Guard, page 4
Dallas laughed. “That is an exaggeration! We don’t know how many horses were pulling the wagon.”
Woodland hid his view south, but when Dallas reached the area where he guessed the dragon had landed, he were not visible. Swift smelled the ground again and turned west.
The woodland area thinned where the ground rose. Pine trees covered the top of the next rise. In the middle, towering over the pines rose one large dragonbane tree.
Swift followed a wheel rutted track around the slope so Dallas took his eyes off the large dragonbane tree. He helped guide Swift around the deepest ruts.
When they rounded the next corner, he located Mage Stantworth, standing in the middle of the track studying the ground.
A flash of light further around the slope drew Dallas’ attention. It was sunlight reflecting off Bren’s neck scales as he stretched his long neck forward to help balance his body while he waddled up the slope to the pine trees.
Dallas guessed he was heading for the dragonbane tree, so trotted down the slope to the mage.
By the time Dallas and Swift reached the spot the mage had been studying, Dallas knew the bundle of brown clothes hid another body. He almost expected to see a slit throat, so was surprised to see pale green feathers on the end of an long-bow arrow buried in the male’s back.
The male was not killed by Misty!
Mage Stantworth walked in a circle around the body, looking for clues as to who killed the male.
“Swift, look for Sweetie’s tracks while I talk to the mage.” Dallas dismounted and walked across to the mage. “Where is Bren going?”
“He is checking the seedlings to see how much they have grown since our last visit.” Mage Stantworth pointed up the slope. He kept looking at the ground as he walked closer to Dallas. “Is that one of your slavers?” Instead of pointing back at the dead male, the mage pointed towards a thick clump of bushes, barely three feet tall.
Dallas walked around the clump of bushes that hid a second body.
It was a woman. She had brown hair, pale skin, and a pointed chin. He noticed a cut in her shirt in the centre of a blood stain. He guessed she was knifed in the chest. A second blood stain, just above the waist band of her dark brown trousers indicated a second knife wound.
“Misty’s work?” The mage waited for Dallas to finish checking the body.
Her eyelids seemed sunken, and her hands were missing. He almost gagged.
“That is not Misty’s work!” Dallas swallowed as he hurried back towards Swift. “Did you find any knives?”
“No. An axe did that.” The mage pointed to where the hands were thrown.
Dallas did not look. “An axe! Then it was not Misty. She only has knives. And throwing stars.”
“I can’t find the eyes to confirm, but I think she was one of the children the council had blocked because she showed signs of seeing ichur years ago. She was travelling with the dead male back there.”
“Eyes?” He shook his head. “I don’t believe Misty would remove eyes.” He swallowed again because his stomach rebelled against the thought of removing someone’s eyes, whether dead or alive.
“No. She could have killed the female, but there are signs over there,” he pointed further along the dirt track, “and off to the east that indicate three riders arrived after Misty and Sweetness left.” He dropped his arm. “I expect they removed the hands and eyes after they killed the male.”
“Not Misty!” Dallas could not believe she would mutilate a body. “Sweetie would not let her do that.”
“I think I know who did this. I will call on them on the way back.” The mage walked down the track then squatted and studied the ground.
Dallas followed to see what else he found.
“See here, and here?” Mage Stantworth pointed out where hoofs hid wheel tracks. “These were here after the wagon left.”
Dallas nodded. “So Misty might have killed the female, then she followed the wagon, long before that set of tracks arrived, killed the male with an arrow, and …” He did not finish the sentence because he did not want to think anyone was cruel enough to remove hands from a dead body.
The mage stood. “You don’t understand what it means, do you?”
Dallas frowned, ignoring sweat trickling down the back of his neck in the morning heat.
“Whoever removed the hands and eyes is sending a message that this female was a known mage, trained or not.”
Dallas did not have to pretend to be surprised, because he was surprised. He closed his mouth and lowered his eyebrows when he realised his mouth was open.
Mage Stantworth smiled slightly at Dallas not knowing about how the locals killed mages. “Another thing you may not have noticed. The wheel tracks. There is not a second mage capable of hiding the wheel tracks. That makes it easier for Misty to follow.” The mage brushed dirt off his hands. “I suggest you leave Misty to bring your workers back, and you return to Convane to wait for her.”
“No.”
“Then I suggest you keep that badge covered while in Morecrag, and if you need to retreat, cross into Mireland. At least they respect our border guards more than they respect anyone from Morecrag.”
Dallas nodded. That was one warning he would heed.
Chapter 5
Dallas rode south, following the old wheel rutted dirt track that kept to level ground on the western side of the valley and shallow creek.
Fallow fields on the eastern side of the creek lay empty of animals or workers. The western slopes showed more dirt and rocks than clumps of dried grass. The ground waited for rain, but if it did rain, water would erode more dirt, creating washouts on the slopes.
The area needed gentle rain so the dry, cracked soil could absorb the moisture. So late in autumn, there was no chance of rain.
Dallas wiped sweat from his brow. The further south he rode, the hotter the weather. It felt like winter was a long way off.
Swift left the track to avoid another deep hole, then returned to the level ground to continue.
Dallas watched for movement, human or animal, but the dry country remained empty.
When Swift left the track again to avoid another large hole, Dallas thought of the women and children in the wagon. Not only tired and thirsty, they would also be hungry if the slavers relied on foraging for food.
And scared, knowing they were moving further away from their home each day they travelled. Not to mention being thrown around the wagon as the wheels hit each hole in the old track.
The day warmed more, but the air remained free of humidity. He realised if he rode further west in Mireland, the humidity would be worse, so ignored the heat as best he could.
The track wound up the side of a rise in the undulating land, with stunted clumps of trees growing close to the road.
Dallas eased Swift off the track to the eastern clump of trees because they gave more cover. He stopped on the southern side of the rise, and studied the surrounding area.
The land sloped down then flattened out for miles. Most of the land to the south east contained plowed fields, but one large area of tall stalks of corn waited to be harvested. He realized one advantage Morecrag had over Convane was the longer growing season closer to the equator.
While he searched for signs of the wagon, he noticed the closest edge of corn moved. It was not from a breeze because there was no breeze.
He waited until one small female pushed through the last of the corn onto cleared soil. She wore a white sleeveless loose robe that ended at her knees, and her feet were bare. Her dark hair was only an inch long. If her head had been shaven he would have no doubt she was a slave.
She ran across the fallow field towards Dallas.
Behind her, a taller female emerged from the corn stalks, also dressed in a sleeveless white robe. It was longer. As she ran she held the front of the robe up to stop the garment tripping her. Even though she wore the standard clothes of a southern slave, her long brown hair was tied at the base of her neck, the ends flapping as she ran, which indicated she was either a special slave or a free woman pretending to be a slave.
Behind the two females, a boy stepped out of the corn stalks. His brown outfit of shirt and trousers, and dusty brown boots, indicated he was not a slave, but he ran as fast as he could to reach the females.
He slowed to look back across the corn field when he reached the track, then again staggered after the females, as they slowed to walk up the slope.
If they were the shepherd’s grandchildren, Dallas did not recognise them.
He glanced across the corn field again, wondering what or who they were fleeing. The corn tips remained still.
If they were running from the slavers he was following, then the wagon and riders were not far ahead. He needed to keep moving south, and hopefully run into Misty following the wagon, waiting for a chance to kill the remaining slavers.
He guided Swift out from cover of the trees, keen to reach the wagon and slavers before they travelled further into Morecrag.
The three youngsters kept glancing behind, so did not see him waiting beside the trees.
He stopped Swift, and dismounted, thinking it was better to wait until they came closer, so he could question them in the shelter of the trees, in case they had escaped the slavers he followed.
All of a sudden the three put on a burst of speed, heading directly towards Dallas and Swift.
He looked past the three, who seemed to be almost out of energy as they staggered towards the safety of the trees.
Four riders trotted round the edge of the corn field.
The first rider saw the fleeing children and shouted. The other riders forced their mounts to close the gap.
Dallas pulled his staff out of the holder. “Move back behind the trees,” he ordered Swift.
He stepped back until he was level with the first small tree. It was not large enough to hide behind, but he could use the trunk as a shield if the slavers fired arrows his way.
As the sound of hoofs grew louder, the children’s faces changed from fear to resignation. They were exhausted and knew they would not reach the trees before the riders overtook them.
The smaller female slowed to grip the arm of the taller female and help her up the slope.
The boy stopped, retrieved a short knife from his waist and held it up as he prepared to defend the girls. “Go!”
One slaver fell off his mount when the horse tripped in a rut in the track.
The rest ignored him, intent on capturing the three youngsters.
Dallas knew it was only a matter of seconds before the riders reached the three, but he did not want to get involved, because the closer the three came, the more certain he was they were not the shepherd’s grandchildren, so none of his business.
The first rider pulled a black net from his saddlebag and spin it in the air until the weights around the edge caused the net to spread out. He released the net and it sailed through the air towards the boy. The net dropped over the boy’s head.
The closer edge of the net stretched out towards the two girls, extending until it dropped over their heads. As the side dropped in front of the girls faces, the net contracted, pulling them back towards the boy.
The taller, long haired girl screamed, but the smaller girl remained silent as she slid across to ground.
Dallas realised normal casting nets did not act like the net that wrapped around the three. It had to be spelled.
“Follow,” he called to Swift as he ran down the slope.
When he reached the three netted children he raised his staff and swung at the first male. It connected with his left shoulder, but did not do any damage, other than force the male to bend forward until his nose was inches off his saddle cantle.
Dallas slammed the top of his staff down on the back of the male’s head, forcing his nose onto the cantle. The male called out before his eyes crossed and he toppled out of the saddle, unconscious. His mount tugged the reins free from the unconscious male’s fist.
While Dallas waited for the next male to turn his mount, clearing the space between his right hand and Dallas, he glanced towards the netted youngsters.
The boy ignored the tightening net dragging the two females closer to him. He concentrated on watching the small knife he held steady against one square of the net.
Dallas could not see any silver glow, so wondered why the boy did not hack the individual strands.
The sound of hoofs thudding on the ground in front of him was enough to bring his attention back to the next rider preparing to attack.
He swung his staff around until it was parallel to the ground, held it steady before he widened his stance for balance, then waited for the mount to come to him.
Swift galloped around Dallas and slammed her chest into the side of the second rider’s mount. The male tumbled backwards out of his saddle and rolled clear before his mount toppled over.
Swift backed away from the falling horse, lips back to show all her teeth, then screamed a warning.
While the mount rolled, struggling to stand, Swift screamed a second warning, rose on her back legs and stomped down on the male’s chest with her front hoofs.
Dallas changed his grip on his staff by moving his left hand across to the edge, and sliding his right hand closer to the right edge. He stepped to the left, to move closer to the third rider who decided to attack. He also decide it was a good idea to keep clear of Swift’s hoofs.
He pulled the staff down with his left hand and pushed up with his right hand, allowing the top of the staff to flow in an arc so fast the oncoming black bearded, grinning attacker was not aware of the movement until the top of the staff slammed down on his left forearm.
Dallas had already taken a step back from the attacker’s mount and returned his staff to the parallel defensive position before the male realised his hand was not holding the long knife he had ready to stab Dallas.
The male looked down at his forearm. His mind finally realised the impossible angle of his wrist and hand was not good. He lost his grin, but did not shout.
He pulled the reins with his right hand, trying to get his horse to trample Dallas.
Dallas took a step forward and waited for the horse to spin around enough to give him a clear swing at the male’s head. He needed to dispatch the rider quickly, before the last attacker moved in.
The rider jerked the reins hard enough for his mount’s head to turn, while it continued forward. The horse slowed and turned to remove the pain of the bit pulling at its mouth.
Dallas waited until the black bearded male was side on before he swung his staff at the male’s head.
The staff connected with a soft thud.
The rider fell to the ground with a louder thud.
Dallas stepped around the confused horse, and waited for the last male to come closer.
The remaining male realised he was no match for both Swift and Dallas, so turned his mount and galloped south.
Dallas heaved a sigh. His heart pounded, and sweat trickled down his back.
He wiped his right hand on his trousers, then his left, keeping his staff ready in case the fleeing male decided to return.
If the fleeing slaver was part of the group he followed, then they would be warned. Then he realised they did not know he followed, or even who he was. He had time to release and question the three captives before he continued south.
He again wiped sweat from his forehead while he studied the three captives. Deep slow breaths helped slow his heartbeat.
The three exhausted youngsters looked like a slight breeze would topple them, but they remained standing, waiting to see what Dallas would do.
The boy even raised his tightly gripped, small, pearl handled knife another two inches, ready to defend the two females if Dallas attacked.
Somehow the small knife had cut through the net, because half of it lay on the ground in front of the children, but the other half lay on the far side of the track. Dallas could not see any silver residue, so guessed whatever amount of ichur was stored in the net returned to the ground when it was cut in two.
He swung the staff upright with his left hand and placed the base on the ground.
The children watched in silence.
Swift walked forward and sniffed the closer section of casting net. She breathed out, stirring dust, then raised her head.
If Swift was not worried about the net then there was no residue left. Dallas slowly walked forward. “If you are escaped slaves, you have another five or six miles to walk to reach the border.”
“I am Carl, and my sister is Velda. The slave is ours. We call her Joy. She is our healer.” Carl lowered his knife and breathed deeply, as if he prepared to run again.
The smaller female kept her mouth open, sucking in air. Dallas could clearly see her tongue was missing.
“Why were they intent on capturing you?” Dallas glanced back at the dead males and noticed the horses took the opportunity to eat every blade of grass they could find.
“A mage entered our father’s property and killed everyone. He searched the property looking for more of my family, so Joy insisted we don slave robes and flee north.”
Dallas wondered how the shorter female could insist on anything without a tongue. He decided not to ask that. “How far have you run?”
Carl’s sister stepped forward to stand beside her brother. “I recognise you from when you visited our father, Slave Master Idion.”
Carl frowned at his sister, then studied Dallas. He removed his frown when he recognised Swift. “Of course, the tracker horse that visited the day the bronze dragon landed outside.”
Dallas smiled, remembering the first time he saw Brennet. “Your father is dead?”
That explained how far the children had fled. It was over two hundred and fifty miles. Impossible for them to have travelled that far. “How long after the dragon visited before your father was killed?”
“Two days after you left.” Carl looked at Valda for confirmation.
She nodded.
“Impossible for you to travel this far on foot in a month.”
