“Bart,” Riyan said, as he gently shook his shoulder. “It’s time.”
Eyes snapping open, Bart came awake. Three hours of sleep wasn’t much, but it was better than nothing. After what he was about to do, it may be some time before any of them would be able to sleep again.
Upon returning from scouting the River Man’s camp, he had informed the others of the key segment’s presence and of his intention of returning to take it. After telling Riyan to wake him in three hours, he laid down by the fire and promptly fell asleep. Everyone had been amazed that he could fall asleep so quickly.
Now suitably rested, he and Chyfe began the trek back. While they were gone, the others would prepare for a quick departure; the horses were to be saddled and their equipment stowed by the time they returned.
Walking under the stars, Bart went over the placement of the camp in his mind. On his last visit, he had encountered two sentries. He’ll need to take them out first. Tucked within his shirt was the rolled leather containing his darts. The one holding his lockpicks was in his pack.
Three darts were all that remained. He would need to use them sparingly from here on out. One was clutched in his right hand, its tip having been coated with his most potent poison. Another was in his left.
As soon as the lights of the camp appeared out of the darkness ahead, Bart brought them to a stop. “Stay here,” he whispered to Chyfe. “This may take awhile. Don’t worry about me unless you hear all hell break loose.”
Chyfe gave him a grin and nodded. “Good luck.”
“Thanks,” Bart replied.
Moving out, he assumed a crouching position as he worked his way closer to where he had earlier seen the first sentry. Step by slow step, he made his way forward. Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw a shadow move. It was barely perceptible, but to his trained eye, he knew it was a man.
Bart came to a stop and watched the place where the shadow had moved, it wasn’t far from where he crouched. Readying his dart, he waited until the sentry moved again, then threw. The sentry gave out with a barely audible gasp of pain when struck before the dart’s poison began coursing through his system, paralyzing his muscles, stopping his heart. Without another sound, the man staggered before toppling into a nearby bush. The resulting noise of his fall seemed to shatter the quiet of the night before he finally came to rest.
Moving quickly, Bart reached the dead man and retrieved his dart. Glancing toward where the second sentry had been, he held still as he listened for any evidence the man had noticed the first one’s fall. With the second doctored dart now in his right hand, he waited and searched the darkness. When all remained quiet, Bart made his way back to the trail and crouch-walked toward the last known position of the second sentry.
Before long, he saw movement in the trees. A shadow of a man was making its way toward where the first sentry lay dead. Bart had to admit, the guy was good. Not a sound did he make as he worked his way through the brush and trees.
Bart didn’t like what he had to do, but was left with little choice. These men had already tried to kill him and the others on more than one occasion, and he was sure they would do it again if given the chance. He hated to kill when pulling a job. Causing another’s death in battle, or taking the life of someone like Durik, wouldn’t cause him to bat an eye. But this, cold murder in the night was something he never liked. Only the knowledge they would do it to him in a heartbeat assuaged his conscious enough for him to continue.
The shadow was now passing behind a dense stand of trees and he wasn’t able to get a clear shot. Moving so as to have a better target, he paced the shadow on its way to the first sentry. Three steps later, the shadow abruptly stopped and Bart saw its head turn in his direction. He must have made some noise that had alerted the man.
Bart remained frozen all the time the shadow stared in his direction. One call, one shout to those in the camp and it was all over. But the shadow’s head turned away from him as it started moving once more through the trees.
As the shadow moved, so did Bart. When the shadow reached a place where trees no longer obscured it, he threw the dart. No sooner had the dart left his hand than the shadow’s head turned rapidly in his direction. A second later, the shadow jerked as the dart found its mark. A brief cry of startlement and pain was all that emerged before the man succumbed to the dart’s deadly poison.
Just as before, Bart hurried forward and retrieved his dart. He had too few to leave one behind. Once the dart was cleaned off and had been doctored once more, he scanned the forest for any sign of further sentries. Not seeing any, he began working his way closer to the camp’s perimeter.
Men lay asleep around the campfires, huddling beneath blankets to ward off the night’s chill. Standing just within the trees out of the campfire’s light, Bart made sure none were stirring. Snores came from many as his eyes passed over their sleeping forms. Finally, his eyes came to rest on the four tents off to one side. More specifically, the tent which held Lord Kueryn and the key segment.
He began making his way through the edge of the treeline toward the tents. Ever cautious to avoid making noise and wake the slumbering soldiers, he took one careful step after another.
Inside, he felt the rush of adrenalin he always felt at times like these. The excitement, the challenge of pitting one’s skill against an opponent’s, this was what kept many a thief on the Shadowed Path. At times such as this, Bart never felt more alive.
The sleeping men remained undisturbed throughout his trek to the tents. When at last he arrived, he paused to again scan the slumbering forms for any who may be stirring. Not seeing any, he turned his attention back to the tent wherein lay the key. All was quiet. Even the nocturnal creatures of the forest seemed stilled, as if afraid to awaken those in the camp.
Moving from the trees, Bart quickly made his way to the tent. Once at the tent flap, he placed his ear against it and heard soft snores emanating from within. Putting his hand to the tent flap, he paused as he again scanned the camp to assure himself all remained asleep. Then, pulling the flap slowly back, he entered.
As he passed inside and the tent flap settled back to its closed position, Bart paused a moment to allow his eyes time to regain their night vision. Shadows within the tent gradually grew clearer, the form on the cot now unmistakably that of Lord Kueryn, the River Man. Next to him on the ground rested the small chest containing the key segment.
His eyes went again to Lord Kueryn. The details of his face were mostly hidden by the darkness within the tent. But that his eyes were closed in sleep was apparent. Moving toward the chest, Bart stepped lightly. So cautiously and slowly did he move, that it was unlikely he even disturbed the air within the tent by his passing.
Coming to stand before the chest, Bart bent over and picked it up. He’ll worry about picking the lock and removing the key segment later. Standing up, he turned his eyes to the still form of Lord Kueryn. Pausing a moment, he waited until another soft snore issued forth before returning to the tent flap.
Once there, he parted it minutely and peered out. The sleeping forms scattered about the camp remained motionless, not a sound other than snores could be heard. Opening the tent flap wider, he passed through to the outside.
Stepping quickly with the chest tucked under his arm, he crossed over to the treeline and entered. After moving several feet into the trees, he paused and glanced back at the quiet camp that was still unaware a visitor had come and gone. Smiling to himself in satisfaction, he began working his way back to where Chyfe was waiting.
“My lord!” a voice cried, snapping Lord Kueryn out of a deep sleep. He recognized it as his magic user Geffen’s. The urgency in Geffen’s voice brought him fully awake.
“Enter,” he said as he came to a sitting position on the edge of his cot.
The tent flap was thrown open and Geffen came in with lords Hurrin and Geop, both long time allies in his rise to Warlord. “My lord,” he said, “the sentries were found dead.”
“What?” exclaimed Lord Kueryn. Immediately, his eyes darted to where he had set the chest containing the golden item that he was certain was somehow related to the King. Anger suffused him and rage threatened to snatch his reason. “It’s gone!” he shouted. Coming to his feet, he turned eyes red with fury toward the two lords.
They didn’t need him to explain what he was talking about. All three saw that the chest was no longer within his tent. “But…” began Lord Geop when he was cut off by Lord Kueryn.
“But what?” he demanded. “Are my men so inept, that they allowed someone to enter my tent? While I was sleeping?” The thought that he could have been killed was not lost on them.
Lord Hurrin turned toward Geffen. “They must have used magic,” he stated.
“Wards were in place to detect such,” countered Geffen. “None were triggered.”
Pushing his way through the others, Lord Kueryn exited the tent. Outside, the mood was somber and guarded. His men couldn’t have avoided overhearing the heated exchange that took place within the tent. None dared meet their lord’s eyes.
Not far from where he stood, two bodies lay near one of the campfires. To his shock, one was Jien, a tracker that was renowned for his skills in the forest. For him to be killed was almost beyond belief. One of his men knelt next to the two bodies. Bent over Jien, he had his shirt open and was examining a wound. He heard his lord’s approach and glanced back over his shoulder. “My lord,” he said then pointed to an area on Jien’s left shoulder that was blackened, “he was struck by a poisoned dart.” Indicating the man lying next to him, he added. “As was he.”
“A dart?” asked Geffen. Without thinking, his hand went to the sight of where he too had been struck by a dart.
The man nodded.
“Search the area!” commanded Lord Geop. “He couldn’t have gone far.”
“I want the ones responsible for this found and brought to me,” Lord Kueryn exclaimed. As his men erupted into a flurry of activity, he turned back to Geffen. “Can you find them?” he asked.
Reaching into his robes, Geffen produced the dart that had struck him back in Hylith. “If this is the work of the same man,” he replied, “I can find him.” Then casting a spell, the dart rotated in his hand and pointed back toward the southeast. Glancing at his lord, he nodded.
Before Lord Kueryn could order the pursuit, Lord Hurrin came before him and said, “We dare not follow. The attack is soon to be underway and we would never be able to make it through on the eastern side of the mountains. All of Byrdlon will rally to their defense!” Lord Kueryn’s anger radiated like a palpable presence. “We must adhere to the plan my lord.” Praying that reason would win out, Lord Hurrin held his ground.
Many years ago when Lord Kueryn was on the verge of manhood, he had braved the Wrath of Hennon at the height of its fury. He never talked of the experience, other than that he had barely made it through alive.
His small canoe had been smashed to pieces against the rocks and his head had been swept into another, rendering him unconscious. He awoke sometime later in the shallows on the riverbank. If he hadn’t been lying on his back, he surely would have drowned.
Not far from where he had been washed ashore sat a cave. Night was falling and he took shelter there until the following morning when he would return home. It was after he had a fire going that he noticed its light was being reflected by something in the back of the cave. Intrigued, he went and discovered that what had reflected the light, was a single, copper coin. Half buried in dirt, it bore the symbol of the King. Further searching uncovered a total of a dozen of the coins, five copper and seven silver.
It wasn’t until later when he had been named Warlord of the Orack Tribe that he had the wherewithal to return to the cave and do some serious excavation. That was when they discovered the ancient, underground catacomb.
Several items of note had been found, most notably the golden key segment. Though he didn’t know what it was, he knew it was a significant find. The removal of the treasures contained within the catacomb proceeded at a steady pace for awhile.
Then, another room was unearthed that shed light on the golden object. In the room was a mural depicting men standing in front of a sigil inscribed wall. A man in robes stood just before the wall and held forth a golden torc from which emanated beams of light. When the key segment was compared to the torc in the mural, it was concluded that it was indeed part of it.
That’s when the major portion of the excavation began. Everything but the bones of the dead was to be removed and gone through in the hopes of finding the rest of the torc depicted in the mural.
Then not too long ago, rumors began to reach Lord Kueryn’s ear that a major cache of coins had been found. A shepherd and a miller’s son had somehow discovered a large quantity of the King’s coins. Other rumors of the shepherd and miller came saying that they had located the King’s Horde.
It didn’t take long before he came to believe that the sigil inscribed wall depicted in the mural was the entrance to the long lost King’s Horde. Riders were dispatched into Byrdlon to discover if what he had heard was true. None came back with anything definite, just a reiteration of the rumors he already knew.
Now, someone had come and taken the segment of the torc. In his heart he knew it could only be the shepherd and the miller’s son. One piece of information one of the riders brought back inferred that they had the help of a thief and an inexperienced magic user. Their thief must have been the one to infiltrate his camp and make off with it.
Rage threatened to take his reason as he thought again of the theft. Only by a sheer force of will did he master it and not give in to the need for immediate violence. Turning to Lord Hurrin, he nodded. “Yes, continue as we have.”
From the south, a rider came racing toward the camp. Lord Kueryn turned and saw the rider bearing the chest that had been taken. “You found them?” he demanded. Coming forward, he met the rider and took possession of the chest. It was still closed.
“No my lord,” the rider replied as Lord Kueryn removed a key and placed it in the chest’s lock. “Their camp was found deserted a mile to the south.”
Turning the key, he unlocked the chest and opened it. The golden key segment was not within. Rage again enveloped him and he took it out on the chest, smashing it to the ground.
“Lord Hurrin,” the River Man said as he turned to his long time ally. “Send riders after them. I want to know where they go and with whom they speak.”
“As you wish,” Lord Hurrin replied. Soon, four riders were heading south in pursuit. “I believe these are the same people who fled Hylith, and caused so much damage in Tryn.”
Lord Kueryn turned a glaring eye on Lord Hurrin. “You don’t have to tell me that which I already know,” he said. “I want everyone mounted. The sooner we’re at the lake, the sooner we’ll be through the mountains.”
Then, he vowed to himself, we shall find those who stole this and extract our revenge. But not until they divulge all they know about the King’s Horde!
As soon as they had returned from stealing the key segment, Bart opened the chest and removed the key. Riyan was all for reuniting the four segments right then and there but Kevik advised against it.
“We are not certain what effect such an action will have,” he replied. “And with a magic user not more than a mile away…”
“I agree,” Bart said. “We’ll keep this one separated from the others until we reach somewhere less dangerous.” Opening his pack, Bart placed the fourth key segment within. He glanced to Riyan and saw him reluctantly nod in agreement. “Now, let’s get out of here before they discover it’s gone.” Swinging up into the saddle, he turned his horse to the south and rode off.
They continued southward along the river throughout the remainder of the night. When dawn arrived, they took a short break to rest the horses before once again returning to the saddle. Bart pushed them hard as he knew pursuit wouldn’t be far behind. The River Man would never allow such an affront to go unanswered.
When they reached the village later that afternoon, they took the road headed east. From Riyan’s map, they knew it led to Kendruck. From there it would be clear all the way home to Quillim.
Later that afternoon, on the shores of a lake nestled high in the Tinderlock Mountains, smoke rose from a campfire. A single tent sat not far away and the area had the look of having been occupied for several days. One man sat on a log near the campfire, smoking his pipe, while another paced about in growing impatience.
“They should be here by now,” the pacing man stated. Pausing, he glanced again to the south.
“Relax,” the other man said. “They’ll be here when they do.”
The pacing man glared at the other. He hated to wait on people. When he took this job, it was with the clear understanding that he wouldn’t have to be here at the lake for more than two days. It’s now been four. Aside from the cold and lack of comfortable accommodations, his companion wasn’t the most stimulating person when it came to conversation. A mountain trapper hired for his knowledge of the Tinderlock Mountains, Burdy was the one to get them over to the north side with as little difficulty as possible.
Burdy on the other hand could happily sit and wait for days, weeks if necessary. He was in his element. When he was approached about leading a group over the mountains, he had been more than happy to oblige. After all, winter wasn’t the best time for trapping.
Smoking his pipe, Burdy watched as Erz paced. Inwardly he grinned at the man’s discomfort. He had little patience for those in a hurry. When his trained eye noticed riders coming from the south, he was almost disappointed. A couple more days and Erz would have been livid, instead of just annoyed. Oh well, can’t have everything.
“I think you’re friends have arrived,” Burdy told Erz, pointing to the approaching riders.
“What?” exclaimed Erz. Turning toward the direction Burdy indicated, he saw the riders coming. “About time,” he murmured under his breath as he waited to meet them.
When the riders drew near, Erz stepped forward and said, “Welcome milord.”
The lead rider glanced over to where the trapper was seated on the log. “Is that him?” he asked.
“Yes milord,” Erz replied. “He’ll see us over the mountains.”
Lord Kueryn nodded and said, “Excellent.”