"You may tell these townsmen that they have nothing to fear. There were but a dozen of the creatures, and they had no more than three knives among them, although they fought like wild men, and one of them even dared to throw a club at Klaren. Hit him, too!"
"Is he all right?" Mika asked anxiously, unwilling to lose even one of his men in case there was more fighting to come.
"He'll be fine after a good night's sleep," said Marek, noting Mika's concern with approval. It was always good to have a captain who cared about the welfare of his men. "The club did no more than crease his thick skull. Can you imagine the luck of such a one felling a nomad?" Shaking his head over the disrespect of the dead man, Marek took his leave.
Nomad though he was, Mika could very much imagine the situation. If he himself were attacked by someone bent on taking his life, he knew that he would fight with any means available to him, and he spared a moment of begruding respect for the brave, but dead, bandit.
Bells jingling cheerfully, the wagons rolled along smartly. A strange light, thrown into contrast by the dark clouds now far to the east, bathed the prairie with a glowing incandescence, transforming the bare rocky earth into shining gold and the puddles into pools of quicksilver. The freshly washed, electrically charged air was sharp and clear and held the rich scent of earth and wood smoke.
Although humans and animals alike were still wet, cold, and uncomfortable, their earlier misery was all but forgotten with the promise of food and rest as the wagon train entered the dripping forest.
Chapter 9
The bodies of the slain bandits were dumped unceremoniously in a far corner of the woods where animals and birds of prey would dispose of them.
After double checking to make sure that no more of the would-be cutthroats were lurking in the small forest of dwarf roan wood, phost, and the occasional yarpick, the men set up camp.
It was undoubtedly the fruit of the thorn-studded yarpick that sustained the bandits who sheltered in the forest, supplementing whatever wildlife they might be lucky enough to catch.
Yarpick nuts were as large as a child's fist and were eaten whole or ground into meal. Mika was glad to see that the trees bore a heavy crop and decided that before they left, he would order drivers and nomads alike to knock the fruits from the trees with sticks and gather them into piles. Later, the tasteless fruit would be separated from the nuts which could be sold in Eru-Tovar as well as adding variety to their own foodstuffs.
The men would grumble, of course, but since the nuts were widely regarded as a delicacy, they would do as they were bid.
Right now, the first business at hand was to strip the horses and the mules of their waterlogged trappings and rub them down. It would not do to have sick animals. This done, they were hobbled and let out to browse on the sparse grass.
The men were no less anxious than the animals to be free of their sodden garments, and it was with a feeling of great relief that they rubbed themselves dry with rough cloths and stood in front of the bandits' fires warming their clammy bones.
Mika stood apart from the various groups of men and watched as they snapped each other's flanks with damp cloths and shrieked with mock rage, acting like children.
Mika knew that the play was harmless and even desirable in that it would relieve the tension of the last few days. Should it become necessary, the men would fight better, having had a brief respite of fun.
The wolves joined in the fray. A small, grey female seized the end of a waving cloth, ripped it out of the hands of the holder, and began racing around the camp with all the other wolves giving wild chase.
At any other time, Mika might easily have been among the naked throng, roaring out his bet as to which of the wolves would end up with the prize, but his thoughts were on other matters.
He sat down on a fallen phost tree, its phosphorescent glow lost in the still-bright evening. Later, its pearly aura caused by decomposition would be clearly visible in the darkness. For the moment, though, it provided a sturdy seat as Mika combed out his long dark hair, toweled it dry, and rebraided it into a thick central braid that ran from forehead to mid-back and was then doubled back on itself and tied at the nape of his neck with a length of leather.
Years of experience enabled him to do the intricate braiding both swiftly and neatly. As he tied off the braid, he chanced to look down, and there, lying on the carpet of wet forest leaves, was a single feather, pure white and the length of his hand.
Mika picked it up reverently, knowing from the size and color that it had come from the wing of a great snowy white owl, a huge silent messenger of the north that struck without warning, its prey dying with long, curved talons curling through their organs before their minds even grasped the fact that they were in danger.
Mika stared at the omen, ideas flitting through his mind, wondering if he dared, even as he laid his plans. Holding the feather gently, as though it were a precious gem, Mika located his saddlebags and, dumping his wet leathers on the ground, rummaged through his possessions until he found the pouch that Enor had handed him as he left the camp.
He untied the leather strings that held the pouch shut and pried it open gently, daring to hope that Enor had spoken truly, that it contained more than just herbs and vials of potions. He prayed that it held his father's book. The book that contained all the permanent spells, charms, and enchantments that he knew, and the scrolls that held those spells that could be used only once before they disappeared.
"It's here, Tam! It's here!" Mika said, looking into the mouth of the bag and sighing happily. "Won't old Whituk be angry? I can see his face now-may he eat sour grapes forever!"
Tam wagged his huge tail from side to side, his eyes bright with the happiness in Mika's voice. He rested his huge muzzle against Mika's leg and whined shrilly.
"I think it's above my skill level, Tam," Mika confided. "I'll have to be very careful. I don't want to make any mistakes, not when I'm out of my body. But what could possibly go wrong if I read it carefully and memorize all the words?"
Tam groaned deep in his chest and pawed at his nose with his paw, hiding his eyes. Mika knew that it was probably just a flea, but it seemed as though Tam were laughing at him! Doubting him!
"Don't you think I can do it?" Mika asked, more hurt than he would like to admit. "Come on, you're supposed to be my best friend! Let's have a little bit of faith here! I bet I can do it! No! I know I can do it! And I'll find out what's in that wagon. You wait and see!"
But TamTur merely groaned louder and longer and lifted his muzzle to let out a short agonized howl.
"Fine friend you are," muttered Mika, and yanking the strings shut around the mouth of the pouch, he hung it from his shoulder and went to find dinner.
The wagons had been drawn into a wide circle inside a natural clearing in the forest. A small, dark spring that did indeed bubble rose from the ground at the far east end.
The horses and mules were wandering outside the perimeter of the wagons, browsing on grass and tender leaves. The men had added armfuls of firewood to the bandits' fire and now lounged before it, reveling in its great heat as they ate their evening meal. A feeling of contentment pervaded.
"A good day's work, Mika," growled Hornsbuck. "Waterskins filled. Miles under our belt. Yarpicks to eat. Did the men good to sink their swords into those dungeon slime. Picked them right up. I always say a little killing can do wonders for a man."
"Mmmm," said Mika, dipping his bowl into the communal pot of beans, the remainder of the batch from the previous evening now reinforced with even more beans, bits of smoked dried rabbit, and too much salt. Damp chunks of mealybread added to the bulk.