The Protector of Esparia (The Annals of Esparia Book 1) (7 page)

“Will someone please tell us what went on here?” she pleaded.

“Five men came,” one of the female water bearers responded.  “They were looking for a woman, a foreigner.”

“I told them there was no stranger here,” another woman offered.  She sat in a corner, her knees drawn up to her chin with her arms clasped tightly around them.  Three children pressed closed to her.

“It was obvious they were frustrated,” the one eyed old man said from halfway down the stairs at the side of the room.  “We told them they were in the wrong place, but they attacked, went from house to house.”

Looking at the three younger men with weapons, Jessica asked, “Where are the other men?”

“Those still alive are upstairs.”  A woman, her tunic and pants smeared with drying blood, gestured with her eyes to the floor above.  She held a basin of water, and a few dozen cloth bandages hung from her arm.  “These three are the only men who can still stand.  Those five assassins attacked so swiftly, we were unprepared for the fight.”

“They fought for pleasure,” the one-handed man added, his voice devoid of emotion. 

“I am Tarin, High Older of Vorgen Hoffle.”  The old man with one eye made his way to Jessica and Varnack.  “We gathered everyone here in case the black clothed riders return, as they threatened.”

Varnack said to Jessica.  “Our trail leads here.” 

Jessica felt ill.  “Varnack, what are…”  Before she could finish, he left the building.

“You’re the one they were looking for, aren’t you?”  A fair-haired girl, several years younger than Jessica, stated.  She was staring at the jean jacket tied around Jessica’s waist.  “Foreigner.  They don’t realize they should be looking for a girl.”

“I’m so sorry.”  Jessica searched for words of comfort.  “If these men return, my companion will handle them.”

“A dog!” the woman in the corner spat.  She rose to her feet, her face red with fury.  “How can a simple dog defeat five butchers?”  Her voice went higher in pitch and volume.  “Who are you, to bring this on us?”

“Chana, enough!” the one-handed man commanded.  “The girl said this Varnack is a Trigal Hound.”

“Myth and superstition,” Chana sneered. 

“No,” High Older Tarin cut in, “not myth, and certainly not superstition.  Trigal Hounds exist.”  He turned to Jessica.  “We have no strength left in us for another fight.  Our men were taken by surprise and many now hover between life and death.  Had we been prepared, weapons in hand, we would have beaten those five.”

“Is there no doctor here?”  The people stared at her blankly.  “A physician?”  Still no response.  “A healer?” 

“No healer.  Our hoffle is too small,” the woman with the bandages and water basin said. 

“Why are those killers looking for you?” the fair-haired girl asked.

Jessica felt bewildered.  She shook her head.  “I truly don’t know.  I’m nobody.” 

Tears welled up in the young girl’s eyes.  “My father is upstairs dying.  Are you saying he’ll die for no good reason?”

Jessica groped for something meaningful to say.  “My Grandfather was a man named Graesion.  I think he was someone important.”

High Older Tarin looked as if Jessica had just slapped him.  “Graesion, of the house of Saylon?” he barely whispered.

“Yes.”  It was Jessica’s turn to be surprised.  “You’ve heard of him?”

Several others in the room gasped, but no one spoke.  Chana’s young son, a boy about ten years of age finally broke the silence.  “Who’s Graesion of the House of Saylon?”

Jessica needed an answer to that question herself.  She looked expectantly at the old man.  However, before he could answer, an elderly woman stepped up to the lad.  With a disgusted expression on her face, the aged lady shook his shoulder.  “What do you do in school all day, boy?  Don’t you know your history?  Graesion was the great High Protector.  He and Lady Gayleena were Lord Haesom’s parents.”

Jessica’s heart skipped a beat.  “Lady Gayleena?”
Before she could connect any more dots, Varnack appeared in the doorway.

“They return,” he alerted.

“Already?” Jessica barely breathed.  “Varnack, I can fight, I’ve been trained,” she offered.  “Tell me...”

He cut her off.  “Stay.” 

“But…”

“Everyone.”  His command left no room for argument.  He spun around and sat on his haunches on the front deck.

“The riders return,” Jessica warned.  “Varnack wants us to stay here.”

The man with one hand rose, “I’d rather die fighting.”

Jessica hurried to block his path.  “If Varnack says to stay, then we stay.” 

“I didn’t hear him speak.  How do you know what the hound wants?” he challenged.

“I just know, okay?  We communicate.  If Varnack fails, then you can still die fighting, but right now you’d be more a liability than a help.”

“Sit down, Bareth,” the high older urged.  “No one doubts your courage.”

With his remaining hand, Bareth pulled a dagger from his belt and sat back on the chair.

Jessica took up position in the open doorway.  Some of the women cracked the shutters to better see the road outside.  Tarin, the high older, shuffled to Jessica’s side while the last two men fell in behind him.  Within moments the dull patter of horse’s hooves on hardened earth reached her ears.  Five black clothed men, their heads shaved, rode on shiny black horses down the stony street.  Even though-or perhaps because-the situation was so intense, Jessica needed to stifle a laugh.  Black!  Why was it that bad guys always seemed to wear black? 

The five halted a few yards from Varnack, then dismounted in unison.  One pointed to Jessica standing in the doorway and whispered to his comrade, a man distinguished from the other four by a red sash around his middle.

“Girl,” the leader called, “come with us and we’ll leave this hoffle.  No one gets hurt.”

Once spoken, the untruth issued from the man’s lips as a thin black rope coiling and twisting into a knot just in front of his mouth.  Jessica saw it so clearly that, for an instant, it actually obscured his lips.  Outraged, she shot back, “You lie!”

Varnack’s thoughts came to her.  “Leave now,” she translated.  “Or Varnack”, she nodded her head toward him, “will kill you.”

The men laughed, they seemed truly amused by her warning, but before their smiles faded, Varnack lunged from the porch.  Startled by his swiftness, Jessica jumped back, thumping into the one handed man who was standing close behind her.  He swore under his breath.

Varnack moved with astounding speed.  Razor sharp claws protruded from each mighty forepaw.  With the left he slit a man’s throat while simultaneously using the right to rip open another’s chest.  Varnack nimbly touched the ground on all fours.  He spun around and kicked with his hind legs, connecting with such force on a third killer, that the human was dead before hitting the ground.  The fourth man pulled his sword and lunged at the mighty animal.  Varnack pulled back, barely dodging the weapon.  Before the assassin could swing again, he sprang.  His teeth sank deep into the man’s side, tearing the flesh away.  The killer cried out in agony.  A dagger flew from just behind where Jessica stood.  It landed with a muted thud in the wounded man’s heart.

“Justice, though I think my hand is worth twenty of that doogeroot’s lives,” Bareth declared in cold satisfaction.

The red-sashed leader, his face alive with shock and anger, leapt at Varnack.  In each hand he held a long, jagged edged blade.  Varnack twisted to the side as one of the knives slashed downward toward his head.  He rolled away, but the second dagger caught his shoulder.  Red blood oozed onto his golden coat.  The hound jumped, snapping at the man’s left hand.  He tore the tiny finger off.  The enemy grimaced but made no noise.  He held onto his weapon in a blood soaked grip.  He hacked again at Varnack, twisting the blades over and around with blinding speed. 

Their dance had a deadly grace to it.  Weaving and bobbing, Varnack would lung and nip, then prance back so swiftly that his feet did not seem to touch the earth.  Scattered pools of red liquid dotted his sleek body.  The two had maneuvered further down the street.  Jessica and many of the townspeople now crowded onto the veranda to witness the fight.  With surprising agility, the Trigal hound skirted behind his opponent. He connected with the man’s left hand again and this time caused the blade to sail through the air.  Spinning around after the elusive animal, the man was caught off balance by a hit to the side.  Again, Varnack dodged a deadly jab.  He sprang back, circled once more, and charged the man, biting into his raised right sword arm.  The two tumbled to the ground.  Varnack quickly released the arm and sank his sharp fangs deep into the neck of the red sashed leader.  The man struggled to twist away, pounding at Varnack’s head, but the jaws held firm.  Within moments, he ceased to struggle.  The warrior dog did not let go of the throat until his opponent’s body completely ceased to quiver.

“I’ll bet they thought Trigal hounds were myth and superstition too,” High Older Tarin mused.  “It’s over,” he announced to his people, “we are safe once again.”

Jessica, gasping from having held her breath so many times, ran to Varnack.   He licked at the clotting blood on his shoulder.  “I’ve never seen anything like that before, and I hope to never have to see it again.”  She stroked his head.  “Thanks, Varnack.”

Chana’s inquisitive ten-year-old boy appeared at her elbow.  “Can I touch him?”  The child reached out to Varnack. 

“I think he’d like that, but be soft.  Varnack, how badly are you hurt?”

“Nothing deep,” came the reply.  

The child gently stroked the powerful animal.  Varnack seemed to enjoy it. 

Jessica smiled with relief.  “He especially likes scratching behind his ears,” she suggested to the boy.

Before long, the other village children came to see their mighty savior.  The sound of their laughter seemed to bring life back into the stricken village.  Varnack romped away from the fallen enemy and played with the little ones at the side of the green brick building while several women hauled the dead away.

Jessica re-entered the meeting hall.  The woman who had earlier held the basin of water and bandages was ascending the stairway.  “I’d like to help.  What can I do?” Jessica called to her.

She turned and stared in surprise.  “You can help my friends prepare an evening meal.”

Jessica grimaced.  “You don’t want me near the cooking.  Trust me on that one, I’m a lousy cook.”

The woman smirked, but remained silent.

“Let me help with the wounded.  My father is a healer and I’ve helped with wounded before.”  She was not really lying.  Though never having worked in a hospital, she had learned a great deal at the vet clinic during the past year.  How different could human medicine be?

“All right, come with me.  But I warn you, it's a terrible sight upstairs.”

Even with the warning, Jessica was unprepared for what she found on the second level.  The stench of sweat mingled with coagulating blood and vomit reached her before she traversed half the stairs.  Forty-three men lay on large woven rugs, their wounds ranging from severed limbs to deep body lacerations. 

“Hot water and more dressings will be here soon.  I am Karree.”

Jessica swallowed hard.  She felt her cheeks pale and her breathing shallow. 
Get a grip, girl.  Think of this as the veterinary clinic.
  She’d helped with surgery before.  “I’m Jessica.  Wh…where do you want me?” 

The next several hours were spent disinfecting, stitching, and bandaging sliced flesh.  As soon as Jessica began her service to the wounded, she ceased looking at the humanity and focused solely on the injuries.  An inner authority took over.  She worked automatically, almost instinctively.  She understood at a glance how to best treat the mutilations.  The intuitive knowledge surprised her, but the urgency of the moment forced her to not dwell on this ability.  “We’re missing something,” she muttered.  “Karree, where are your healing herbs?”

“We have none.  No hoffler understands this type of healing, and no one here has the Salupathic Gift.”

Jessica frowned.  “What’s the Salupathic Gift.”

Karree raised her eyebrows in surprise.  “It’s the ability to harness the powers in the Expanse of Gonta to restore health.”

“And what’s the Expanse of Gonta?”

Karree stared at Jessica, her eyes wide.  “You don’t know what the Expanse of Gonta is?”

“If I knew what it was, I wouldn’t be asking.”  Jessica snapped and Karree bristled.

“Where do you come from?  Who are you?”  The woman’s eyes narrowed.

Jessica shook her head.  She felt empathy for Varnack.  Unwanted questions irritated her, too.

The next man Jessica came to had lost so much blood his skin was ash white.  Unconscious, his breath came in shallow, short pants.  His heart raced in his chest.  He was among the last to be tended as the other three nurses skirted around him to aid the less severely wounded, though Karree had gone to him several times to pat down his brow and whisper words of comfort.  “This guy’s lost a lot of blood,” Jessica observed. 

“He’s lost too much and his injury is too severe,” Karree agreed.  “I’m surprised he still lives.” 

Jessica lifted the temporary bandage covering his middle and winced.  His inner organs spilled through the wide opening.  “Oh dear!”  She tried hard to control her stomach.