Ring of the Or'tux, page 9
Could this be because of what he used to be? A Qyaendri would have no problem in mashing iron like putty. However, when he awoke on this world, he was mortal. There was no denying that fact. When the men had captured him, he had been helpless to prevent it. There was no way he could have affected metal then, but he could now? He had to know for sure. Maybe Casdralla was looking out for him. Thinking on what he had done that led to his being in this situation, he thought that unlikely.
Glancing around again for the soldiers, he made sure none were near then tried exerting his strength upon the metal of the ring. Taking a firm grip with both hands, he mimicked the way he had pulled upon it before. After a minute of straining upon the metal he took a good look at the ring and was pleased to note that it was even more misshaped. Despite himself, he couldn’t prevent a grin from appearing on his face. Perhaps things weren’t as bad as he thought.
After another quick check to make sure his efforts continued to be unobserved, he worked on the ring again. This time he didn’t stop until the ring broke.
The men on either side of him in the line of captives had their attention fixed on the goings on in the soldier’s camp. During his struggles with the ring, they had cast glances his way but didn’t seem too concerned with what he was doing. After all, if he wanted a couple more lashes with the whip, that was his business.
Now that there was a gap in the ring, Larus worked to widen it enough to be able to slip the ring connected to his manacles out of it. Once that was accomplished, he turned his attention to the manacles binding his ankles.
He had less leverage to work with in breaking these apart. While working to free his ankles, Larus came to the conclusion that come morning, there was going to be one less captive for the soldiers to worry about.
Chapter 7
In the wee hours of the morning, the camp was quiet but for the snores of men. A few were about, guards, sentries, those who had to keep an eye on the captives. Of those who had departed to the north earlier in the evening there had been no word. One other was awake as well. Though if by chance one of the guards were to look his way, they wouldn’t see anything out of the ordinary.
Larus was lying still, his gaze fixed unwaveringly upon the nearest guard. At the moment, the guard was glancing his way, making sure the captives were quiet. Then when the guard’s gaze turned to another quarter, Larus resumed inching his way along the ground toward the robed man.
It was painstakingly slow, but he couldn’t afford to take the chance of anyone discovering what he was about until he had talked with the robed one. The man had to be a priest, and could very well be his only hope of discovering whether or not Casdralla had followers upon this world.
Almost halfway there, he had to make sure not to disturb the captives he passed. For should any awake and discover what he was doing, and that he was free of his manacles, their reaction would assuredly draw the unwanted attention of the guard.
Sliding a few feet along the ground, pausing only when the guard looked his way, he would then resume his progress once the guard’s gaze left him. Little by little, he worked his way ever closer until finally, was close enough that he could reach out and touch the robed man. Twice more he scooted before coming close enough to be able to converse with him in hushed whispers. Reaching out, he gently touched the man’s shoulder.
The man snapped awake and started to sit up before Larus grabbed him by the robe to keep him from rising. “Stay down!” he whispered. The robed man tensed as he looked upon Larus, then slowly relaxed and complied.
“Who are you?” the man asked.
“Someone in need of your help,” replied Larus. That reply seemed to satisfy the man.
“How may I help you my son?” he asked.
My son? That cinched it, the man was definitely a priest. “Do you know where I could find a priest of the goddess Casdralla?” he asked.
The man’s eyes widened in surprise. In the situation they found themselves, this was probably the last question he expected to hear.
“Yes,” he replied. “I do know where one could be found.”
Larus was beside himself in excitement. Casdralla already held a presence on this world. He wouldn’t have to go through the long and arduous task of creating the religion from scratch. “Where?” he asked.
The man reached up and touched his chest. “Right here,” he explained. “I am Father Thomas, priest of Casdralla.”
“Oh, Father!” he exclaimed a bit too excitedly. Off to his right he saw the nearest guard turn and look in their direction. Both he and the priest held still while the guard searched for the source of the disturbance. His gaze roved across them and the other captives nearby several times before the guard turned away. When Larus again brought his attention back to Father Thomas, he saw the priest looking at him oddly. “What?” he asked.
“Were you sent by our Lady?” Father Thomas asked.
“What are you talking about?” Larus asked. He was confused by Father Thomas’ question. “Why would you ask that?” Then out of the corner of his eye he saw his hand. Or rather, how his hand was surrounded by a soft, nimbus-like glow. The glow was that of the Qyaendri. Surprised to say the least, Larus immediately suppressed the glow and it disappeared. Such a nimbus-like glow surrounded each and every Qyaendri. Whenever they were around mortals they tended to suppress it so as not to give themselves away. Mortals often acted unpredictably when in the presence of what they didn’t understand.
Turning back to Father Thomas, he said, “No. I was not sent by ‘our Lady’. In fact, I came to you in order to receive your blessing and be able to serve the Lady with all my heart and soul forevermore.” He could see Father Thomas’ gaze roving over him, searching for the nimbus which was no longer evident. He hoped the priest would believe he had imagined the glow.
Finally reaching some sort of conclusion, his gaze came to rest as he again looked into Larus’ eyes. “This is hardly the place for such things,” Father Thomas told him. “The blessing of which you speak is long, requiring many gestures. I doubt if our captors will allow us sufficient time in order to complete the ritual.”
“Can’t you just wave your hand or something and have it done?” Larus asked. His excitement at finding a priest of Casdralla diminished greatly when he saw the priest shake his head no.
It was one of the peculiarities in dealing with mortals that on every world, the rituals performed by Casdralla’s priests differed. On some worlds, what Larus had requested was a very simple matter. All you needed was for him to state his desire, the priest would acknowledge it, and that was that. But on others, as this one seemed to be, more elaborate rituals had been developed.
Larus knew he couldn’t make the priest take shortcuts. For if the priest didn’t believe the ritual valid, it would have no affect, and Larus would be no better off than he was now.
“I am afraid you shall have to wait until our circumstances change,” Father Thomas said sadly. Then his eyes grew wide as he for the first time noticed Larus was not bound by manacles. “My son,” he began, “how…?”
Larus stopped him by putting a finger to his lips and giving a quick shake of his head. “That’s not important right now,” he whispered. His mind was churning as it worked to quickly contemplate this new development. If the ritual required more time than what they would have among the captives, then they would have to do it somewhere else. Someplace that would afford them sufficient time to complete the ritual. And for that to happen, the priest would have to accompany him when he left the camp. Reaching out, Larus took hold of the man’s manacles.
“What are you doing?” Father Thomas asked. He was very much confused by what was happening. He had earlier observed the man being brought in and attached to the captive line. Now he was free?
“I’m getting you out of here Father,” the man replied.
Father Thomas grabbed hold of the man’s hands then removed them from the manacles attached to his ankles. As the man turned to look up at the priest, Father Thomas said, “I cannot leave my people in their time of suffering.”
The man’s face grew determined as their eyes locked. After a moment’s silence, the man said, “You could do more for them by coming with me and raising the alarm.”
“But…,” he began to argue as he turned his gaze over the sleeping forms of his people. The people who looked to him for comfort and hope. How could he simply abandon them in their time of need?
Then as he turned back to deny the man’s request for him to join him, Father Thomas caught site of the tent in which the stranger, whom the Qyaendri had delivered in answer to his prayer, was held.
“Look Father,” the man was saying, “I know it’s hard for you to leave these people, but you must!”
Father Thomas offered up a prayer for wisdom in making the right choice, though he already knew what he must do. Casdralla had sent the stranger to save his people, and as long as Hunter remained a captive of the Ullentites, such would be unlikely. If he must abandon his people to save them, then so be it. He must stand firm in his faith.
Releasing the man’s hands, he said with no little emotion in his voice, “Very well. I will go with you.” He saw the man’s eyes light up at his words. “But first we must rescue someone.”
“Who?” the man asked.
Father Thomas pointed toward the tent. “A man is held within,” he explained. “We must bring him with us.”
“Are you crazy?” the man asked. A little too loudly as it turned out. The guard turned and looked their way again. He and Father Thomas held still on the ground until the guard once more turned his gaze elsewhere.
“No,” he replied. “Only the rescue of the man within that tent would convince me to leave my people.”
Larus could see the determination in the man’s eyes. He wouldn’t leave unless whoever was in the tent came with them. For just a moment he thought of absconding with the priest despite his objections anyway, but then thought of his ultimate goal. If he took the priest against his will, how likely would the priest be to perform the ritual making Larus one of Casdralla’s followers? There was nothing for it. If he wanted the priest to come along willingly, they were going to have to rescue the man within the tent.
“Very well,” replied Larus. Taking hold of the man’s manacles, he began working to free him.
“What is your name my son?” Father Thomas asked.
“Larus,” he replied.
“Thank you, Larus,” the priest said.
Larus merely nodded as he worked on the metal encircling the man’s ankles. To his surprise, his ability to rip apart the metal had increased. In a matter of minutes, he had both of Father Thomas’ legs free. It would seem he was throwing off the shackles of mortality and regaining the abilities of a Qyaendri.
“Come on,” he told Father Thomas, “let’s go.” Then he saw the wonder in the priest’s eyes at his ability to break apart the manacles binding him.
“Father?” a voice said behind Larus. Glancing back, he saw a young woman staring at him and the priest.
“Lynndra,” Father Thomas said quietly, turning his attention from Larus to the woman.
“What’s going on?” Turning her gaze to Larus she asked, “Who are you?”
“I have to leave,” Father Thomas explained. “He is taking me to get help.”
“What?” she exclaimed with no attempt at being silent. “You’re leaving?”
“Shhh!” Larus urged. Glancing over to the guard, he saw him looking straight at them.
“You can’t leave!” she cried as she sat up.
Others around them were beginning to stir, having been awoken by the woman’s cry.
“Be quiet!” commanded Larus as he motioned the woman to lie back down. The guard was now making his way toward them. The look on his face said there would be hell to pay.
“Calm down, Lynndra,” Father Thomas said reassuringly. “I do this for the sake of our people.”
“No,” she cried softly.
“What is going on here!” demanded the guard as he drew closer. In his hand he held his whip, ready to thrash anyone at the slightest provocation.
By this time over a score of the captives were awakened and sitting up. As soon as the guard spoke, many of them immediately laid back down. To Larus chagrin, Lynndra was not one of them.
Father Thomas cast a worried glance toward Larus. The look he received in return was hard to make out.
Larus came to his feet and turned to face the oncoming guard. “Be ready,” he said quietly to Father Thomas. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the priest nod. Turning his attention fully onto the guard, he caught sight out of the corner of his eyes other guards hurrying toward them.
“Get back on the ground!” ordered the guard. Raising the whip, he struck out at Larus.
Trying to grasp the fast moving whip, he held still. The whip connected and was snatched back out of his reach before he could grab it. He was only moderately surprised when the area upon where the whip struck produced only a small amount of pain that was quickly gone. More proof that he was moving further from the coils of mortality which bound him.
“Down!” the guard yelled.
“No,” he replied.
Again, the whip lashed out toward him. This time however, the whip seemed to slow ever so slightly as it came forward. Reaching out, Larus caught the end. Before anyone realized what was happening, he had yanked on the whip and pulled the guard off balance.
Springing into action, Larus leapt forward and caught the guard. Wrapping one arm around the man’s head, he twisted and broke his neck. Then pulling the man’s sword from its scabbard, he let the body fall.
“Let’s go,” he said to Father Thomas.
Father Thomas came to his feet quickly and looked at the people he was abandoning. “May the Lady protect you all,” he said as feelings of guilt practically consumed him. It took every ounce of will he could muster to move from those placed under his protection.
Hands reached out and gripped his robe, faces looked up imploringly for him to take them too. Faith in the Lady was the only thing enabling him to continue. “I’m sorry,” he said, as he pulled his robe from the grips of people he had lived with for years. Tears fell from his eyes as he saw one mother holding up her babe toward him. He almost gave in and took it, but then the sound of swords striking together brought him back to what was of paramount importance. The rescue of the stranger sent by the Lady to save her people.
Larus was engaged with two guards, a third lay dead on the ground. Hands of those attached to the captive line dragged the dead guard closer where they relieved him of his knife, sword, and the captive controlling cudgel as well as the whip every soldier in charge of the captives bore.
Father Thomas came up behind Larus as the second man fell, then watched as the sword in Larus’ hand moved with incredible velocity as it struck the third one down.
“Come on,” urged Larus as he raced across to the tent holding the stranger.
Soldiers shouted as scores raced toward the captive area.
Larus ran with all the speed he could muster. By the time he reached the tent, Father Thomas had fallen behind. The guard before the tent was quick to realize Larus was heading for him and braced for the attack. Before Larus could reach him, the soldier shouted a warning and another soldier emerged from within the tent with sword drawn.
He didn’t even pause. Racing forward, Larus struck out at the guard and had his blow knocked to the side. The other man thrust at Larus’ midsection and scored a long painful cut across Larus’ stomach as he tried to dodge to the side.
Pain flared from the cut with great intensity though it was shallow. Striking out again, Larus’ blow was again knocked to the side by the first soldier as the sword of the second sank into his right shoulder.
Crying out, Larus fell back as blood flowed from the wound. The two soldiers pressed forward. From behind him he could hear Father Thomas approaching, prayers issuing from him with great speed. All of a sudden, the pain began to diminish. Encouraged, he launched another attack.
This time his blow passed through the soldier’s defenses and impaled him through the heart. When the second one stuck out at him, he was able to nimbly dodge to the side to avoid the blow. Using his left hand, he took hold of the soldier’s wrist. Twisting, he heard bones snap as the sword fell.
Pointing to the tent, he shouted, “Get him!” as he ran the man through with his sword. Other soldiers were almost upon them. The pain in his shoulder was gone, as was the throbbing of the cut along his stomach. Almost laughing from the exhilaration of the fight, he turned toward the half dozen soldiers approaching. Raising his sword, he made ready to meet them.
Father Thomas finished a final prayer for Larus as he opened the tent flap. Inside he saw the stranger tied to a chair. “Hunter?” he said as he entered. Hunter’s head lolled to the side. The man was unconscious and his body showed extensive evidence of brutality. His hair was matted with blood, clothes torn, dark bruises marred his skin.
“Lady help him,” he prayed as he rushed to the stranger’s side. “Let him still be alive.” A quick check revealed that he still lived.
Outside the tent the sound of swordplay intruded upon the quiet inside. Next to the chair wherein Hunter sat was a table bearing an assortment of tools used in interrogation. One of them was a small knife.
Picking up the knife, Father Thomas quickly applied it to the ropes binding the unconscious man. First he cut the rope binding Hunter’s legs to those of the chair, then he began freeing his wrists. Throughout it all he quietly voiced a steady stream of prayers. Once the last bond was cut, Hunter sagged in the chair.
