PURE OF HEART (22 page)

One pulled back Oieda’s braid and punched her in the face. She elbowed the creature in the mouth. Her eyes locked with his. “RUN!”

Dean continued to sprint up the slope. A Vereortu grabbed his legs. Dean tumbled to the ground but held onto the shield.

Several more Vereortu rushed to grab him. He kicked one and sent it screaming off the rock. Clawed hands seized his legs and reached for his arms. He smashed one with the shield. Another one pinned his sword arm to the ground.

Dean looked at the top of the rock still ten yards away.

Two more Vereortu jumped on his legs.

Dean threw the shield. Everyone watched it sail through the air. The metal clanged as it bounced off the rock twice. The shield rolled a few feet into a sandy area and fell flat.

Everyone stopped. The valley was silent as everyone looked at the shield and waited.

Nothing happened.

Norouk rushed up the ramp, looking down at Dean as he raced by him. Dean could see the fear in his eyes. Norouk stopped, bent at the waist, and peered at the shield like it was a snake, coiled to spring. He turned back to Dean and exhaled.

“It’s Greylan’s shield,” he mumbled as he pushed it with his boot, “but nothing happened.” He chuckled.

A murmur ran through the ranks of the Vereortu.

Norouk tipped his head back and laughed. His laughter rang off the walls of the valley. The Vereortu joined in, laughing in wicked chirps and shrieks that grew so loud Dean would have covered his ears if his arms weren’t pinned down by the creatures.

Dean’s eyes widened as the shield slowly began to glow.

Norouk saw Dean’s eyes, and the smile froze on his face. He looked down at the shield. His lips twitched. His mouth clamped closed.

The shield began to shine; the light quickly grew until the whole shield was wrapped in a golden radiance that shifted and pulsed.

Norouk screamed in horror as he stared, transfixed, at the rune-covered shield.

The shield burst into a blinding light that filled the valley.

A deafening cheer rose from a thousand human voices. Dean’s mouth opened as he looked around at an army of warriors. One standing above Dean turned his head and stared at Dean.

“Thank you.” The silver-haired man gave a sweeping bow. “This fight is no longer yours. It’s ours.” The man drew a silver sword and turned to face Norouk.

“Graylen?” Norouk asked with horror and disbelief in his voice. “Coren?”

A young man moved to stand beside Graylen. His armor was dented and battered, but he had a regal bearing.

“Norouk.” Coren raised his hand, and the men behind him drew their swords.

“Coren, wait,” Norouk pleaded. “Let me explain. I let Graylen have his last words. Give me mine. Let me explain.”

Coren stepped forward. “Traitors don’t deserve last words.” Coren’s sword drove straight through Norouk’s breast.

As Norouk slumped to the ground, a deafening roar came from the warriors. They raised their swords and attacked their murderers. The four companions turned their eyes from the carnage as the warriors of Wardevar crushed all of the Vereortu in only a few gruesome minutes. When the last of the Vereortu fell, the warriors cheered in a triumphant call that swelled into a gust. The warriors stamped their feet and cried louder. The gust turned into a gale that swept about the companions and blinded them with the flying sands.

Dean shielded his face as the sand blasted against his skin. The swirling wind’s shriek grew so loud that he pressed his hands over his ears and tucked his chin against his chest.

As suddenly as the wind started, it stopped. As they looked around, they saw the valley floor swept smooth, with no trace of Norouk, the Vereortu, the Wardevar, Graylen, or Coren.

A faint sound at the end of the valley made them turn. The sound grew louder until they could hear singing. They couldn’t make out the words of the song, but they rose beautifully into the air. Slowly the singing faded away, except for the last lingering notes that echoed softly through the valley.

Dean awoke with a start. It was midday, and he’d only slept for a couple of hours, but the events of the morning seemed to have taken place long before. As he looked up at the sky, he saw it was again filled with black clouds, only they now seemed nearer and darker. He woke the others and turned to look to the north, over the woods that stretched before them. Soon, they would be at Volsur’s. Naviak.

The others were soon ready to move, though they were still weary. As they looked at Dean, he straightened up and walked forward. He didn’t have a plan yet, but he didn’t want to tell them that.

They decided to travel through the woods and not on the main road. Oieda led the way as they silently slipped between the trees like shadows wrapped around the trunks. The days were cheerless, for they spoke little, whether because of the foul, cold, black days or their thoughts about what would soon happen. The nights were pitch-black; no stars shined, and no wind stirred the trees. The woods were filled with invisible creatures who moved and chattered in the darkness. They chanced no fire and slept little.

On the sixth day, the woods thinned and the clouds seemed to lower. As the shadows of day lengthened, they could see the lights of the city ahead. They stopped to camp and to plan. They all tried to think of different ways to come into the city. They talked long into the night. A great sense of urgency pressed on their minds. In the end, it was Dean who decided to go right into Naviak. Now, outside, there were too many things that could only be guessed at. The only way they could make a plan was to get inside and look around.

They sat in a circle on the ground, and Dean drew a large circle with a stick. He drew a gate with a stick figure next to it. “This is Naviak. Dalvin said the city itself was guarded by humans.”

“Filthy traitors.” Oieda spat on the stick figure.

“That’s kinda gross but funny.” Han grinned. “Why does Volsur have humans watch the city?”

“Because Krulgs would kill the slaves too often,” Bravic said.

“Slaves?” Dean asked.

“Under Volsur’s rule, there are two options: soldier or slave,” Bravic explained.

“Dalvin had no idea about the number of soldiers but he said they’re human. The Krulgs and Varlugs stay out of the city, so it’s almost all humans. That works for us too.”

“How?” Oieda asked.

“We try to blend in,” Dean said. “You know, when in Rome . . .”

“Rome?” Han asked as everyone looked quizzically up at Dean.

“It’s a city in my world . . . oh, skip it. We have to act like them. Blend in. Instead of skins, now we have to wear masks.”

“That means you keep your big mouth closed.” Bravic pointed at Han.

Han sat up straighter but pressed his lips together.

“Good work, already.” Oieda patted Han on the back, and Han smirked at Bravic.

“The castle’s a different story,” Dean continued. “Dalvin said it’s guarded by Krulgs and Varlugs. He doesn’t know how many, but I don’t think it will be a lot.”

“Why? It’s his castle now. Wouldn’t he surround himself with an army?” Bravic asked.

“It’s Volsur we’re talking about,” Dean said. “He’s prideful. I bet he thinks he doesn’t need an army around himself.”

“It still will not be easy,” Oieda said.

Dean nodded. “This might be a stupid question, but I have to ask it. Tomorrow we’ll be in Naviak. I don’t have a plan for how to get in besides just walking through the gate. I also don’t have a plan for how to get out. What I’m saying is . . . if we do make it to Volsur, I don’t see any of us making it back out.”

“We know, Dean.” Oieda had a puzzled look on her face.

“What I’m saying . . . we might die. I might get you all killed, and I really don’t know if it’s fair for me to ask that from you.”

“You never asked me. I said I was coming.” Han leapt to his feet.

“I told you I was coming. I’ll tell you again, too, if you have any crazy notion of trying to leave me behind,” Bravic growled.

“Dean. We all came with you because we chose to. If we must die to defeat Volsur, then we must die.” Oieda walked next to Dean.

“Then we’ll all go?”

The three nodded their heads. That night they slept little, if at all. They stared at the few lights that still burned in Naviak, Volsur’s stronghold, the end of their journey.

They woke to a morning almost as black as the night. A thick fog lay all around and seemed to press into them. They ate nothing. The few supplies Dalvin could spare were exhausted. With heavy hearts and light stomachs, they started on their way toward Naviak. In a few miles they came to a dirt road where people pushed their rickety carts toward the city. Their clothes were tattered and worn, and their forlorn faces were downcast.

Although their carts were light with what little belongings they had, they pushed them as if they were heavily loaded. The companions tried not to look at the bleak faces that stared at them with despairing eyes and marched down the road in silence. The wall around the city rose as they approached. Over the enormous bulwark, they could see buildings of stone and wood outlined in the gray fog.

At the immense open iron gates, a group of human soldiers stood bleary-eyed and leaning against the wall. Their armor was as dirty as their unshaven faces.

The companions crossed underneath the gate, and the world seemed to get darker; the fog became thicker and blacker. They passed through streets filled with people, going about their lives beneath the buildings that loomed overhead, trapping the fog in some wicked union.

Coming toward the center of the city, the streets opened to a large marketplace already filled with people. Booths that sold all types of material, none that appeared clean or well made, were scattered about like the people who shopped them. In the center of the market a small crowd gathered around a makeshift wooden stage. A thin man dressed in rich blue robes stood on the platform shouting something down to the crowd.

At a motion from the man’s hand, all eyes turned to three men who led a large figure up onto the stage. He appeared to be part lion and part man. The seven foot tall Lion-Man wore leather pants, but his upper body and face were covered with golden hair, like the mane of a lion around a human face. He was bound with a thick collar; the leather straps around his neck led down to his hands and ankles.

The auctioneer’s voice boomed: “What am I bid for this rare commodity? Half-man, half-beast. Strong as a bear and unique as a Penilique.”

“Seventy-five,” a grizzled man called.

“One hundred and twenty-five,” a dirty soldier who pushed his way to the front bellowed as he glared around.

“Five hundred,” a man dressed in rich red robes offered.

“Five hundred? Now that’s more like it,” the auctioneer squealed. “This is a Leomane. Rarer than rare on this side of the sea.”

“Five fifty,” the grizzled soldier snarled.

“Seven seventy-five.” The robed man raised his hand.

“One thousand,” the soldier barked as he glared at the robed man and placed his hand on the hilt of his sword.

A silence descended upon the crowd, and a curled grin came to the auctioneer’s fat face. Dean felt inside his jacket pockets. Twenty-five cents was all he found. He searched inside his side pocket and felt a lump in the lining. He realized the inside pocket had a hole. As he reached through the hole, he pulled out his lighter. He frowned and stuffed it in his pocket.

“Do you have any money?” Dean asked.

“You can’t be thinking what I think you are thinking,” Bravic muttered. “Look at his insignia: crossed swords on red. It matches all the other soldiers, and they’re all paying attention.”

“This isn’t right,” Dean begged.

“Neither is getting us all killed,” Oieda fiercely whispered.

“One thousand. Going once?” boomed the auctioneer as he greedily looked out at the audience.

“What are you buying him for?” the robed man asked the soldier. “I have a collection of oddities I display, we could split the ticket.”

“No dice.” The soldier shook his head. “I want him for the fights.”

Dean turned to Bravic. “I have to do it.”

“That guy probably doesn’t even have a thousand. It’s a small fortune,” Bravic said.

“Going twice?” the auctioneer squealed, and the soldier smiled.

“Bravic, please?” Dean pleaded.

Bravic looked at Dean for a second and then dove into the back of his pack and pulled out the gold pouch from beneath the Hall of Warriors.

“I bid this!” Dean held two handfuls of gold coins.

A gasp came from the crowd.

The auctioneer stared speechlessly. He opened and closed his mouth with no sound coming out. “Sold!” he finally squealed.

As Dean crossed to the platform, the soldier’s eyes bulged, and he seemed as if he were ready to explode with anger. Dean tossed the pouch to the auctioneer with a look of distaste. All the color left the auctioneer’s face as he gasped at his treasure.

Dean approached the Lion-Man and took the chain that a guard held out to him.

As he walked down the platform, he whispered, “Don’t worry.” He hoped the Leomane could understand him.

“Just out of curiosity,” Han asked to Bravic, “how much money was that?”

“One thousand, four hundred and sixty-three gold,” Bravic grumbled. “But who’s counting?”

“It wouldn’t do us any good anyway. By tomorrow, we’re all going to be dead.” Oieda smiled lopsidedly.

Bravic chuckled, and Han gulped.

“Thank you all.” Dean smiled as he came up, leading the Leomane. “I have to look like I own him right now.” He motioned back to the soldier who stared blackly at them. “Let’s get somewhere to talk.”

The five hurried to a tavern across the street, its worn sign too faded to read. The room they entered was only slightly lighter than the gloom outside, but, like the black clouds in the sky, dark clouds of smoke swirled around the wooden ceiling. Its many tables where mostly deserted. A few men slumped at the grimy bar along the wall.

Following Bravic, the others headed over to a circular table in the far corner. As they sat down, Dean’s arm went rigid as the Leomane remained standing.

“Sit.” Dean indicated the wooden bench, but the Leomane stood, unmoving. “Please, sit?”

The Leomane stared straight ahead.

“Can you understand me?” Dean asked. “Sit,” Dean said, motioning to the bench.

The Leomane grabbed Dean’s throat and snarled, “I’m not an animal.”

Oieda’s dagger pressed against the Leomane’s side. “Then don’t act like one,” she growled back. “Let him go.”

The Leomane’s hand opened.

Dean took a step back and exhaled. “Just sit down for a second, okay?” Dean held out his hand to the seat.

As they all sat down, the Leomane slowly lowered himself onto the bench. A thin, hawk-nosed man in a stained apron swaggered up to their table.

“What do you want?” he rasped to no one in particular.

Dean cast a glance around the table and Oieda felt her small purse. “Five breakfasts.”

“We don’t serve slaves.” The man cocked his head at the Leomane.

“One can’t be too cautious when he eats in strange places,” Dean said coldly. “The slave eats first.”

The man nodded his head approvingly and walked away.

“I didn’t mean that,” Dean said quickly. “What’s your name?”

“Kala Panteoth,” he said curtly.

“I’m Dean. And this is Han.”

“Nice to meet you,” the Elvana said with a broad smile and quick bow.

“Bravic.” Bravic nodded toward Kala.

“And you met Oieda,” Dean said.

Oieda smiled awkwardly and bowed.

“We’ll get food,” Dean whispered. “And once we’re sure the soldiers aren’t watching, we’ll let you free.”

Kala frowned. “You expect me to believe that you paid a fortune to feed me breakfast and let me go?”

“I don’t believe it, myself,” Bravic grumbled. “But it’s true.”

“Once we eat—” Dean began, but Oieda’s foot kicking him beneath the table cut him off.

“I don’t think we’re going to be able to eat,” Han whined as he tilted his head to the doorway.

Several soldiers walked into the room.

“The soldier’s insignias—crossed swords on red—they’re the same as the man you outbid for Kala,” Oieda pointed out.

Kala stiffened as he felt the cold steel point of Dean’s dagger press against his wrist.

“You buy me to kill me?”

“He’s setting you free, stupid,” Bravic snapped as Dean cut Kala’s straps.

“Why?” Kala asked with a mixture of mistrust and disbelief in his voice. “So I can die fighting while you escape?”

“No!” Han blurted, now upset. “That’s just the way he is. He was going to set you free the whole time.”

Kala scanned Dean’s face. Dean shrugged and his hands went out. As the soldiers walked forward, Bravic started to pass his axe to Kala.