Ring of the Or'tux, page 26
“What if you can’t find his supply?” Father Thomas asked.
“Then I’ll have to question Shank directly,” he replied.
“But from what Mayor Tom said, it is unlikely he will cooperate,” argued Father Thomas.
“I realize that,” he stated. “But let’s worry about that when it happens.” He gazed to Father Thomas and the priest understood that should Larus not find Shank’s stash, then the man would have to be forced to talk, one way or another. The people of Casdra depended on it!
Larus suggested for them to get what sleep they could until it was time. For should he succeed in removing the weed, then they must be ready to follow Shank at a moment’s notice. While the other two lay down to rest, Larus kept watch as the sun dropped to the horizon.
Several times throughout the afternoon, curious locals came up the beach to see what was going on with them. Larus would allow them to come to within a certain distance, just close enough to see for themselves that there was nothing to see, before shooing them away. Before too long, the locals stopped coming around.
He waited until darkness had covered the land for many hours before waking the others. Coming to where Father Thomas and Hunter lay, he woke them. “It’s time.”
Chapter 20
Sharstan was dark and quiet. Only two windows glowed with light from within indicating not everyone had turned in for the night. Fortunately, neither of them were Shank’s. Larus had left Hunter and Father Thomas some distance back in the forest while he went on alone. Now standing at the fringe of the trees encircling Sharstan, he waited and watched.
A lone individual made his way from one of the darkened buildings to one of those with light. Larus watched from the shadows as the man, who was obviously inebriated, staggered his way to the door. It took him some time before managing to open the door and enter.
Once the door was closed, Larus again scanned the darkened streets of Sharstan and found them deserted. Moving out, he slowly made his way to Shank’s hut. Even in the darkness, his place was unmistakable as it was the only one with part of a boat leaning against it.
Larus moved silently through the dark, simply another shadow among shadows. He made his way to the boat covered hole and came to a stop. There he stood motionless as he listened to the night; the far away hoot of an owl as it searched for prey, a wisp of conversation from a nearby building, and coming through the hole by which he stood, the clearly identifiable sound of snoring.
With a quick glance around to make sure Sharstan remained still and quiet, he moved aside the boat just far enough so he could enter. In the darkness of the hut, Larus could see the glow of the smoldering ember of the weed as it burned in the brazier. The stench filling the hut was just as intense as it had been during their earlier visit. Stepping carefully, Larus slowly made his way inside.
First a step…then he paused to make sure Shank still slept. When a snore came, he moved a little bit further only to pause once more to await another. Step by step he made his way over to the burning brazier. If the weed were to be anywhere, it would most likely be kept readily accessible to refill the brazier.
Even Larus’ vision had a hard time dissimilating the shadows within the hut. When the red ember of the smoldering weed was next to him, he came to a stop. Then moving his hands slowly and cautiously, he began feeling around for a container in which Shank might keep the weed.
First item he found was a sheathed knife, next was a cloth lying rumpled beneath it. He spent several minutes working his way across the small tabletop until he was sure what he sought was not there.
Next he knelt down and moved his search to beneath the table where he found a large cloth bag. Pressing his hand gently upon the top of the bag, he heard the faint crackle associated with dried leaves. Nodding to himself, he lifted the bag from off the floor and opened it.
The odor coming from within said that he had found Shank’s stash. Reaching his hand inside, he grabbed a handful and pulled them forth. In the dark he couldn’t tell what they looked like, but could tell that they were all but dried out. Transferring the weeds to his other hand, he reached in and pulled out another small amount which was the last of it.
From the bed where Shank slept, the snores continued to come as Larus replaced the now empty cloth bag back where he had found it. Once it was in place, he returned to his feet and turned for the door. Using the same care as he had upon entering, he crossed the room and passed through the hole. Behind him, the snores continued to come.
Once the boat was back in place, he paused to glance around the darkness to see if anyone was about. Not finding anyone, he quickly made his way back to where the other two waited with the horses.
“Did you do it?” asked Hunter when he rejoined them.
Larus nodded and held up the leaves clutched in his hand. “Shank will have to go get more if he wants to keep breathing the smoke,” he replied. “Right now he’s still sleeping. I don’t know what he’ll do upon awakening.”
“What do you mean?” questioned Hunter.
“If the weed’s addled his mind then he may not realize he had more before going to sleep,” he explained. “If not, then he may come looking for whoever took them.”
“You mean us?” Hunter didn’t like the sound of that.
“Who else?” Larus put the weeds in his saddlebag before saying, “We arrived just before his weeds came up missing. And if the place we were questioning him about is truly where he gets them, then he’ll doubly suspect us of taking them.”
To Father Thomas Larus said, “Let’s find a place where we can hole up until he wakes. I’m sure we’ll know when he does, then watch what happens.”
Father Thomas agreed with his plan and they moved into the forest near the edge of town, not far from Shank’s hut. They moved the horses even further into the trees and secured their reins to the limbs of a fallen trunk. Hunter and Father Thomas remained with the horses again while Larus returned to the edge of the forest and settled down to watch. Still a couple hours left before dawn, he didn’t expect anything to happen until the sun rose. And he was right.
A roar snapped him out of a light doze. Gazing through the trees toward Shank’s hut, Larus saw the bull of a man emerge holding the empty cloth bag in one hand, and a long knife in the other.
Locals scattered as he began accosting them, accusing them of taking his weed. One wasn’t able to flee quickly enough and received a nasty cut along his forearm. Finally, Shank’s attention was directed down the shoreline toward where they had set up camp. Other locals joined the chorus of accusations leveled toward Larus and the others. Larus was sure they were simply accusing him and the other two just to redirect Shank’s wrath. Little did they know that they were right on the money.
As Shank stormed off toward their now deserted campsite in the clearing, the locals gathered together and discussed what could have happened. Several snippets of the conversation drifted to where Larus hid. Half seemed to believe he and the others had taken it while the other half thought Shank had finally lost his mind completely. Curiously, Mayor Tom and his buddy Yoll were not to be seen.
The group of locals continued talking about Shank’s behavior until he reappeared, returning from finding the campsite deserted. The look on his face was one of stark rage. Two seconds after he was spotted returning to Sharstan, the locals scattered. In no time at all, the only thing moving within Sharstan was Shank.
If anger had a name, truly this day it would be called, Bellion Shank. He absolutely oozed it from every pore. In his rage, he struck the side of a building in passing, leaving a fair sized hole. Larus could hardly credit that this man had once been a priest of Casdralla. Surely Mayor Tom’s informant had to have been wrong.
Shank paused near the hole in his wall and scanned the town. If looks could destroy, there would not have been two stones left atop each other. Then knocking aside the section of boat, he stalked into his hut.
So far so good, Larus thought to himself.
He didn’t have long to wait before Bellion Shank reemerged from his hut. This time, he carried not only the cloth bag, but a pack filled to bursting. He left behind his hut and turned toward the lake. Along the shoreline were several old docks, all but two having lapsed into such a state of disrepair that most of the planks and pilings were either broken or gone. Of the two remaining docks, one had three boats moored to it while the other held but two. Shank headed to the one with two.
When Shank moved out of sight behind his hut, Larus was forced to emerge from the trees to keep him in sight. Moving quickly, he reached the side of the hut and peered around it. Shank had already reached the dock and tossed the cloth sack into the bottom of the boat. He then climbed in and sat on the bench.
Once seated, he opened his pack and removed the brazier, placing it atop the other bench. To Larus’ surprise, he could still see smoke rising from the last smoldering vestige of the weed. Why his pack hadn’t caught fire was a mystery.
After setting the brazier in place, Shank removed the guy rope from the piling and pushed the boat away from the dock. Taking an oar in either hand, he began rowing directly away from shore. Larus only watched him for a few moments before turning to head back to the others.
“You’re going to follow him, right?”
Larus paused and turned to find Mayor Tom standing in a nearby doorway. Larus nodded, “That’s right.”
“Do us a favor, see to it that he doesn’t return.”
“I’m not a murderer,” argued Larus.
“I doubt if it would come to that,” Mayor Tom replied. “Once he sees you it will be more like self defense.”
“If that’s the case…” Larus said with a shrug, leaving the sentence unfinished.
“Good luck,” Mayor Tom said as Larus hurried away toward the forest.
When he reached Father Thomas and Hunter, he had them in the saddle quickly. “He’s heading northeast across the water,” he explained. “There’s no time to lose.”
“Then let us hurry,” Father Thomas said.
With Larus in the lead, they broke into a gallop once they emerged from the treeline. Racing to the shore, they began working their way around the lake. When Hunter saw the lead Shank already had on them, he thought how fortunate it was that the outboard motor hadn’t yet been invented on this world. The man was rowing furiously across the lake.
Moving quickly, they soon left Sharstan behind and entered the forested hills on the western side of the lake. The going was difficult seeing as how there was no road or trail for them to follow. About the only thing in their favor was the fact that Shank couldn’t keep up such a fast pace. By gauging his route across the lake, he would make landfall on the far side. Too far for one man to sustain such a furious speed.
Over the course of the next couple of hours, the shore gradually drew further away from the course Shank was setting until finally, he was so far out as to be almost invisible. Despite the fact that they eventually lost sight of him, they had a pretty good notion as to where he was heading. So keeping a good pace, they continued to follow the shoreline, all the while casting glances out over the water for glimpses of their quarry. It wasn’t until after reaching where the shoreline began curving more to the east did they at last see him again.
The afternoon sun was beginning to cast long shadows when during a short break to rest the horses, Larus looked out over the water and saw Shank. Standing on the shore atop a boulder, he turned back to the others and said, “He’s stopped.”
“Stopped?” asked Father Thomas.
Larus nodded. “Looks like it.”
Moving alongside the boulder, he accepted a helping hand from Larus and was soon up on top standing next to him. Larus directed his gaze over the water a little south of east. There he saw a black dot and could barely make out Shank’s silhouette against the backdrop of the water.
“What is he doing?” Father Thomas asked.
“I’m not sure,” replied Larus. “Looks like he’s holding the brazier.”
“Could be the weed no longer burns,” suggested the priest.
“Perhaps,” he agreed. “Either way, with him stopped as he is, we can afford to rest for a short time. He’s still an hour or so away from the mouth of that river, which I think he may be trying for.”
About a mile or so further east along the shoreline, a river entered the lake. From where they stood on the boulder, the mouth of the river looked to be over a hundred feet across.
“I do not think we should tarry too long here,” argued Father Thomas. “Would it not be better to reach the river first and find a ford to the other side?”
“That would be a good idea,” agreed Larus, “if we were sure he was going to land on the other side. For all we know, he could land on this one.” Then glancing back to where Hunter sat leaning against the bole of a tree, he said, “Besides, we didn’t get much rest last night. A short break will do us good.”
At the mention of rest, the fatigue Father Thomas felt made itself known as an unexpected yawn escaped him. He gave Larus a grin, “Perhaps you are right.”
“I’ll keep an eye on him while you two rest,” Larus said. “If he starts moving again, I’ll be sure and wake you.”
“Very well,” agreed Father Thomas. Then with a helping hand from Larus, he climbed down from the boulder and walked over to a tree near Hunter where he settled down to rest. He said a short prayer for all of them, and another for Hunter whose eyes were already half closed. With yet another yawn escaping him, he leaned his head back against the tree and closed his eyes.
As his two companions slept, Larus remained atop the boulder, keeping watch on Shank.
“I made it! I’m not too late!”
He was in the city, a city with towering walls besieged by darkness. The same darkness which had haunted his steps for so long.
In the heart of the city glowed a light which gave comfort and courage. He knew that the darkness encircling the walls wanted nothing more than to extinguish that light for good. How he knew this he didn’t know, he just did.
Along the streets were countless frightened people, some huddled in groups while others cowered alone against the stone walls of neighboring buildings. Then suddenly from out of the confusion appeared a man. Dressed in armor as he was, Hunter took him to be a guard. The coat of arms emblazoned upon his chest was that of five stars forming a semi-circle. Light reflecting off of them made them dazzle.
“Come on!” the guard shouted. “There isn’t time.” Without waiting for a reply, he turned and hurried away. Hunter followed.
It soon became clear their destination was a doorway leading to one of the defensive wall’s guard towers. As the guard reached the door, he paused and turned back toward Hunter. “Hurry!” he shouted, then disappeared within.
Hunter ran after, racing through the opened doorway. Inside, he came to a stop when he found wounded fighters lying in rows of pallets upon the floor. Red-tinged bandages binding extremities, screams and cries from where surgeons worked to save lives, fear began to grow inside him. Looking to the spiral steps leading up to the ramparts above, he saw the back of the guard disappear around the first curve.
His fear grew as he raced for the steps, cries of the wounded followed him as he took the steps two at a time. Coming from further up the stairwell, he heard the guard say, “Hurry!”
Wham!
A shockwave ran through the stone and knocked him backward. Bracing his hand against the side of the stairwell, he regained his balance. Moving once again, he continued for the top.
Wham!
Again he was thrown off balance as something struck the outer wall. And again he righted himself and continued upward.
Wham! Crack!
Shards of masonry pelted him as the wall cracked from the blow, dust filled the stairwell. Undaunted, he rounded another turn in the stairwell and continued.
Wham! Crack!
A giant stone struck the tower’s wall not three feet above his head, completely shearing it off. Hunter was thrown to the stone steps as stones from the destroyed tower rained down upon him. One struck his head and another crushed his ankle. When the dust cleared enough so he could see, he saw where the tower now ended in a ring of jagged masonry five feet further up.
“Give me your hand!”
The guard whom he had followed now crouched on the rampart above. Blood flowed from the guard’s temple and his left arm hung limp. Reaching down his right hand, he shouted again, “Give me your hand!”
Despite the pain throbbing in his head and his crushed ankle, Hunter raised himself up just enough to reach the offered hand. A cry of pain escaped him as the guard hauled him atop the wall.
“Come on!” the guard shouted as he helped Hunter to outer edge overlooking the darkness besieging them.
Hunter’s heart froze when his eyes gazed upon the miasmic, pulsating darkness below. There was no form to it, it just was. Terror beyond imagining swelled within him at the sight.
“Do you have it?”
Wham!
From out of the darkness came a dark mass which struck the wall not far from where they stood.
Mind numb with fear, Hunter didn’t at first realize the guard was speaking.
“Do you have it?” the guard shouted.
From somewhere deep within him, he found the courage to voice, “What?”
“The ring!” the guard said. “Do you have the ring?”
“Ring?” he asked confused. Holding up his hands, he gazed at ten fingers, all unadorned by any form of jewelry. “No.”
For a moment, the world grew still as a brief breeze seemed to come and ruffle the guard’s hair ever so slightly. “Then all is lost.”
Wham! Crack!
A massive concussion wave knocked Hunter backward, a scream of pain tore through him as he stepped upon his ruined ankle in an attempt to remain standing. Before him, the guard stood amidst a cloud of rising dust. Then…
