Shadow Of The Mountain (30 page)

But they hadn’t. And it was too late to turn back now.

Draz moved the charred piece of wood around, feeding the flames a fresh side.

One of the sleeping forms slowly sat up, a dozen feet from the fire pit. Draz watched the man, the growing flames between them. He felt the need to piss suddenly and couldn’t remember the last time he’d gone.

The Volrathi tracker looked around the camp before his vile black eyes settled on Draz, glittering in the firelight like shiny marbles of coal. An eerie chill accompanied the man’s stare, making his limbs tremble even more. Stretching a hand over the fire, Draz waited before speaking.

“You’re awake,” he finally said.

***

They’d lost a day finding them. A bit of rain had swept in over the ranges the night they left the Gambit, washing away long stretches of tracks. Vextis wasn’t upset about it though. He was as fine a tracker as Draz or the rest would ever meet. His father had led the hunting parties for King Dontanos when they all were children, and Vextis had the eye for it, too. Marks in the mud painted vivid pictures for him, bent blades of grass sang ballads. He was exceptional, and this was his gift.

As their first day came to a close and the sun set beyond the mountains, Vextis swore he’d pick up their trail again in the morning and he was true to his word.

Part of Draz wished they’d lost the men forever. It would have been a valid reason to turn back. The only reason, maybe. But what Vextis searched for, he found. Always.

Alongside Jornan and Vextis, Draz had recruited Bailen, Sedrik, and Persus. Bailen was chosen for his bow, Sedrik his stealth, and Persus was simply a talented young fighter. All of the students were itching for an opportunity to strike back against the men who had torn apart their capital. Convincing the select few had taken no effort at all, and they’d sworn an oath to keep what happened out here a secret.

Once back on the trail, the six of them had moved silently through the forest brush, hidden from sight. Only Vextis would slip out occasionally to read the tracks and make sure they were still going in the right direction.

They came upon the camp late in the afternoon, but there was no one there. They were likely, as Vextis pointed out, searching for any Amorians still fleeing Corda.

It appeared the Gallans had been making camp in the same spot night after night, seemingly unafraid of being followed. Such behavior was lazy and stupid, and Draz still couldn’t understand it. A smoldering fire pit and empty blankets were strewn about the small clearing surrounded by tall pines and spruce, along with several jugs of wine and a few stale loaves of bread. There was little to see and even less to learn from. Draz and the boys didn’t linger.

Long before the sky faded to the soft shades of evening, he and his brothers concealed their tracks and slipped off into the forest.

Quickly they dug a hide away from the camp but still within earshot, covering the crater with wide branches of pine and uprooted baris bush. The six of them were concealed well, crowded together in the cold and muddy pit. Not a word was spoken. They even breathed in silence. No more lessons, no more training. What they did now was real.

All were armed with swords and heavy hunting knives, with three bows amongst them. The plan was for Draz and Sedrik to have a look after the men fell asleep. Simple, yes, but simple was a good starting point.

The Gallans had returned at sunset. Loud with laughter and jests, they had sounded to be in fine spirits. Their voices had stretched to the Amorians through the forest, growing more raucous as the wine flowed before eventually settling to quiet.

It wasn’t until the dead of night, long hours after nothing more had been heard, that he and Sedrik had inched out of the hide and silently made their way to the camp.

Blessed clouds hung above them, a shield against the moon and stars. They moved as ghosts, their brown cloaks melting both into the darkness. The forest seemed to watch over them with whispers of wind that swayed the trees and shook the branches, providing a steady bustle of leaves that padded their already soundless footsteps. As they neared the camp's glowing fire, they fell still, barely moving at all, just shifting shadows in the wood.

Slowly they circled the camp together; two hours it took them. The men’s horses were tethered to a distant tree, but Draz wasn’t concerned with them. The mounts were used to people and far from watchdogs. They found two men standing watch on opposite sides of the camp, both spread out in the dark, hidden, one leaning against a tree while the other was nodding off on a small boulder. Draz could even smell the wine on them.

They must truly believe there is no danger
, he’d thought.
Only two on watch and both drunk? Beyond foolish
.

Six others were spread out around the fire, sleeping off a day’s hard work of tracking down innocents to murder and rape. Draz saw the Volrathi was with them, looking smaller without his armor, curled up on his side beneath a warm blanket.

He watched the black-eyed man for a long moment before turning away. Shit-eating scum.

Satisfied with the scouting, he and Sedrik returned to the hide. There were enough shreds of passing star- and moonlight for them to still use their hand language, and Draz signed to the others what they had found and how he wanted everything to play out.

They gathered their weapons and quickly went over the plan. After each understood their role, they drew their hoods up and broke into two groups before heading toward the Gallan camp.

Draz, Vextis, and Persus slowly made their way to the man sitting atop the boulder, while Jornan, Sedrik, and Bailen wrapped around the camp toward the other sentry.

Draz was in the lead, and the silent approach of him and his two brothers was absolute. No branches snapped beneath their steps, and most of the leaves their boots trod upon were still damp from the rain. They’d had extensive training to stalk in such a manner, to move with such stealth as if they didn’t even exist.

Draz waved the boys off when they were within twenty yards of their sentry, moving forward alone. He approached the man from behind and off his right shoulder, carefully, slowly, mouth dry and blood vessels thundering at his temples, each step increasing the danger of being exposed. To his left he could hear the drunken snoring of the camp and the gentle sounds of the two tethered horses. The fire was burning low, casting dim shafts of light into the woods.

Finally coming up behind the small boulder, Draz bent and rested a hand on the side of it for balance, an arm’s length from the dozing Gallan. Sliding the heavy knife from his side, he waited. Slowly he pulled his hood back, once more feeling the cool night air against the skin of his neck and face. Everything was still, and time crawled to a stop.

The twang of Bailen’s bow from twenty yards off was barely audible, and the man jerked up suddenly with a grunt, his head snapping from the unseen blow.

Draz had hands on him in an instant, his left wrapping around the man’s face to cover his mouth, his right to bury the knife in his throat. The blade slid in easily, just beneath the jaw line. Wrenching the hilt away from him, Draz felt the steel pull through the flesh and cartilage before ripping back out into the air, flinging wet gore to the leaves at their feet. The body was dead weight.

As he lowered the man to the ground, his fingers felt the shaft of Bailen’s arrow firmly sticking out of his temple as if it were embedded in wood. It was an excellent shot, and Draz imagined the sentry was dead before his knife ever had the chance to strike, but this was a dangerous game and killing a man twice was safer than failing to kill him once.

Facing the camp, Draz listened intently. It had all seemed so loud, but the forest remained quiet. Their secret was still a secret. He pulled his hood back up.

Draz and Vextis linked up and moved toward the sleeping men in the camp, hoping that Jornan and the rest were faring as well. Bailen was kept on the bow, covering them from the shadows.

As they moved from the darkness into the glow of the campfire, Draz saw Jornan peeking out from behind a tree at the far edge of the camp, the sleeping men still between them. His brother gave him a nod, which Draz returned.

Both sentries had been silenced. All that remained now were the six sleeping trackers.

Draz and Vextis stepped out into the camp, while Jornan and Persus did likewise from the other side. By the light of a dying fire, they slit the throats of five men.

Some rode their dreams all the way into the afterlife, never feeling the steel that sent them from this world to the next. Two seemed to wake, eyes opening as knives were drawn across jugulars, filling with realization and panic, but by then it was too late. They died with young hands clamped over their mouths.

Draz looked to the lone Volrathi he’d ordered untouched. The man rolled to his back beneath his blankets, oblivious to the death surrounding him.

Motioning his brothers off, Draz watched them vanish into the forest. Vextis would take up position with his bow along with Bailen and Sedrik, while Persus would wait nearby with sword ready. Jornan would no doubt be close by as well.

Bending down to the dying fire, Draz began to blow the coals to life. After adding a few sticks to the blaze, he saw the Volrathi stir from his blankets.

He suddenly felt the cold, as if it had been released upon him for the first time all night. His hands began to shake and he warmed them by the fire. He watched the man, and as his anger grew, so did his fear.

So much had been taken from them, but now they’d take some of it back. It wasn’t much, but it was a start.

How it would all end, he did not know.

“You’re awake,” he heard himself say.

***

The man was confused, and it took a moment before his steely confidence began to waver.

“How did you get in here?” the Volrathi roared, his voice rising to awaken the men surrounding him.

None of the sleeping forms moved.

Draz idly poked the fire with a stick. He saw Jornan enter the camp on his left. His brother’s hood was up and he wiped a knife clean on his trousers as he walked, sliding the blade into a sheath at his belt. The youth stopped next to a tree, leaning against the trunk to watch the man, crossing his arms and saying nothing.

“Your friends can’t hear you,” Draz told the Volrathi. “We’re alone. It’s just us now.”

The black-eyed tracker looked around at the sleeping men. A moment of surprise registered as he saw the black puddles of blood spreading from them, seeping into the grass and dirt.

“I’ve never…killed a man before,” Draz said, looking around at the bodies. “Somehow I thought it’d feel…I don’t know…
different.
We go out like hogs though, don’t we? Just a little hole in the right place and we’re on our way.”

The Volrathi watched them both, his hand inching beneath his blanket.

“Please don’t reach for your weapon.” Draz’s words froze him. “I’d like us to share a few words before you die.”

The Volrathi rose to his feet, wearing only a thin tunic, boots, and dark pants, his black armor in a pile next to his blankets. The man slid a long broadsword from a scabbard within his bedroll. The blade was smoky steel and caught the light of the fire, reflecting a pale and murky silver.

Not much older than his brother Kirig, Draz thought to himself. Tall, well-built, he was clean-shaven with pallid yellow skin. But for the eyes, he could have passed unnoticed for any stranger in the forest. Even his accent was normal, though it seemed to carry a smidgen of deep southern lilt.

The sword fed him strength and his anger rose. “You think to kill me?” he almost laughed.

Draz continued to poke at the fire, not bothering to even meet the man’s gaze. “We’ve already dug your grave.”

The words were spoken softly, honestly. The pale tracker faltered briefly before shaking the comment off.

“Are you insane?” he growled. “I don’t know how you’ve done this, but you‘re finished. You‘re dead. You…are…
dead.
You will never make it past my sword, either of you.”

Draz shrugged, unimpressed by the man. “My brother would cut you into pieces,” he said calmly, nodding to Jornan. “But you won’t meet your end in such a manner. That is how warriors fall, individuals of skill and courage, men you could never understand. You are a just a dog, and such a death would be too great a gift for a stray bitch like you. So tonight we have dug a ditch, and before the sun rises you will be buried there. That will be the end of it. Now sit down.”

“Enough,” the Volrathi fumed. He brought his blade to grip and lurched forward to charge, roaring a battle cry.

Even before he took his first step, an arrow streaked in from the surrounding darkness, slamming above his right knee to send him crashing to the ground.

He rolled to his back, crying out in pain.

“You! I‘ll kill you!”
he screamed in anguish. “Do you know who I am? Who will come looking for me? You are dead!
Dead!
”

He used his sword to rise up to one knee. Struggling to get back on his feet, another arrow sliced into his wrist, forcing him to drop the weapon. A third arrow flashed in next, skewering the back of his ankle, the barbed end sticking out of his boot red with blood.

He fell again, eyes darting left and right, scanning the surrounding shadows, but nothing could be seen.

“I told you to sit,” Draz said calmly. “You are not a good listener. You will listen now.”

***

“You were tracking us. Why?”

The Volrathi was lying on his back. Snapping the feathered side of the arrow jutting out from his boot, he gripped the barbed end and pulled the shaft out of his ankle with a cringe.

“Whatever happens here tonight, you’re dead,” he told them jeeringly, sitting up to toss the broken shaft away. “You know that, don’t you? Dead.”

“Yes, you’ve already told us that. Now I want you to answer my questions, else there’ll be more arrows for you to play with.”

“I won’t be telling you anything, child,” he said, shaking his head. He chuckled then as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. “Children! You’re children! From your boot prints I thought you’d be women, but I was wrong. Women aren’t as careful as you. So what are you then? Trappers? Hunters?”