Ossendar: Book Two of the Resoration Series (53 page)

He had never been a religious man, but being captured by the enemy had changed his views about this, and now he found himself praying at least several times a day. He prayed for those under his command, and occasionally for himself, but prayers for himself were only an afterthought. His concern was not for his personal safety or comfort, but for the other guardians.

Each day, during his infrequent visits to the bushes, he kept tabs on where his captors were taking them. As it turned out, they always seemed to be heading in the same direction. South, always south. If his guess about where they were was correct, then south would lead them to the
Silver
Mountains
, and as far as he knew, the mountains were impassable. He could see mountains to the south, and they did seem to be getting closer every day, but they were traveling through a swampy area, and they always seemed to stop where the view to the south was obscured. When they reached the mountains, they would have to travel quite a distance to either the west or east to find a pass, but the not knowing was what bothered him. That and the assurances by Garrick that they were getting close now. But getting close to where? The swamp stretched away in every direction, with bogs and quicksand scattered here and there. In fact, the road, or perhaps trail was a better word, was the only solid ground around. Once it may have been a great road indeed, but now it was overgrown, but at least his foot didn't sink when he walked along the road. He couldn't visit the bushes without his boots getting soaked.

Since the first day that he had regained consciousness, he had not seen Keenan again. Or was that Prince Keenan? Where was the man from? He had seen the dark fighter from Mul-dune a couple of times, but never up close, always at a distance. He had also spotted the magician once, but she had turned promptly on her heel and stalked away.

His body had gotten bruised by the long wagon ride south. It always happened the same way, one moment he would be riding along and everything would be going smoothly, and then the wagon floor would drop away from beneath him. He found that it didn't take long for him to catch up to the floor, and usually he reconnected with it in a rough manner. His arms and legs were black and blue, and several times his head had bounced hard enough to make him see spots. They could have at least given him a blanket to cushion the hard floor.

He suspected that something was happening tonight, and it bothered him. Usually, they had been stopping to make camp about an hour before sundown, but it was almost sundown now, and the wagon just kept bouncing along. And though the road had seemed as rough as usual, for the last hour they had been traveling on a steep slope. Could they have reached the mountains? There wasn't supposed to be anything in these mountains, though.

Trying to push the tension away, Derek thought again about how they might escape. The problem was that he couldn't communicate any plans to the other guardians, and he didn't know in which wagons they were being held as the guards had been sure of that. If he managed to escape, he would have to check every wagon to find his friends, and that was sure to foil any escape attempt. Well, that and the fact that he had no idea how to get himself unchained from the wagon floor.

Abruptly, the wagon came to a halt, accompanied by the usual shouts from the wagon drivers. He lifted his head and tried to see through the tarp at the end of the wagon. It was darker than when they usually stopped, and he couldn't make anything out.

Suddenly, the tarp was pulled back and Garrick's smiling face appeared. “Well, the journey's over.” He said over-cheerfully. He stepped to one side, and allowed a guard to climb into the wagon and unhook Derek's ankle chains. The guard then picked Derek up by the shoulders and pulled him to the edge of the wagon.

The pain in Derek's shoulders was almost unbearable, but somehow he endured. But another pain was boiling up now, and that was what was going to happen to them. He forced the thought away. No use in worrying about the future. As the saying went, plan for the worst, and hope for the best. In reality, what else could he do?

Still grinning, Garrick pulled Derek over the edge of the wagon and let him hit the ground pretty hard.

Derek lay on his stomach for a moment, breathing deeply. Not all of his bruises were from the wagon ride; some of them were from Garrick's escorting him to the bushes. Derek was getting used to this rough treatment, though. For some reason, the blade master thoroughly despised him. Perhaps it was just because he had told Keenan what the other man had said, but he thought that there had to be something more to it than that.

Garrick turned Derek around and motioned for him to walk up the sleep slope. He had been right; the wagon had been traveling upwards for some time now. Derek glanced over his shoulder, and in the twilight, he could see the road leading down to the swamp. They had brought them to the mountains, and for the last hour or so, they had been traveling upwards on a wide piece of ancient road.

“Where are we?” Derek asked.

Garrick opened his mouth to answer, but someone else beat him to it. “You will find out soon enough.”

Derek turned to see the dark fighter from Mul-Dune, whose name he still did not know. “I remember you.” Derek said softly. “You were at Mul-Dune.”

The fighter smirked, “Yes I was. And I still cannot believe that you held it.” He looked as if his pride still smarted over that. He wore a loose fitting green shirt and even looser fitting trousers. He didn't walk so much as flow from one place to another.

The fighter started to turn, but Derek stopped him. “Who are you?” He really wanted to know, although the man radiated a sense of danger.

Turning back, the man studied Derek for a moment. “I guess it can't hurt to tell you that. My name is Fantin Asrimah, and anything else that you want to know, you will have to wait until tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” Derek asked. “Why tomorrow?”

Fantin just smiled, nodded to Garrick, and then turned and walked away.

All of it left Derek's head spinning. Who were these men? A sharp shove from Garrick brought Derek back to his senses.

“Move!” Garrick spat, pointing up the slope.

Sighing, Derek started up the ancient road. A shiver ran through him, as the chill winds began to blow. This was the longest he had been out of the wagons for almost a week now, and his shirt hardly seemed thick enough. The cuts and rips in the shirt, hardly helped.

He stumbled along for the better part of an hour, with each step it seemed to get a little darker. At last, the road leveled into a small clearing. Five wooden huts sat in the clearing, but they had no windows, and no lights shown from any cracks. Guard shacks. Had to be. He couldn't really see anything farther up the mountain, it looked like the road stopped right here. So this was the end of the road for them, literally. Turning, he looked back the way they had come. It was hard to tell in the dark, but it looked the swamp was a thousand feet below them. Confused, he knew that he hadn't climbed far enough to have made that big of a difference, but then he remembered the wagons had also been traveling upwards for a while, too.

Another shove from Garrick, and this time Derek almost fell, but he caught himself just in time. Turning, murder in his eyes, he faced the fighter.

Garrick could see the look in his eyes, and he laughed, stepping closer. “What are you going to do with your hands and feet bound?”

Not even thinking, Derek whipped his head forward and felt a satisfying crunch as his forehead made contact with Garrick's nose. Garrick cursed, and Derek found himself flying backwards, propelled by a kick to his stomach. He landed hard on his back, the wind flying out of him.

Glancing up, while still fighting for air, Derek could just see Garrick stalking towards him with a knife in his hand. He would have laughed, if he had the air for it, to see the blood streaming from the man's nose; it was obviously broken.

“Garrick!” A loud commanding voice called out and Garrick stopped instantly.

He turned, quickly putting the knife away. “My lord.”

Keenan stepped into view, as always he looked like he belonged in a king's court, not in a ruffian's camp. “Now, what were you planning to do with that knife?”

Garrick gulped, and for the first time, Derek realized just how frightened the man was of Keenan.

“Nothing, my lord. I drew it instinctively.”

“Really?” Keenan did not look convinced. “I would hate for you to have stabbed him instinctively.”

Garrick shook his head furiously, “Never, my lord. I would not have forgotten myself.”

Keenan smiled, “That's good, because I do not think that you would have wanted to take his place.”

“No sir.” Garrick said, quite a bit cowed. “I will just take him to his assigned shack.”

“No.” Keenan replied coolly, “I think that I will escort him.” Garrick seemed somewhat taken aback. “It's not that I don't trust you. Well, actually that is it. I don't trust you, so I will escort him to the shack.” Keenan walked over and grabbed Derek by his left arm, another guard grabbed his right, and together they heaved him to his feet.

“Are you all right?” Keenan asked, almost sounding as if he cared.

“I'm fine. Why do you care?” Derek was focusing on Keenan, and was caught by surprise when a spear butt hit him hard in the back. He grunted in pain.

“Show the prince some respect.” A voice called out from behind Derek. It could only belong to the guard.

“Enough!” Keenan barked. “Leave us.”

The guard bowed deeply and then marched away.

Keenan took hold of Derek's arm, just above the elbow. “Come. You are staying in this shack over here.”

“Where are my friends?” Derek demanded. He hadn't seen them and he was getting worried.

Keenan glanced at him, “Don't worry. They are fine. They are being kept at other sentry locations; just in case one of you manages to escape.”

Derek nodded, “You know that we won't leave without our friends.”

“Yes, but you will see them tomorrow when we reach Dahl-Rucka.”

Derek tripped in surprise, and nearly pulled the prince down with him. Keenan managed to keep them both from falling at the last moment. “Dahl-Rucka.” Derek repeated. “How can that be?” He knew of Dahl-Rucka. It had been a fortified city or something very much like it, but it had been destroyed at the end of the Demon-lord wars. “It was destroyed.”

Keenan smiled, “Not destroyed. Dahl-Rucka is a fort, with a large portion of buildings under ground. When the mountain was pulled down on top of the fort, the outer portion was destroyed and the rest was buried, but I assure you that it is very much still there.”

They reached the shack, with Derek was still gaping in astonishment at Keenan. There were two guards on either side of the door, and they almost fell over each other to open the door for them, but really it was for Keenan.

They stepped inside the small shack, and Derek's thoughts were scattered. “Why would anyone dig out a cursed place like that?”

“Cursed! What makes a place cursed?” For the first time Keenan seemed angry with Derek's choice of words. “If people do evil things, does that make the place where they do them, cursed?” He shook his head, “I do not think so. It is just a place.”

Derek had barely even noticed the room into which he had stepped. There were a couple of small beds and two chairs. A desk sat against the far wall, the top of it was completely clear. Two guards sprang out of the chairs, when Keenan and Derek entered.

“But why dig it out?” Derek continued. “What's the point of a fort that guards swampland?”

“It was not always a swamp.” Keenan replied coolly, “Once, the
kingdom
of
Tizen
was on the plains below us. Until the Demon-lord wars devastated the countryside.”

“Tizen,” Derek repeated quietly. “I remember that name; they were one of the kingdoms that followed Golteranth to defeat in the war.

“Yes, it is.”

“Was, not is.” Derek corrected without thinking. “The kingdom is gone and anyone who is descended from there does not admit it.” That was the simple truth. Anyone who admitted to be a descendant of Tizen could expect to be run out of their village, if not publicly strung up.

“You will sleep here tonight,” Keenan said coolly, he motioned to the empty beds. “Take your pick. These guards will be with you tonight, and there are more just outside. I suggest that you do not try to escape.” He turned towards the two guards, “Release his hands, and attach the ankle chain to the bed.”

Derek nodded, not that he was agreeing; he was just nodding to say he understood the instructions.

Keenan turned to leave, and then stopped and turned back. “Oh, by the way, you might want to know that I am Prince Keenan, heir to the throne of Tizen, such as it may be.” Then turning, he marched from the room, leaving Derek, gaping at him again.

It was a long sleepless night for Derek. Several times he thought to try his luck in escaping, but each time he raised his head and looked at the guards, they were staring right back at him. Finally realizing that he would not be escaping tonight, Derek tried to close his eyes and get some much needed sleep, but the sleep would not come. His thoughts were wandering, and the worry about tomorrow kept coming back to him. He would quickly force it away and realize five minutes later that he was once again contemplating what might happen to them.