The Nexus Wars: Book 01 - Demon Gates, page 12
The first drops of moisture hit him as he was half dozing. He was sleepily thankful for the rain, hoping it would keep the Trolls indoors, not in the least bit caring that by morning he would probably be soaked, or worse, snowed under. He drifted off to sleep, conscious of the darkness around him taking on a foggy atmosphere, and he knew in an instant where he was.
***
Faint movement came from within the dark confine of the cave. Its entrance, a worn vertical gash in the cliff face, was almost unnoticeable in the afternoon gloom, but Valdieron had been watching the cave for more than a day now, so he knew where to look.
He lay horizontally on a large tree branch overhanging the cave entrance, less than thirty feet away. The lower branches and leafage of the rounded Holm concealed his position.
He stretched to ease his cramped muscles. He took a little extra time to stretch his right leg, the gash created by the rock’s impact almost healed over, yet the bruising and soreness were gone. His left shoulder was still a little tender and stiff, but it too was healing fast.
He had found the cave late the previous afternoon. His search for the Trolls had followed the stream north towards the more rocky terrain of higher country where he guessed they dwelled in their caves and burrows out of the sun. His decision had proven fortuitous, for a chance glimpse of a lone Troll late in the day had allowed him to follow it undetected, which led him straight to where he was now. In his rage he had nearly attacked the Troll on sight. He checked himself with the grim reality that this Troll would die eventually, along with any others it may lead him to.
This thought stuck with him now as he sat his silent vigil, cursing softly once as his stomach rumbled. He took out a block of cheese and the remainder of his bread, regretting not having taken the time to hunt for more tasty fare that morning.
It was an hour after sunset, with fading pink clouds lying over the jagged western horizon. More movement drew his attention back to the cave’s opening. He made out four figures, obviously Trolls by their size, gathered outside the cave waiting for the deeper darkness of twilight before moving noisily off to the east.
Pondering this small group, Valdieron slipped down from his perch as silently as possible and set off after them, using the sound of their movement to guide him in the gloom. With an arrow nocked in his bow, he used trees and foliage to mask his movements as he moved parallel with them.
They walked for some time, thankfully not too fast so Valdieron didn’t have to scamper to keep up. Still, the darkness hampered him and he cursed silently every now and then when his footfalls broke the silence. The Trolls seemed to be more determined to reach their destination.
After travelling for what Valdieron guessed to be two or three miles, the Trolls slowed, their movements more cautious and silent. They made not a sound between themselves other than loud sniffing and an occasional guttural grunt. Each carried a stout cudgel as thick as a man’s leg, and each wore what appeared to be vests of thick hide.
A faint glow from up ahead caught Valdieron’s attention and he slowed, skirting away from the Trolls as he scanned the area. The glow was coming from a large copse of trees, flickering with what he guessed to be firelight.
The Trolls had slowed to barely a crawl, creeping closer to the light with remarkable stealth and intelligence, for they approached from downwind. They were obviously scouts, sent to investigate a trespassing into the area.
A large clearing opened up as Valdieron edged closer. A rough uprising of snow topped rock sprang from the centre, several feet in height and twice as many across. Visible beneath the dark boles of small trees were several figures, camped around the rock. Three large tents and several smaller ones were erected off to the left. A long line of horses was tethered to a rail opposite the tents. There were easily forty horses, outnumbering the men at least two to one. From where he crouched behind an old stump, Valdieron could not see any sentries. As a result of the thick canopy above, the ground supported only a sparse scattering of snow.
Movement brought his attention back to the Trolls, and he found they were retreating away from the light. Once they were far enough from the faint glow, they rose and began to retrace their steps, probably back to the lair.
Valdieron hesitated. Were the Trolls returning to report the presence of the men? It was likely, as the presence of few men and great number of horses presented the Trolls with a rare opportunity to feast.
Valdieron considered following the Trolls to discover their plan, but decided against it. The men at the camp appeared to be armed and could probably handle themselves. He thought about warning the men, though something about them held him back. Armed men so far up in the mountains was very odd. He wondered if they were poachers, which would account for so many horses. He decided to sit back and see what eventuated, hoping the men would give a good account for themselves. If however, he saw the men might be something other than poachers, he could still alert them later.
He shifted to make himself more comfortable when he was grabbed him from behind and a gloved hand was pressed against his mouth. He struggled as best he could, yet the person was strong and knew how to keep him at bay. Finally Valdieron ceased his attempts to break free.
“Drop the bow,” came a whispered command, and when Valdieron hesitated the hand holding his mouth tightened, twisting his head painfully. He relinquished the hold on his weapon, albeit slowly.
“Now, what have we here?” The question was rhetorical, whispered in a calculating tone. “A boy? No. A young man by his look. A spy? I think not. Yet he has weapons. Bow, strong yet not particularly well crafted. Knife, old and worn, but not on men’s hides, i’ll wager. And a sword. Gold pommel, archaic design, looks authentic. Who are you boy? Where are you from?”
Valdieron’s mind raced as the grip on his mouth was relinquished slightly. He could tell by the man’s attitude that he should not speak in more than a whisper.
“Valdieron, Sir. I am from the village of Shadowvale, not far from here to the south.” He saw no point in lying to the man, as it would serve no purpose later if he were made to repeat it.
“A village, you say. And how came you upon that sword you wear? That is no farmer’s weapon, though your bow may be.”
He hesitated, and something pressed against his back, digging in enough to make a point. “I chanced upon it in a cave not far from here, Sir. That is truth, I swear it.”
“Hmmm. Look at me, boy!” Valdieron was spun sharply, finding himself level with the man, who stooped slightly to stare at him. He was lean and angular, wearing dark leathers for concealment and his face was marred with a dark smear of dirt or mud. He appeared youthful yet stern, with unblinking dark eyes that held Valdieron in their depths.
“I believe you are what you say you are. Take up your bow and leave. Return to your village. This is not a good time or place for you to be here, understand!” Valdieron nodded grimly, wondering at the man’s actions. Did he know of the imminent danger of the Trolls, or was he referring to something Valdieron did not know about?
“But, Sir -”
“Not now, Kid. Look, it’s-. Damn!” The man cursed as he cocked an ear, as if hearing something which Valdieron failed to catch. Suddenly, from out of the darkness, another figure appeared, like a spectre, silent and invisible.
“What have you there, Cash?” asked the new man, who appeared short and bulky beneath his dark apparel. His voice was low yet harsh, and Valdieron could tell that the two men were not particularly fond of one another.
“A boy, Telor, armed but apparently not dangerous.” His tone sounded slightly condescending to Valdieron, yet if the man Telor noticed, he did not show it.
“A spy, you mean. Bring him along. Hakkel will want to interrogate him.” Seeing Valdieron’s bow, he picked it up and turned to lead them back towards the camp.
The man who caught Valdieron hesitated, as if weighing up the wisdom of some other action, yet finally he clasped Valdieron by the arms and deftly secured his wrists together behind his back.
“Sorry about this, kid,” he apologised. They followed Telor towards the glow of the clearing.
The clearing was in fact egg-shaped, fifty paces across at its widest with the rocky outcrop in the midst of the wider end, while the horses were lined up at the narrower end. Muffled shouts of warning rose as the three passed from the veil of wooded darkness into the light. Men were standing with weapons drawn. Valdieron surreptitiously counted twelve men, making the total fourteen with the two scouts, Cash and Telor. Half a dozen possible sentries made the number a score of men, give or take a few.
The group dispersed when they realised there was no threat, back to the blazing campfire to the left of the rocky outcrop, others to their tents. One man stepped from a dimly lit tent, dishevelled and wobbly, the cause of which probably being the tankard he carelessly waved around in his hand. He seemed to half-turn to address someone back inside the tent, and made some ribald quip that seemed somewhat out of place until a long-haired but equally dishevelled woman peered outside the flap to make an equally ribald remark back at the man.
He was large of build and slightly more than average in height with black skin, though tanned more than naturally coloured. He was also the hairiest man Valdieron had ever seen, with a full, tangled beard and a matt of hair where his chest should have been, visible beneath his unbuttoned shirt. A long, pointed weapon which Valdieron thought was a rapier hung at his waist, opposite a long-bladed knife.
“Well, Cash, what have you found? A spy, perhaps?” The man Valdieron assumed was Hakkel stepped before the three and gripped Valdieron by the hair, forcing him to lock eyes. His blood-shot eyes gave him a menacing appearance as he glared at Valdieron, who held his gaze even as the stench of ale on the man’s breath and clothes threatened to make him gag.
“I’ll warrant he’s a spy, sir,” interceded Telor, drawing a dagger for emphasis, which he pointed at Valdieron. From the corner of his eye, Val noticed the man, Cash, tense slightly. “He may look like a boy, but they’re not gonna send a man with ‘Spy’ written on him, are they?”
“And what do you suggest we do with him?” sneered Hakkel.
“Torture, to be sure, Captain.” Telor’s eyes widened with pleasure as he twisted the knife around before him and leered wickedly. “Force him to talk, or we cut out his heart and torch it on the fire before his dying eyes.” It appeared to Valdieron that Telor was not one to think out a situation before he spoke. By the defiant look he shared with Cash, also, it was obvious he was trying more than a little to gain the favour of Hakkel.
“If I may, Sir,” interceded Cash, speaking for the first time. “If this boy,” he emphasized the word ‘boy’, “is in fact a spy, he will likely tell you nothing, even at the point of a dagger or with his heart grasped in front of his eyes. I suggest,” once again he emphasized this last word with a quick glance as Telor who scowled, “that we keep him tied up in plain sight. That way, if any others come after him, they will think less of approaching, especially with me standing beside him with a dagger at his side.”
Hakkel stood unmoved for several moments then laughed coldly. “Why the hell not. I’m too busy right now anyway. Search his pack, and bring his sword to me when you’re done.” He let Valdieron’s head drop as he released his hair, but not before growling angrily. He nodded for Telor to return to his duties then disappeared back inside the tent, which erupted with a bellowing growl and playful female laughter. Telor cast one last defiant glance at Cash then disappeared silently into the darkness of the woods.
“Come, boy,” growled Cash, grasping Valdieron by the arm and propelling him towards the rocky outcrop, not roughly, but seemingly forceful should anybody notice.
He was forced to sit at the base of the rock while Cash removed another piece of cord from a pouch at his waist and secured his feet. As he worked, Cash glanced from Valdieron to Hakkel and back. “I’m sorry for this, kid, but it was the best I could come up with given the circumstances. You’re lucky the Captain is tired or he may have just strung you up, just for the pleasure of it. Spies aren’t that welcome around here, if you get my meaning.”
“I’m not-” began Valdieron, reiterating his claim, but Cash threw up a cautioning hand, glancing quickly at Hakkel. “Not so loud, boy. Hakkel may have been lenient this time, but if he thinks you’re trying to give warning to any in earshot, he’ll be quick to change his mind. Understood?” Valdieron nodded with a grimace as the cord tightened around his ankles.
“I’ll take these,” he quipped, untying Valdieron’s sword from his back and removing his knife from its sheath. “Captains orders, you know,” he added softly. Valdieron nodded, as Cash tossed his sword to one side. Maybe as some sign of remorse, the man gave his pack only a cursory check, as if to satisfy anybody watching.
“You’re making a big mistake,” he whispered, not threateningly, but with a quiet surety. “I did not happen upon your camp by chance. I was following a scouting group of Trolls who crept up on you. They’ve probably returned to the others right now, a cave less than an hour away, and will be returning soon.”
“Trolls, you say?” asked Cash indifferently, moving a short way to the side with his back to the rock, holding Valdieron’s sword. “Saw some signs of them back in the lower country, tracks and dung. How many did you say there were?”
Valdieron sniffed defiantly and turned his gaze to the front, staring at the darkness beyond the tree line. “You’ll find out soon enough,” he promised.
“Right,” returned Cash softly, glancing between Valdieron and the sword a few times, lost in thought.
After his initial anger had passed, Valdieron scanned the clearing, this time with more care. He couldn’t see the tents as they were situated behind him and the rock, yet he used his other senses to gather information. He barely heard the hint of a whispered conversation and the rustling of what he assumed were blankets, and then a low, drawn out moaning, first as if it were the wind in the distance, and then louder, as if someone were in pain. This led Valdieron to some interesting conclusions as he turned his attention to the men around the fire.
A more ragged and different group of men Valdieron could not imagine. Tall, short, dark skinned, light skinned, lean, muscular, these men had the look of a pack of mongrel dogs. They wore patched clothing with odd pieces of armour ranging from greaves to breastplates and helms; with no one man wearing what was close to a complete suit. Their weapons were just as numerous, from swords and daggers to spears and bows. Each was armed like they were ready for war. He guessed most were mercenaries, sturdy looking men with military background, though some looked as if they were street thugs turned bandits, for every distant noise in the night caused heads to turn in nervous fear.
Finally he came back to the man, Cash. In the light he was tall, close to six feet in height, yet with a lean physique which spoke of speed, though from experience Valdieron knew he was not weak. His hands, which gently turned the sword before him, were slender, as if designed for artistry, not brigandry. Even his face, which was handsome and defined beneath the grime of camouflage, was one Valdieron did not expect to see on a man whose life revolved around stealing horses.
His attention turned to the horses. Even at the distance, Valdieron could see they were dirty and worn out, some thin and shaky where they stood, probably the first ones the poachers had captured. Their bridles were secured to long logs dragged into the clearing; while around them lay the combined mess of urine and excrement. There was scant grass available, just out of reach of the animals, and there were no signs of there being any grain to supplement their meals. Such treatment was inexcusable for even the lowliest of creatures.
He seethed with anger when he spotted the faint black outline of a newly pressed brand on the closest animal, a bay mare. The icon was indistinguishable, yet it was obviously new. Many a tail flicked at annoying insects which sought scalded flesh.
His eyes passed over the last of the horses along the line, probably the most recently ‘acquired’. His breath caught in his throat as he noticed the dark main of a sorrel beast. Shakk! He squinted to get a better glimpse of the creature, yet lowered his gaze as he felt Cash’s eyes upon him. Was it possible that they had captured Shakk? It was not unreasonable, as many of the local animals would have been scared off in all directions, even herded by the Trolls towards their homes.
“Seems a real shame, hey lad,” said Cash, as if he shared Valdieron’s thoughts. “They deserve better.” Valdieron half turned to speak, to see whether or not Cash was mocking him in some way but sighed instead. As it was, he barely heard the man’s whispered words. “Better than this scum give them!”
Valdieron shifted restlessly against the rocks, trying to get comfortable. He could not sleep, knowing he could not afford the comfort even if he so desired it. The Trolls would return, of that he had no doubt. It was just a matter of when. Cash brought over a couple of sawn logs to sit on, a welcome respite from the cold snow.
A faint noise away to the left caused him to stir from his thoughtful silence. Beside him Cash stirred also, gripping Valdieron’s sword. He glanced around studiously before zeroing in on the direction of the noise, which sounded like faint footsteps and muffled conversation. Not the Trolls, mused Valdieron, though he doubted if sentries would make such a stir.
Three men entered the clearing. Two wore the dark clothing of sentries and carried short bows. Between them they shouldered the half-limp form of another man, his brown leather clothes torn and ragged, stained with both dirt and blood. His tangled hair was also matted with blood, hiding a downcast face, as if he were too tired to lift it, though he still mumbled to the sentries. They bore him straight to Hakkel, who approached and ordered them to lower the man to the ground. Water was brought, and bandages, as Hakkel leaned close to converse with him. He appeared dazed as his head lolled around loosely as he spoke, but Valdieron was too far away to hear what was being said. He did make out one word, the name of the man, Cash. Hakkel swivelled towards them, eyes narrowed with anger as he reached for his weapon. His face registered surprise, and Valdieron realised Cash had disappeared, where he had been seated within touching distance a moment ago.
