The Staff of the Winds (The Wizard of South Corner Book 1) (29 page)

The gorn had not expected these simple farmers to put up a fight, and they certainly did not expect them to even consider setting up an ambush, but they were born to war. When they had spotted the clumsy attempt made to scout them out, they had entered the chase, but a quarter of their number had veered off to the west to encircle whatever might be found on the road ahead. It was unlikely to be necessary, but they were veterans of war, and their tactical instincts were followed almost without conscious thought.

Shortly after the men on the western side of the ambush had advanced to close their trap they were spotted unawares from behind by this small flanking party.  The western end of the line was suddenly engulfed from both sides before they even realized that they had been flanked.  Three men were killed outright, and the rest were in desperate straights.  It would have been worse, if Evan, who had been relegated to guarding the horses had not seen what was happening and shouted a warning.  He also immediately started lofting arrows at the gorn, which had mostly been ineffectual, except for one shaft that had come down right in the middle of a huge gorn’s right foot. Matthew, who had been part of the force in the center, had heard his son’s frantic screaming and managed to disengage with three other men, and turn to pour arrows into the gorn on the western ridge. With the men there on the ground, the gorn fled this fire to the safety of the trees, abandoning the stunned and wounded farmers where they lay.

The triumph that had filled Jack and his comrades at their success was quickly overcome by dismay as they learned the true outcome of the battle. It was still a victory, Jack supposed; eighteen gorn lay dead or dying on the field. And it could have been much worse for the men there that day, but seven of their thirty-four had fallen, never to return to their families, and twelve more were wounded with everything from bleeding gashes and broken limbs, to farmer Corrick, leader of the group on the western ridge, who lay unconscious from a severe blow to the head.

Taking stock of their condition, Matthew detailed a party to fashion makeshift stretchers for the men too badly hurt to ride, and when all were ready, they withdrew from the field to make camp in the relative protection of a little box canyon nearby.

“I’ve got to get back to Owen and Marian, Mr. McMichaels,” Jack said.

“Me too,” Evan echoed.

“They are expecting some help,” Jack continued, frowning at the younger boy next to him. “If five or six of us who aren’t hurt start back for Carraghlaoch now, the rest of you can make it to the Campbell’s tomorrow.”

Matthew appraised the boys before him, then shook his head sadly. “Does the enemy know that Owen and Marian are watching them?”

“I don’t think so,” Jack answered. “At least we weren’t discovered at the time that I left.”

“Would five or six more men make any real difference down there? You said there were about twenty soldiers, and that they were holed up inside a castle. Would the seven or eight of you be enough to storm that castle and rescue our friends?”

“Well no, but we can’t just leave Owen and Marian out there by themselves.”

“He’s right, dad, we can’t just leave them,” Evan echoed.

“I agree with you both.  Those two are my children and I love them dearly.  I’d have them with me here right now if I knew a way to make that happen; but if you ride back out there tonight, only bad things can come of it.  There’re still gorn out there, and likely they are watching us right now.  You say that Marian and Owen are undiscovered.  The worst thing you could do is lead a party of gorn right back to them. Besides, Jack, you are in no shape to travel. No, hard as it is, the only thing we can do now is get our dead and wounded back to safety and then figure out what to do about the gorn that survived this day. We won’t give up on Owen and Marian, but they’ll have to get by without us for a little while longer.”

Chapter 11

The Outlet

“That’s it, girlie, nice an’ easy, and stay t’ da middle o’ the bridge.”

Sarah Murray was in the lead now as they began their descent down the western side of the stone bridge over The Wizard’s Moat. They had started across early that morning with the soldier, Stangar, in front, holding the end of the rope that went around Emily Pearson’s neck, and then looped on to Sarah’s.

The girls had stared in wonder at the huge arch as they approached it that morning.  It appeared to be made of stone that had been burned and tortured out of the ground.  Sarah could see no seams in its construction, which clearly was impossible.  No living creature or machine made by man could have lifted that massive work of rock up and placed it here across the broad, dark water.  And yet, even if it could have been moved in pieces and somehow joined together at this location, how could it have been supported over the deep water until the keystone could be put into place?  ‘
Could they have used massive barges?’
she wondered.  But that made no sense; if the Baraduhne could float a barge across The Wizard’s Moat, they would not have needed the bridge in the first place.  No, the whole thing was clearly impossible.  Yet there it stood.

As they got closer, Sarah began to see the imperfections in the stone. It was quite wide at the base where it rested on the granite above the eastern shore of the Moat, but it quickly tapered to only a few feet wide as it rose, and she could see cracks and missing chunks up its sides. Even at the base, pieces were scaling off in large flakes. It looked as though it were quite old, and the freeze/thaw cycle that weathered rock in these mountains had cracked and shattered it.

“That’s your path to your new home,” one of the soldiers said. “Last chance. You two sure you don’t want to just stay here and play with us?” The men all laughed as though this were very clever, all except Stangar, who just growled and ignored the others.

The first bit was very steep, and Stangar and the girls had needed a boost from the other guards to begin the difficult climb up the bridge.  Sarah had lashed out at one of them with her bare foot in payment for the rude and indecent way that she had been “boosted”, but the soldier just laughed and made some obscene comment to his friends.  As they managed to work their way higher, they could reach both sides of the span and use their arms to help pull themselves up.

Stangar had lead the two young women up the giant arch, tucking the end of their leash loosely in his belt, “So if’n one ‘o ya slips, ya won’t be takin’ me wi’ ya.”

Sarah would have loved to give her vile and dirty captor a little nudge over the side of the crumbly black stone into the dark water far below, but at the beginning of their climb, it took all of her concentration just to make sure that neither she nor Emily slipped and fell themselves.  Emily was not nearly as athletic as Sarah, and Sarah often had to help her find the best footing and occasionally provide a backstop for her lest she begin to slip backwards and over the side. As they climbed, the pitch of the arch became less steep and a little wider, but with Emily between her and Stangar she had no opportunity to tip him over.

The huge arch, that had looked massive and solid at the beginning of their climb, narrowed in places with large chunks obviously already broken off and fallen into the mere far below. For the first time since their capture, Sarah was thankful that she was barefoot. She did not believe that she could have kept her shoes from sliding out from under her on this flaky, gritty surface (Stangar had removed his boots and stowed them in his pack before they began the climb). As it was, occasional gusts of cold wind seemed to snatch at the little clothing that she and Emily wore and try to tug them toward the undependable edge of the bridge as if it took pleasure in seeing them tremble from both the cold and the fear of falling.

The deep black water under them seemed untroubled by the capricious winds, but occasionally Sarah thought that she saw a sort of swelling of a small area of the surface pass from side to side under them. It was as if a large body swam submerged just under the surface, watching their progress and fretting impatiently for one of them to fall. Whatever it was, if there really was something there, it never quite broke the surface and revealed itself. Sarah could feel its eyes upon her, though. She had no doubt that the watcher was there and that it was in some way inimical to all life that tried to cross its waters. She assumed that it was the same dark creature that had so effectively killed one of the soldiers the night before with a large stone to his forehead, and she hoped that it would not use the same tactic to knock one of them off of the narrow span.

At the top of the arch, Stangar reeled in the rope between himself and Emily, sunk his fingers deep into her long blond hair, and forced her to bend over backwards, off balance. Then, he ordered Sarah to take the lead on the way down the other side. He watched her closely and with an evil grin as she edged by Emily to get to the front of the line. He was careful to keep Emily between them so that she had no chance to strike out at him, and Sarah knew that if she did manage to knock him off the arch now, he would certainly take the miserably crying and pleading Emily with him, and dragged down by the rope around her own neck, she would just as certainly end up falling to her death as well.

The bridge was wider on this side, which gave them some relief. All three were deeply fatigued from the climb up to the top, both from the physical strain as well as the constant fear of falling. So Sarah still had to tread carefully, picking her path along what looked like the most solid and secure parts of the crumbling stone. She was ever conscious of the thin rope around her neck, and the likely consequences if her feet should slide out from under her.

At about half of the way down the arch, as the pitch began to grow steeper, Stangar called a halt for a brief rest in preparation for their final, difficult climb down to the lands of the Baraduhne. He ordered the girls to lie down on their stomachs, then with each in turn he planted a knee in their back and untied the rope from around their necks. Backing away up the bridge, he pulled out his sword and commanded the girls back up to their feet.

“Just so’s ya won’t be gettin’ any ideas, take a look ahead at t’ foot o’ the bridge.  That’s your welcomin’ party,” he said, gesturing toward four men who could just be seen approaching the base of the arch from McDonald’s Break beyond.  “Now get movin’ nice an easy. An’ member, that little beastie in the water down below is still hungry for ary little girlies that gets careless.”

The last quarter of the climb passed more quickly, with the three anxious to be finally off of the treacherous span. Their biggest concern was in moving deliberately so as to not begin a slide that would take them off of the edge. As it was, the last bit was mostly a semi-controlled slide down the gritty surface to the waiting soldiers below.

Called the Grand Palace of the Baraduhne, it was really a vast mountain fortress set high in the western entrance to The Outlet—a narrow pass through the great mountain range to the east (known as McDonald’s Break to Sarah).  Its history stretched back through the millennia, originally established as a defensive outpost guarding the pass against the perennial influx of marauding barbarians who would use it to invade the lands of the Baraduhne.  A barren location, the small guard force endured long months of freezing inactivity during the winters interspersed with long months of frequent and bloody fighting against waves of migrating horsemen out of the rolling steppes to the east, now sparsely inhabited and known as the Trackless Hills.

Overrun several times in its history, the outpost expanded in fits and spurts, but was never considered of sufficient importance to warrant a commanding officer above the rank of Guard Captain. Or rather, while perhaps marginally important, who above of the rank of Guard Captain would be willing to accept such a remote posting?

With each increase in the size of the guard force, generations of guard captains had built more extensive fortifications and burrowed ever deeper into the bones of the mountain for building materials. These excavations also provided dry and protected shelter from the harsh alpine conditions. As the guard force grew, so also did the motley collection of family members and camp followers until a small settlement existed behind the granite walls.