Chapter 18
Unpleasant Surprises
Sheila the Thief had had the advantage of surprise, and that was the only explanation for getting away so easily.
She appeared in their midst out of nowhere, and the Orcs were confused, perhaps thinking that they were under attack, and their sense of self-preservation seemed to be more important than anything else, more important than beating their prisoner.
Fortunately, the boy had been quick on the uptake, much faster than the Orcs themselves, and had been able to run. If he had been seriously injured, then they might have had a problem.
But as the Orc Captain sounded the call to arms for his men, the confusion had covered their escape. She had grabbed the boy’s hand and pulled him through the crowd of bodies, just concentrating on keeping moving and staying out of the way of the dirty, grabbing fists of the Orcs.
And they had run.
They were still running, with hand locked in hand. Her feet pounded on the dust raising a cloud after them, and her breaths came in heaving, staccato gasps. But she didn’t dare stop.
Clamouring came from behind them, and she knew that the Orcs would not be fooled for more than a few minutes at most. They had to make the best of that period of grace to get as far away as they could. She kept thinking she would use the Cloak and disappear, but only she could use it, and that would have been no help to the boy she’d saved, he would still be chased. And maybe she could save it, and use it only at the very end, if there was no other choice.
She had no idea where she would go next. Because of the layout of the Orc camp, she had had to run away from the direction she had come, and away from Bobby and Hank as well.
They kept no moving, but the sound of pursuit seemed to be getting closer.
Her throat was more dry and painful than it had ever been before, and with each step she was sure she would sink down to her knees and fall fainting into the dust.
She moved to turn right, but the boy pulled her back.
‘This way,’ he gasped. ‘Camp.’
He tugged hard on her arm, and she went from being the leader to the led. Following as best she could, they started to climb. The hillside was not steep, but after a sprint, it was hard to struggle up. The path was covered in loose stone that made her slip and slide. The constant motion, and the exertion had made her head start to spin, the blood thumping through her skull like rampaging horde.
But she kept on climbing, up towards the nearby plateau, which had large rocks and boulders strewn over it.
Then she heard a cry, similar to the cry she had heard before, but this time it wasn’t of pain but of joy. As she ran, the noise seemed to be growing louder.
Sheila stumbled on, hope rising in her heart that the Unicorn was close by. And if she was, then maybe she could help them get away from the pursuing Orcs.
They seemed to turn, heading at an angle away from the straight path, and Sheila would have questioned her companion, but she didn’t have enough breath to speak. He was holding her hand firmly, pulling her on, and seemed to know what he was doing.
Ahead, there was a shout of alarm, not from an Orc, but from a human. The cry was taken up by others and Sheila saw the glint of metal not far in front of them. She gasped. There was a line of men there, all armed all with similar looks of anger on their faces.
The Thief pulled back slightly, afraid once again.
But behind her came the low rumble of the pursuing Orcs and Sheila realised she had no choice. She had no desire to be captured by those vile creatures.
The boy pulled her on, through the line of men, and they let them pass with barely a second look.
The boy slowed once they were though the line.
‘Still not safe,’ he gasped, wiping the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. ‘Camp.’
He pointed. Somehow they had reached the far side of the rise, and down below was a small encampment, perhaps of thirty men strong.
There were so many questions, and she didn’t understand what these people were doing here, or why they were armed like this, or so close to the Orc camp to begin with. But all the questions were pushed aside as she heard the sounds of the impeding battle behind her.
Whoever these people were, they were her best chance of getting some shelter and some food, and maybe even some help getting back to her friends.
As Sheila and the boy approached the camp there were angry cries, and the Thief looked around, feeling intensely alone.
There were men, and tents, weapons and horses, and all the urgent activity of an encampment under threat. She shivered, seeing the swords and knives and shields, with the noise of war and the bitter smell of molten metal.
Running off on her own had seemed like the most sensible idea at the time, but that felt like a long time ago. The previous few weeks had taught her that there was trouble everywhere in the Realm, and she had seemingly walked blithely into danger at every turn.
But though the men stared at her and her companion, no one approached them at first. The boy led her onwards, hardly giving her the chance to catch her breath, though they were no longer running.
The boy came to a stop near the centre.
‘Go in there,’ he told her, pointing to an ornate tent. ‘I have to see the Captain.’
He let go of her hand and turned away, suddenly leaving Sheila feeling totally alone, her hand cold after the warmth of contact.
All around people moved, and there was the sound of voices and the clash of weapons.
Of course, she could have just pulled up her Cloak and vanished, but she didn’t though she still felt vulnerable and afraid. Whoever these men were, they paid almost no attention to her.
She looked again at the tent in front of her. It was larger than the others, and more richly decorated. Perhaps the owner was a leader of some sort. That would be the most logical conclusion.
Around her, a there was a growing murmur, and she glance back towards the path they had come along, back towards the Orcs.
There was nothing there. Not just yet.
But she couldn’t just stand around here in the open, she had to go in and find out where she was. She had to somehow find a way back to the others.
= = =
Hank walked in silence beside Presto and Bobby.
They had looked to him for leadership, and he had given the instructions and the orders and they had obeyed, just as they always obeyed.
But in truth he had no idea what he was doing, or what they were going to do next.
The sudden disappearance of Sheila was bad enough, but now they had missed Eric as well.
That seemed to be the final straw for Presto. He had cried almost non-stop for a whole day, the inconsolable despair beyond a rational explanation. Seeing him like that had made Hank even more afraid.
By the end of the day, Presto had fallen into a deep sleep, exhausted and Hank patiently stayed by his side all night. He’d watched as his friend had tossed and turned in his sleep, crying out in pain and fear. He’d watched as Presto grew quiet at times, seemingly cowed into silence by some unseen force.
By the time he had woken in the cold dawn, Hank was certain that there was something very, very wrong with his friend.
It was easy to see blame elsewhere, but Hank knew that he bore the brunt of responsibility. He had been distracted by his relationship with Sheila, and it had been easier to look the other way. He knew he should have forced the issue sooner, he knew he should have asked the difficult questions and found out what had happened to Presto while they were apart.
Hank knew he would have to find out now. There was no option left. Presto was being torn apart. He desperately needed help, and there was only Hank and Bobby left to give that help.
So he would have to force Presto to tell him what had happened, but he didn’t want to. The very idea that Presto was keeping something important from him made him feel sick.
But it had to be done. Though he had spent the main part of the day arguing with himself about it, Hank knew he couldn’t afford to let Presto break completely.
The new resolve made Hank feel slightly better.
They would travel down the valley, back towards the village. And, that night, he would find out.
= = =
The Mirrors had been set side-by-side in the great Hall and their intoxicating presence soothed away the last few vestiges of anxiety.
Everything was perfect. Everything was in place. No one would be able to stop him now. What was more, the Orc army that was gathering to the North would be a serious obstacle to any attempt to gain access.
And even if somehow the Ranger were able to get to the Castle, it would be too late to save his friend. The Drow would make sure of it.
Venger smiled, drinking in the pure sensations of power coming from his new acquisitions. Together the Mirrors were more than twice as powerful as a single one had been. They had been kept apart for so long, it seemed that they had missed each other. The room sang with their presence and Venger bathed in that feeling and let it permeate through him, soak into his skin and his chest, his arms and legs all the way down to the curved nails at his fingertips. This was power. This was his power! This was his right!
Finally, he stepped up to the Mirrors, looking at them, his head tilted arrogantly up.
At first there was nothing, not even the sound of their song.
Then abruptly, with a roar of magic, he was assaulted by images, past, present and future coalescing around him in a thick web. The intensity increased, the images forcing their way into his mind as nothing else ever had, and he seemed powerless to resist.
And then, the images were gone.
It had only taken a moment, but somehow he had fallen to his knees before these objects, proud head suddenly bowed. He rose, emptiness now replacing the feeling of power he had experienced just a moment ago.
He took a few steps back, and looked at the Mirrors from a distance and they stared back at him like two giant black eyes, as deep and unfathomable as his Master’s.
As his strength returned, so did his anger.
No mere object was going to deny him power!
It was clear that the magic in them was wild and dangerous, but he was capable of overcoming that. He was capable of overcoming anything that stood in his path.
Standing there, looking at the two Mirrors, Venger knew it was finally time. He wasn’t going to wait any longer, for the proper time, or the proper conjunctions. He was going to act right now. There was no reason to wait. There was no reason at all for him to delay his plans. Once he had absorbed the power of his prisoner, the Mirrors would tremble beneath his hand and the remaining Young Ones would break.
‘Shadow Demon!’ he bellowed, his voice echoing round the hall.
Within a moment, the Demon had appeared at his side.
‘Where is my guest?’
There was a despicable hesitancy about the creatures answer.
‘The dungeon, Master.’
Venger turned to glare at his slave and Shadow Demon cowered down. The dungeon, of course. No doubt, the Orcs would be keeping him suitably occupied! But that thought brought no comfort this time. That boy was his prize, he had to desire to see it damaged by any hand other than his own!
‘Come, Shadow demon!’ he said sweeping grandly away from the Mirrors.