looked around, momentarily disoriented. She clutched at her chest and was relieved to find that she wasn’t wounded.

The loud knock rang out again and Tarah threw back the quilt. She grabbed her staff and ran to the front room. She threw the door open, her body in defensive posture, her staff at the ready.

A graying woman wearing kitchen livery yelped and backed away, nearly dropping the large covered platter she held. Her mouth dropped open. “Wh-why young lady! I-I! Please cover yourself. There are men out and about at this hour!”

Tarah’s face colored as she realized she was standing in her underclothes. She kept her expression calm and fought off the instinct to slam the door. Instead, she set her staff just inside and folded her arms. “I don’t see any men here now. Just us girls. What do you need?”

The woman cleared her throat. “The Captain Commander noticed that you did not make it to breakfast this morning.” She gestured with the platter. “I was asked to bring you some food.”

“Thanks,” Tarah said and took the platter from the woman. The savory smell of sausages and freshly baked bread filled her nose and the warmth of the platter reminded her just how chilly the morning air was. “Uh, tell the captain I appreciate it.”

The woman curtsied and, giving her one more scandalized glance, scurried away. Tarah swung the door shut with one foot and sighed as she sat the platter down on the table. Her eyes were drawn to the chair across from where she stood.

In her dream, Grampa Rolf had been sitting in that chair. He had looked just like he had when he had first come to live with her, proper and full of vigor. Her eyes moved to the doorway of the far bedroom where her papa had stood looking strong and healthy. How had she dreamt this room in so much detail? She had barely been in it the night before.

“Oh how I miss you, papa,” she said, tears welling in her eyes. “Oh how I miss you both.”

The image of the moonrat man flashed through her mind and Tarah shivered. She ran her hand back across her chest, tracing where the creature had cut her. What a vivid dream that had been. The way its face had looked, part man, part moonrat . . . was her imagination that good to come up with something like that? And the voice that had spoken in her head at the end, it was the mother of the moonrats threatening her just as she had the night Tarah had run away.

“But she’s dead. Destroyed,” Tarah said and was frightened at how unsure her voice sounded.
They’ll never truly be gone, Tarah
. That’s what her papa had said in the dream. What had he meant?

Dreams are just dreams, Tarah
, Grampa Rolf reminded her.

“Right.” She shrugged away the sense of dread that boiled in her chest and focused on the smell of the food the woman had brought her. She lifted the cover on the platter.

Slices of sausages and that strange vegetable from the night before were piled on one side of the platter, while a half loaf of bread sat on the other. Tarah tore off the top of the bread and wrapped it around some of the sausage and vegetable, then took it with her into the bedroom to eat while she dressed.

It was delicious. The sausage was spicy, but the vegetable had a mellowness that tempered the heat. Energy flooded her limbs and with each bite the feeling of dread faded. By the time she started buckling on her armor, Tarah had pushed the dream away. She was eager to get going. She could be back in Sampo by mid day, or if she pushed it, back home by nightfall. Home was what she really needed right now.

She pulled on her quiver and regretfully strapped her broken bow to her pack. Just as she was about to leave the room, she saw the sword on the floor by the bed. Tarah put one hand to her forehead. How had she forgotten about the sword? She should have shown it to that guard captain she’d met the day before.

“I’ll have to find him on my way out.” Tarah picked the sword up and laid it on the bed, then headed back to the table to wrap up the rest of the food for her journey. She was just piling the last of the sausage on the remaining bread when there was another loud knock. Tarah felt a slight jolt of fear at first, then chuckled at herself as she answered it.

“Tarah Woodblade! So good to see you again!” said the broad shouldered man standing at the door.

“Captain Riveren,” Tarah replied, shaking his hand. The man had fiery red hair and a pointed beard and wore a leather vest over a short-sleeved chainmail shirt that exposed his heavily muscled arms. Tarah would have been freezing wearing that garb in the chill morning air, but he looked at ease.

“That’s Captain Commander Riveren,” Djeri reminded. The dwarf was standing beside Riveren and was wearing the same suit of polished platemail as the day before. His green eyes were filled with energy this morning.

“That’s fine, Jerry,” Riveren said offhand as he looked Tarah over with penetrating blue eyes. “How long has it been?” His smile was infectious and Tarah couldn’t help but return it.

“Nearly two years,” she replied. “I ain’t been back here since Captain Alphonze died.”

Riveren’s smile faded slightly. “That’s right. I saw you at the funeral. Wow, it has been a long time.”

Tarah nodded. “I guess I just haven’t had many reasons to come back since then.”

“I see,” he said. “Well, it’s good to see you anyway.”

“Yeah. You too,” she said and had to force her eyes away from his. Riveren was one of the reasons she hadn’t been back to the school since Alphonze’s death. The captain was too handsome. She couldn’t think straight when he was around and Grampa Rolf had told her not to let boys be a distraction.

A good looking man can turn a young lady’s mind to mush
, Papa agreed and Grampa Rolf added,
Tarah Woodblade is never infatuated
.

“I heard about what you were up to during the war,” Riveren said, his grin returning to full force. “Fantastic work, that. Some of the Pinewood refugees you saved stayed with us during the siege. They told us about how you led away hundreds of creatures so they could escape.”

“Yeah, how did you survive that?” Djeri asked.

“Skill,” she replied. Tarah’s guilt rose at the lie and she added, “And luck, I suppose. My memory of that night’s kind of a blur.”

“Never let it be said Tarah Woodblade isn’t humble,” Djeri remarked with a twinkle in his eye and Riveren elbowed him.

Tarah Woodblade is never humble
, Grampa Rolf agreed.
Not unless you think it’ll help you look good
.

“Well, thanks for coming to see me off,” Tarah said. “I was just packing some lunch for the road home.”

“About that,” Riveren said. “I was actually hoping you would delay your return for awhile.”

Tarah paused, “Why’s that?”

“We want to offer you a job,” Djeri said.

Tarah’s business sense perked up, but with it came a strange uneasiness. “You two?”

“Actually, the Battle Academy,” Riveren said and his smile was gone, replaced by a businesslike seriousness. “We have a contract to complete, but our available personnel roster is really thin. Jerry and I think you would be perfect for the job.”

Tarah blinked. Surely he wasn’t serious. “The academy wants to hire me to complete one of their contracts?”

“No! Well, not exactly,” Djeri said. He paused as some students wearing mage robes walked by. “Can we discuss this inside?”

“Okay. Come in,” Tarah said and that feeling of uneasiness grew as the two guards stepped in. What was it they didn’t want anyone to hear?

Riveren sat down at the small round table and Djeri stood next to him, gesturing for Tarah to take the other chair. The two of them were so wide-shouldered that the area around the table looked quite small. Tarah hesitated for a moment before pulling the chair out a few feet and sitting down.

She leaned back and folded her arms, fixing them with a calculating stare. “So from the way you’re doing this, I take it the academy wants to hire me to complete their contract, but they want me to do it quietly.”

“No.” Riveren chuckled uncomfortably. “It’s not like that. We don’t pawn off our contracts on others. We just want to hire you as a . . . specialist to assist one of our own.”

Tarah’s reluctance increased at the thought of working with others. “How many other ‘specialists’ will be on this job?”

“None,” Riveren assured her. “It’s a two person job.”

“And why do you need my help?” she asked dubiously.

He leaned forward and rested his elbows on the table. “We need a tracker.”

“You guys don’t have enough trackers?” The academy trained some of the best trackers and scouts in the known lands.

“Not here at the Mage School,” Djeri explained. “Most of them are already out on assignments and the rest are helping with the rebuild. Besides, our client suggested you specifically.”

“Your client suggested me?” Tarah said, baffled. “How did they know I was here?”

“Our client is one of the wizard high council,” Riveren explained. “The job came up in our meeting last night and when Djeri mentioned you were staying the night, they wanted you to be part of it.”

Wizards are crafty folk
, her papa warned.

Wizards have money
, Grampa Rolf rebutted.

“Which wizard is this?” Tarah had met only a handful of them in her lifetime.

“Wizard Valtrek,” Djeri said and Riveren winced.

“We’re not really supposed to reveal the identity of the client until the job is taken,” Riveren said, giving the dwarf an admonishing look.

Tarah frowned. “I’ve never heard of this Wizard Valtrek.”

“Well, he’s heard of you,” Djeri said. “He was quite excited when he heard you were on the grounds.”

“I don’t know . . .” she said and the two of them stared at her, Djeri’s green eyes pleading and Riveren’s handsome face beseeching. Tarah realized that she wore a scowl on her own face and quickly smoothed her expression. “What’s the job?”

“Well,” Riveren reached into a pocket in his vest and pulled out a folded page of parchment. He opened it and slid it across the table to her. “Before we can tell you, you’ll need to sign this.”

“You’re kidding,” she said and quickly read the verbiage. “You can’t tell me what the job is unless I sign an agreement saying I won’t tell anyone I was offered the job?”