The Staff of the Winds (The Wizard of South Corner Book 1) (8 page)

When they had halted the night before, their captors had kept them separated in small groups of ten or less. Systematically, the soldiers had gone through the groups one at a time, and under very heavy guard had untied the leather straps that bound the villager’s arms behind their backs. They were allowed a brief and painful period to exercise and get the blood flowing, then they were each given a thin strip of dried meat and a hard, dry biscuit. When this meager meal was eaten, and the water bags passed around, their wrists were again secured behind them, and the guards moved on to the next group.  It was strange, Aaron thought, after being tightly bound all day and half of the previous night, his arms were practically useless to him, and yet the guards had acted as though they feared that their prisoners would be able to somehow sweep them away with the mere wave of an unfettered hand.  Aaron didn’t think that he could have swept away Marmalade their family cat after yesterday’s ordeal.

The prisoners had spent a miserable night on the ground, their hands and feet bound, huddled against each other for what warmth they could retain against the cold autumn night. Most had been herded out of the village in what little clothing they had worn to bed the night before—ample in a warm cottage under a down coverlet, but totally inadequate for a night under the stars in the Grey Hills. At first light, they were allowed to attend to their toilet, again under heavy guard. They were given another strip of jerky (Aaron did not want to speculate what kind of flesh it might be) and some water, then their wrists were bound behind them and the arduous trek up into the hills resumed.

By the time the sun had risen half way up the sky, Aaron was plodding along with his head down near the middle of the long line of captives.  Gradually a low murmur from the groups ahead of him finally broke through the dull concentration he was devoting to placing one foot in front of the other.  When he looked up, he was unable to immediately determine the cause of the disturbance, but soon he noticed that captives in the line ahead were casting furtive glances towards a vine covered mound on the hill ahead and to the right of their line of march.  It wasn’t until Aaron had gotten closer that he suddenly realized that what he was looking at was an abandoned tower or fortification of some kind. Some of the stones had fallen, breaking up the silhouette somewhat, and brush and a tree growing out near the base had obscured the size and nature of the tower at first, but once his mind determined what it was, he could see that it must have once been proud and strong with a clear vantage over the hills and valleys for many miles. The large scale of the tower was provided by a trio of gorn who were standing outside at its base looking down on the passing prisoners. Aaron thought that he glimpsed a fourth on the remaining portion of the tower’s rampart high above.

Aaron was awestruck and continued to gaze at the tower as the line of captives snaked its way around the base of the hill and continued to trudge westward.  This had to be a remnant of the great kingdom of Carraghlaoch that had figured so prominently in the stories of the Old Wizard.  It was Carraghlaoch that had ruled these lands ages ago.  Their dominion had extended to the north well beyond the current town of Shepherds Hill and to the south and east into what was now called the Trackless Hills.  Carraghlaoch had also been home to the storied warriors who had fought so many heroic battles holding the great mountain pass through the West Wall known as McDonald’s Break against the recurring and determined assault of the gorn and the evil sorcerers who led them.

When he was young, Aaron had spent many hours listening to the Old Wizard weave these tails and wishing that he had been born in those more exciting times. The boring routine of village life was almost more than he could bear when he thought of the impressive deeds that the heroes of that past age had accomplished.

If the Old Wizard was to be believed, the people of South Corner were the descendents of the men of Carraghlaoch. Aaron had been filled with pride when he first heard this, but now it galled all the more to realize that while his ancestors had fought valiantly and vanquished this ancient enemy, he and the rest of the village had been conquered by that same enemy while lying in their beds, and without a single casualty inflicted on the other side. Silently he vowed to never accept captivity, to never give up the struggle for freedom. He knew that he would have to bide his time. They had been too well guarded so far, but sooner or later the guard would get careless, and then, he promised himself, he would make his move.

The march continued, and the murmuring died away as the villagers once again took up their struggle to maintain the pace that the soldiers demanded. The line had stretched out even more, so that in the hilly terrain Aaron was often unable to see either end of it as it wound its way up into the west. He noticed that most of the gorn seemed to have drifted back to the rear of the line, and he pitied the villagers back there, struggling and failing to keep up. The gorn took great delight in wielding their clubs, and did so at every opportunity. There was no doubt that the slowest of the villagers would be badly beaten before this day was over.

At noon, the soldiers called a halt near a small stream.  The villagers were once again separated into their small groups as they staggered in and collapsed on the ground.  When the last of the stragglers limped in, the soldiers took all but one of the water bags from each of the women bearers and ordered them to water the rest of the prisoners.  The soldiers then took dried meat and biscuits from their packs and settled watchfully down around the villagers for their midday meal.

Suddenly, Aaron heard a loud shout: “We’ve got a woman missing,” and the captain of the guard rushed by him toward the voice.

“Who is it?” Captain Saglam demanded.

“The blond woman. The one whose child we left behind.”

A whisper rose among the villagers.  Virna Morgan was not among her group.  The child had been two-year-old Sally Morgan.  She had been torn from her mother’s arms and brutally murdered the night that the soldiers and gorn had taken the village.  Since then, Virna had been in a state of shock, barely stumbling along despite the prods and blows of her captors.  She must have been near the end of the line today, Aaron thought.

“Sardang!” the Captain bellowed. “Your file was watching the end of the line, where is the blond woman?”

“Tarditch says fell,” a gorn responded in a deep gravelly voice.  “Hit head on rock.  Left body for wolves.”

“Fell did she? You’d better make sure that none of the other prisoners ‘fall’ this side of the pass, or I’ll nail you to a tree and pull the hide off you in strips. And you’d better pray to your gods that that woman wasn’t the one that the Lord Kadeen wanted. He won’t be nearly so gentle.”

“Clumsy woman,” the gorn responded in a deep whine. “Not my fault. Wasn’t the one. Would have felt it when died.”

“You heard my promise. No more accidents!”

There was grumbling from the gorn at this exchange. They had not been happy to leave the village without being allowed to loot it further, and the soldier’s insistence that they not torture and kill the prisoners was almost more than they were willing to accept, but none of them challenged the Captain’s words. The gorn knew that Saglam was personally protected by the dangerous and powerful sorcerer Kadeen. Nonetheless, his words could be taken as nothing but an insult and a challenge.

Some of the women were weeping over this news about poor Mrs. Morgan. Aaron wasn’t so sure that she hadn’t been the lucky one. Who knew what fate awaited the survivors of this trek. A quick and accidental death might be preferable to what lay ahead for them, especially for the women. Just then Sarah appeared in front of him with the water bag. They did not speak, having already learned that lesson the hard way, but they held each other’s gaze while Sarah tipped up the bag for Aaron to drink.  She had obviously been crying, but he could read plainly in her eyes that she held the same fierce determination as he to escape from this captivity, and to take what revenge they could in the process.

After all the villagers were watered, and the bags refilled from the stream, their march was resumed. Aaron gratefully noticed that the pace was slowed a little to keep the group more tightly formed, and the soldiers and gorn were spaced more evenly along the line. The soldiers clearly wanted no more stragglers to be left solely in the care of their gorn comrades. It was also clear that there were definite cracks in this alliance. Aaron wondered if that mistrust between the soldiers and the gorn might be used to his advantage. He also feared the outcome of an open split. The gorn outnumbered the soldiers, and they obviously held nothing but vicious intent for the captive villagers. A few might be able to slip away in the confusion of an open revolt, but the majority would almost certainly be slaughtered, their hands still tied behind their backs.

Owen, Marian and Jack had resumed their pursuit as soon as it was light enough to ride safely.  There’d been some further discussion about Marian riding back on her own, or in company of her brother, but it had been brief.  As upset as their folks would be at her heading out without permission, the thought of how everyone would feel if she were captured or hurt riding back on her own was far worse, and just one person trailing the enemy without help to identify potential ambush seemed dangerous in the extreme.  Owen didn’t like the danger that Marian had put herself in by coming after them, but could see no good solution at this point.

It may be that Owen’s fatigue this morning also worked in her favor. Sleep had not restored him the way that it normally did, and he wasn’t up to a prolonged argument with his stubborn sister.  Normally, Owen was a morning person; a fact that drove his brother Evan to distraction, but for some reason, perhaps the stress of the previous day, he had to force himself to get started this day.

The discussion was finally decided when Marian announced that she would not be left behind. “Those are my friends that they dragged off, and I am going to do whatever I can to get them back. If you try to send me back big brother, I won’t go. If you tie me to my horse and take me home, as soon as you let me free I’ll just get back on a horse, either this one or I’ll steal another, and get back on their trail. I am not going to sit quietly back at home like some dainty little girl while Aaron and the rest of our friends from town are marched off to who knows what fate. No, Owen, I’m coming, and that’s the end of it.”

Owen looked to Jack for support in the face of this obstinacy, but Jack just turned and began to saddle his horse.

As on the previous day, they managed their mounts so as to make the best pace over the long run, trotting for a period, then walking, and finally dismounting and leading before repeating the cycle.  The land became more broken and irregular as they advanced into this southern reach of the Grey Hills, so they were slowed somewhat by their need to avoid riding into a gorn ambush, but with three working together to scout and flank potential hiding places their progress was more efficient than it had been the day before.

Owen had not told his sister or his friend about the dream of flight that he had had the night before. When Jack had come to rouse him for his watch, he was a little groggy but still awake, softly rubbing the bruise on his right thigh and thinking about his dream.  It had seemed so real, and after the initial disorientation upon waking, it had not faded from memory as most dreams do.

Owen had taken a watch position a little higher and to the north of the spot that Jack had used. After an initial examination of their surroundings, he mapped in his mind the possible approaches and any available cover that might be used to sneak up on their camp. Then he settled in for the long slow hours of the watch, remaining motionless so that he would not catch the attention of any possible observer. The air was cold and crisp, with a bright ceiling of stars overhead. There was no sign of movement other than the occasional swish of a tail by one of the horses resting in their hollow.

Owen had not really examined their campsite closely when they had settled in, other than to see that the overhang provided them some minimal concealment and protection from the night breezes. Now, partly to fight off his fatigue, he examined everything in view in careful detail.  He was almost hoping to find some obvious differences between what he could see now by close inspection versus what he clearly remembered seeing as part of his dream.  Although he could not remember the position of every bush and boulder, nothing seemed obviously out of place.  The old oak from which he had gazed down at Jack standing his watch was precisely where it should have been; the branch upon which he must have perched was right where it needed to be, and as near as he could tell from the ground the folds of the land around the hill that they were on was just as he had seen them from the air.  The perspective was different, but every detail that he could remember was now laid out in reality before his waking eyes.

If he closed his eyes, he could still almost feel the rush of wind against his chest and the lift along his wings. He had pulled the headpiece from the Old Wizards staff out of his pocket and stared at it for long minutes, but the glow that he had thought he had seen in its ruby eyes upon waking had not come back. Only the starlight glinted off of the polished brass surface; the stones that were its eyes lay dark and cold under their hooded brows.