Chronicles of Den'dra: A Land Torn: Ancient Powers Awaken (26 page)

Emeck on the other hand was pacing his cell in frustration. He felt strange being surrounded by people who had the ability to hide their minds. He was able to sense Urake briefly but then even that was gone. He was frustrated being so helpless. None of the elves that he tried talking to responded. In fact they even seemed afraid of him for some reason. It wasn’t until the woman that had tried getting into his mind on the trail appeared.

“How did you come back from the dead?” Essdra inquired after looking the agitated lad over for a minute.

“
I wasn’t dead.” Emeck laughed.

“
I beg to differ. You had no pulse and didn’t breathe for a good ten minutes.”

“
I don’t know how it happens.” Emeck really didn’t.

“
You almost killed me.” Essdra snarled as she wheeled and walked away.

“
Then stay out of my head.” Emeck muttered as he watched the elf walk away.

Chapter Twenty-One

Cero had spent the last few weeks moving from fishing community to fishing community assisting where he could. Most of the work he picked up was that of being an extra hand during a fishing trip or mending a net that had been caught on a rock during a haul. The work was backbreaking but his young body was adapted to exercise and it kept him busy. The last few days had been spent mending nets but today Cero had gotten a job helping a fisherman whose son was recovering from a broken leg.

The sun was out bright and warm and the sea was a calm slow series of swells. Cero had been pleasantly surprised to discover that he was virtually immune to seasickness. It comes in handy when you were subjected to a day on a choppy sea. Today wasn’t that bad. They had already managed to catch their fill of fish for the day so they were waiting for the afternoon inland breeze to pick up and save them the effort of rowing back to shore. The combination of the fisherman’s snoring, soft rocking of the boat and the warm sun was enough to lull anyone to sleep.

Cero had fallen asleep before too long. Suddenly he got the eerie sensation that he was being watched. Jerking upright he saw that the fisherman was still sleeping. There wasn’t anyone else around to be watching. Cero had felt the sensation before so he didn’t dismiss it.

Unable to sleep any longer he moved to the prow of the boat and stared down into the rippling blue depths. Occasionally he could see the distorted shapes of fish swimming below. The afternoon drifted endlessly on until the breeze began to pick up. The water began developing a chop and the fisherman awoke. Together they lifted the simple canvas sail and began the landward trip.

The sandy shoreline approached at a quick rate as the breeze increased in strength. Using their forward momentum the fisherman ran the flat bottomed boat up on the sand. As full of fish as it was, it didn’t get very far. Once it had been unloaded it would be easy to move up above the surf line. Cero promptly began the chore of unloading the boat. The larger fish were moved to the bigger baskets and the smaller seconds were placed in the baskets marked for drying. The rest were tossed back to the surf where the seagulls seized them gleefully in the growing breakers. Looking up at the sky he saw that a number of clouds were building.

Cero had just finished filling the last basket when a chill ran up his spine. Glancing up and down the beach he caught sight of a couple men in black robes questioning the fisherman he had spent the day with. The sensation of being watched again asserted itself. Picking up the basket of fish Cero ducked behind a pile of nets. Working from pile to pile he tried to keep out of sight. This tactic worked right up to the point when Cero ran right into one of the black robed people while he was looking over his shoulder. Fish flew all over everyone and curses filled the air. Cero took the opportunity to run. Glancing over his shoulder he was relieved to see that the man was more concerned with his robes. Just at that moment the other two men came around the corner and started yelling.

All three strangers then took off running in his direction. Cero took that as an encouragement to accelerate to top speed. He made for the woods behind the village as fast as he could run. Several more men in black joined the chase at the edge of the village. Cero didn’t need the added encouragement. He had almost reached the edge of the woods when a blast of heat exploded on his left. The surprise caused Cero to stumble. Looking back over his shoulder he saw a smoldering patch of soil. The dozen black robed men were not far behind.

Ignoring their shouting he charged onward into the trees. The forest here on this side of the Garoche was different than that of the western side. This side was subjected to copious amounts of rain year round. The trees were larger and moss covered. Green vegetation was more prevalent than grass. Thorny brush, giant ferns and berry plants were scattered in the vines and dogwood. Worse yet a light rain was starting to filter out of the growing clouds.

Diving into a tunnel he felt the brush tearing at his thin shirt. He had not dressed for a trip into the woods and the thin shirt had been more than sufficient for a day on the sea but not near thick enough to fend off the sharp foliage. The tunnel opened through the brush into a path frequented by the forest denizens. The pursuers cursed as they were forced into the brush that Cero had disappeared into.

Running for all he was worth Cero wasn’t prepared for the creek that blocked the trail. His foot tangled in a patch of tall grass and he fell face first into the water. Struggling to escape he pulled himself out on the other side. Spitting out a mouthful of sand he heard them slashing their way through the brush. Forging onward Cero felt another wave of heat. This time it was so close he could smell scorched cloth but surprisingly nothing felt burned.

A moment later and the forest closed behind him. The men in black could still be heard but they were slowed by the creek more than Cero had. He couldn’t think of any way to escape other than to keep going. When his lungs were burning and legs felt too shaky to move predictably he fell to the ground and gasped for air. No longer could the strangers be heard but he had left a trail wide enough for a blind man to follow.

After catching his breath he decided to hide his trail. The forest had changed from the rainforest to a drier climate. Moss still grew everywhere but the damp smell wasn’t as permeating. The trees were taller and straighter and the brush less dense. When he started moving again he was more careful about the signs that were left behind. He had made probably a mile when the hair on the back of his neck stood up. The sensation of being watched made his skin crawl. Realizing that his pursuers were probably gifted in some way. This meant that hiding his trail was useless. What was important now was putting as much distance between himself and the black robed men as possible. Hopefully the rain would slow down the pursuers.

Evening made the task of traveling through the forest considerably more dangerous. With the darkness the sensation of being watched became even more persistent. The brush tore at his face and arms mercilessly. One of the moons was high enough to shed a little light through the drizzling clouds. What little light was available was quickly absorbed by the rain soaked vegetation. A little glimmer off of a wet leave here and a flicker of light through hole in the canopy made navigation difficult in the extremes but not impossible.

Cero stopped short and strained his eyes at the yawning darkness ahead of him. He could make out the trees ahead but there was nothing in between. A sound behind him caused his senses to sharpen. Searching the woods he thought he could see flickers of torchlight and the sounds of brush being stomped through. Picking the direction furthest away from the sounds and light Cero began skirting the dark pit. Unfortunately it seemed to be stretching on forever. The jagged edge of the crack in the earth on one side and a wall of vegetation on the other he tried to find a way over. He was elated to discover that his side suddenly veered towards the opposite side after a distance had been traversed. Just then he heard more brush snapping and curses directed at the falling rain. Inching onwards in the dark Cero discovered that the crack had played him false. This was not a crossing but a jagged peninsula. As he turned around he saw the light of a couple torches appear out of the trees at the base of the peninsula.

Cero knew that there was nowhere to go. The only option left was to catch them by surprise. Standing up he took a step back in preparation for a surprise charge at the cloaked men. Unfortunately the rock he had stepped on was not as solid as it should have been. The wet slippery rock slide sideways and Cero fell backwards. There was nothing to catch him but thin air.

“
Did you hear something?” One black robed initiate asked.

“
Probably just a rock shifting because of the rain. He has to be here somewhere.” The other initiate responded.

“
He has to be. There isn’t anywhere else to go without being caught by the mountain crack. We will find him eventually. Hopefully sooner than later. I just want to get out of this rain.”

*****

“Taric, you moron. Granite’s Bane is going to kill you when he finds out that you’ve been making eyes at his daughter.” Roild was not the usual Garoche Dwarf. He was taller than most but this rarely worked out to his advantage. The dented helm on his head was a testament to this frequent troubles. Taric on the other hand was shorter than most and had the scars and bruises as record of his frequent altercations. It was not uncommon for a brisk fist fight to break out over perceived slights concerning his stature.

“
Granite’s Bane can try all he wants. I can take care of myself.” Taric’s retort was classic to his fight the world demeanor.

“
I won’t be part to your suicide. He’s more than your match in a fight.”

“
That is what you think.” Taric laughed.

“
Wait! Did you hear something?” Roild hushed Taric and cupped his ears.

“
It’s raining in the over world. Could have been anything. Might even have been a wild deer.” Taric began walking again.

“
If it is a deer then we can at least salvage the skin.” Roild the practical ignored Taric’s protests and stepped towards the bottom of the crack. Their torch flickered in the draft and rain dribbled down the sides of the crevasse. It didn’t take long before they had found the source of the noise.

“
It is an over worlder.” Taric stated the obvious as he looked down at the broken body.

“
Of course it is. There haven’t been any seen in a hundred years. I was beginning to wonder if they had all killed themselves by now. It is too bad. He looks young” Roild looked dolefully at the lad.

“
It’s night up there. I wonder what he was doing. At least we should give him a proper burial.” Taric handed Roild the torch and leaned down to pick up the body. He had ahold of an arm and was just about to pull the youth onto his shoulder when the presumed dead boy moaned. Taric yelled like he had been bitten and dropped the boy.

“
No one can survive a fall like that!” Roild was on his knees checking for any other signs of life. He found a feeble pulse and the shiny piece of metal held over the mouth fogged over.

“
Come on! We have to get him to a healer. Now! Roild was lifting and Taric was left to retrieve the discarded torches. Together they made their way back through the caverns and stopped at the door of the community healer.

“
What have we here?” The sour old woman that presided over the clinic demanded.

“
Sharan, an over worlder fell through the crack.” Taric pointed to the thin body draped over Roild’s shoulder.

“
And you want it embalmed so you can hang it on your wall. Touching that you thought of me. Leave me be.” She was in the process of closing the door when Roild burst through shoving her out of the way. Stepping to the bed in the room he deposited the lad and turned to the fuming healer.

“
He is still alive.” Roild announced matter of factly.

“
Even if that worm did somehow survive the fall through the crack he will not last long. Those over worlders have grown soft in the sun. They aren’t as stout as we are. Get that thing out of here.” Sharan exploded.

“
I don’t care. He survived the fall and the hike here so he should at least get a chance. Do the best you can.” Roild towered over the woman.

“
Why should I?” Sharan scowled up unintimidated.

“
I will talk to the Corom and inform my father that you intentionally refused care of a critically injured human.” Sharan stared back for a few seconds before she began muttering and shuffled off.

“
You had better do your best.” Roild warned.

“
You can tell the Corom that I will do my best with the worm. If he dies it won’t because of me.” Sharan then ordered everyone out of the room.

“
Now what?” Taric asked once the door had been slammed in their faces.

“
I suppose I should go tell my father about this.” Roild gave one last look at the door and left for his father’s place.”

“
That gives you something to do but what about me?” Taric scowled at his friend’s retreating back and decided that he had nothing better to do but wait for news from Sharan.

“
Father! Where are you?” Roild stamped his feet off just inside the door sending echoes through the house. The ancestral home had been carved piece by piece, year by year from the walls of the central cavern in one of the larger dwarven communities. Kalsrod was the furthest east of the settlements but tunnels through the mountains connected them with the rest of the dwarven world. Every few weeks a trading caravan would emerge from the tunnels bringing news and supplies from the other communities so they never felt isolated.

“
Roild. It is good to see you. Your father is in a meeting with another Corom member right now. I don’t get to see you anymore since you began building your house.” Roild’s mother, Nayer stepped out of one of the adjoining hallways. The dwarven custom was to move out of the family home once they were betrothed. The first born would inherit the ancestral home when the parents died or became unable to live alone. This lot fell to Roild as the firstborn but it would be at least two centuries before that time would come. Esteris and his wedding date were approaching with frightening rapidity. The worst part was that he had not finished more than a couple rooms of their future home. He had at first deemed it a matter of lesser importance and had spent his time otherwise engaged but now he was feeling the crunch. He and Taric had only left off the work long enough to take the patrol and work the kinks out of their legs.