Quazar chuckled. It was a kind of heartfelt laugh that seemed to lift the spirits of the others. “It’s no trick lad. Your right arm is half again bigger than your left from swinging that hammer all day every day. That’s how I know. The fact that you’ve only three whiskers on your chin is how I know you’re an apprentice. Now let me see if I can help that wound of yours.”
Darbon looked from one arm to the other, and back again several times. Matty, who was apparently still struggling to see, made her way over to him. “Never mind that old coot, your arms is hardly noticeable.”
The other haulkatten came pacing back into the camp then. Its chest was puffed out proudly and its muzzle and forepaws were dark with ogre blood. It didn’t hesitate to go straight to the fishmeal. Only after it had eaten its fill did the older creature try to eat.
While Trevin and the others reloaded the two animals, Vanx spoke to Quazar.
“So the king agreed to leave the Wildwood for the Kobalts? How did you get the Blood Stone? Why didn’t the Kobalts just keep it for themselves?”
“The answer, my curious friend, is simple if you think about it.” Quazar patted Vanx on the shoulder. “Ships. Our simple ability to take the Blood Stone from this land completely is why. The Kobalts fear magic almost as much as they fear the sea. They think, and I’m finding they are correct, that the ogres are drawn to the Blood Stone. If they kept it to themselves, the ogres would keep coming to it. Part of the agreement is for us to take the stone from this land to another.”
“How did you get it?” Vanx asked.
“An explorer named Garner was the leader of our party. We negotiated the king’s conditions for a road through the Wildwood with the Kobalts, and then the strange little beasts just handed it over.” Quazar pulled a pouch from his shirt collar. It hung on a leather cord around his neck. In his open palm, he dumped out a smooth, opaque river stone the size of a man’s big toe. It was the deep, rich color of fresh blood. “This was the third time we’ve-well, I’ve been set upon by the big nasties since I’ve had it.”
“The third time?” Vanx was surprised. “How big was the original party?”
“A score of hardened fighters and myself.” Quazar’s voice grew somber remembering the recent deaths for which the stone was responsible. “Their sacrifice wasn’t wasted,” he mumbled as he put the stone into the pouch and pushed it back into his robe. “The ogres come across the plains outside Dyntalla in packs. They thwart our every attempt to farm the land.” The old wizard shook with the hatred he felt for the creatures. “They scatter the herds that have to graze out there and they kill the animals and their tenders with reckless abandon. They don’t even eat the meat. Well they eat some of it, but they leave more than they consume. They just kill, kill, kill. We need them gone or thousands will go hungry. This is a great step toward that end.”
The intense conviction of Quazar’s belief showed in his voice, but Vanx found that he could understand the ogre’s lack of willingness to have their land overrun by the humans.
As if he could see Vanx’s thoughts, Quazar went on. “They must go back across the mountains, Vanx; their numbers have tripled since the kingdom has had a settlement here. They must be thinned out. They are like a plague, a huge menacing plague that will deplete the entire land of its resources if they are not stopped, or at least slowed.
“Answer me this. Have you seen a deer, or a fox, or even an owl since you’ve been in the Wildwood?”
Vanx couldn’t remember seeing anything, only carrion birds.
Quazar put his hands on his hips and nodded as his point sank in. “The ogres have killed them, or scared them away. They have tainted the water with rotting carcasses and have burned the land. They have created an imbalance which cannot be allowed to continue.”
After a moment, Vanx decided that he had to agree.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
I cast this wreath into the sea
to satisfy Nepton.
Shelter well into the depths
those souls you’ve taken on.
The next afternoon, as they continued through the Wildwood, the group spoke quietly of many things, but no one broached the subject of Dragon’s Isle. Vanx noticed that they weren’t alone. A score or more of the Kobalts on their fleet, shadowy mounts could be detected at the fringes of his vision. He thought that maybe even the enta were still helping protect their passage. Whether they were or not, it was impossible to detect. Even with Vanx’s sharp Zythian senses, sightings of their escorts were few and far between. It was only when one of the creatures, the one with the fur sash, came into plain view ahead of them and raised a clawed hand that the others realized they weren’t traveling alone.
Quazar, with Trevin and Gallarael mounted behind, had been leading the group from the back of the younger haulkatten. Vanx, Matty, and Darbon rode the slaver’s crotchety old animal following them. The going had been relatively slow, but steady. The weight of three grown people was akin to a full load of ore. The haulkats could travel like this in almost any terrain for days, but only at a steady pace, and only if they were fed their accustomed ration of ground fishmeal each night when they were allowed to rest.
Trevin and Darbon were riding at the rear on their respective mounts. Both of them kept bows strung and at the ready. Vanx wondered how Darbon was taking the pain of his back wound so well. It had to itch and burn. Several times the boy scratched at it with an arrow over his shoulder. Vanx had long since decided that the weapons, at this point, were redundant. He didn’t say anything to them about it, though; he could tell that the feel of the yew in their hands and the assurance of arrows at their hips went far toward keeping the strain of the situation from getting to them.
The Kobalt barked out a series of harsh, yapping grunts. Quazar reined in the young haulkatten and motioned for Vanx to do the same. Oddly, Vanx was getting the gist of what the Kobalt was trying to convey to them. Quazar understood the crude language even better and replied.
“How far behind us?” he asked in the common tongue. Then with a shake of his head, he made an elaborate hand gesture and barked back a series of noises that he clearly struggled to produce. After the Kobalt responded to his question, the wizard spoke to the group.
“There are men following us, four of them with horses.” His eyes met Vanx’s. “The Kobrary, the leader of them, says they are following our trail and are armed as if they were hunting. If what you have told me is true, then maybe the duke sent his men to clean up the mess.”
“Duchess Gallarain has no doubt gotten the news as well. She would have put out a search for Gallarael, too,” Trevin offered. “But not without the duke knowing about it. He might not know everything, but he does know who comes and goes through his gates.”
“We can’t worry about them,” Vanx said with a shrug. He eyed the Kobrary and wondered what it was, besides the furred sash, that made him the leader of the creatures. “Gallarael has to be taken to Dyntalla. If we dally we may not get there in time.”
Quazar nodded agreement then barked and yelped with the Kobalt some more. When the exchange was over the wolf carried the Kobrary away in swift, bounding leaps, once again leaving the group seemingly alone.
“Four is not the number of a search party,” Vanx said. “How do you think the Kobalts will slow them down?”
Quazar’s thick eyebrows rose suddenly. “You understood us then?”
“I did, but more the gestures than the sounds,” Vanx answered.
“I shouldn’t be surprised. Your race has a great aptitude for understanding the languages of nature.”
The old wizard shrugged and let out a sigh. “Who knows? They gave their oath to the king’s terms, so they
