The Tomni'Tai Scroll (Book 1) Page 2

  “Good evening, John,” Talon greeted somberly.

  John nodded in return. He reached under the bar and retrieved a key. “Room three. It’s the second door on your left once you are up the stairs.”

  Talon raised an eyebrow as he took the key. He discreetly motioned to the older gentleman with his head. John smiled and nodded as he placed the polished –but still grimy—mug on the bar. He knew what to do.

  Talon turned without another word and went up the stairs. Thunder from the storm outside masked his steps on the old, wooden planks. He went straight to room number three, slipped the key in and opened the door. Inside he saw a wide eyed man sitting on the bed, with a small pile of coins in front of him, a map stretched out to his left, and a crossbow in his right hand.

  “I knew I would find you here, Raimus,” Talon said. Raimus aimed and fired the crossbow, but the bolt went wide, missing Talon by a hand’s breadth. “You never were a good shot,” Talon commented dryly.

  Raimus jumped up from the bed and started for his sword which lay atop the table across the room. A throwing dagger sunk into his right leg, just above the knee, before he got far. Raimus flopped to the floor, screaming out in pain. Talon closed the door behind him and pulled his sword.

  “I, on the other hand, always hit my mark,” Talon noted with a wry smirk.

  “So, what will you do now?” Raimus asked, holding his leg and breathing heavily.

  Talon smiled, “You know what I will do,” he replied.

  Raimus nodded. “And what of John?”

  “John has not double crossed me, so he can live.”

  “I had to leave Talon. It was the only way. I planned on coming back for you, I swear.”

  “Save it, Raimus. I know you wanted me dead, and I know why. The power of the scroll is simply too much for a man like you to share with anyone else.”

  Raimus took a deep breath in and sat up, pulling his good leg in while leaving the injured one straight. “Well go on then, finish it,” Raimus said. His chest heaved up and down with each breath.

  Talon placed the tip of his sword against Raimus’ throat. “Where is the list?” Talon demanded.

  “I don’t have it with me,” Raimus sputtered.

  “No, I didn’t figure that you would be that stupid, but you do know where it is, and you will tell me.” Talon pulled out his dagger with his left hand and sneered at the man. He crouched low, keeping his sword steady with his right hand while he brought the dagger up to the side of Raimus’ nose.

  “Go on, Talon, do your worst,” Raimus said defiantly.

  “Oh no, old friend, I will do my best,” Talon’s sneer grew to a full smile. “And after you have told me everything I want to know, then I will release you from this world.”

  “It’s useless” Raimus said. “It will never work. Shausmat and Zinferth will combine against the threat of the scroll. You can’t expect to defeat both nations if they are united!”

  “That is why I will ensure the war continues to drive them apart before I unleash the power of the scroll,” Talon said.

  Raimus shot the assassin a puzzled look.

  “Never fear, my friend, I have a plan. I have some contacts in Rasselin who are willing to assist me.”

  “What? You’re working with him? He’ll kill you, Talon. Mark my words he is a viper!”

  “Never mind about him, I will take care of it myself –as I did when you tried to stick a dagger in my back.”

  Raimus bristled and glowered at Talon. “I wish I had killed you.”

  Talon looked down at his gleaming knife blade and smiled. “Now, I believe I was about to ask you some questions.” Talon slid the blade down from Raimus’ nose to his jawbone, drawing a thin line of blood.

  Raimus jerked away. “No, Talon, don’t!”

  *****

  John started to whistle as screams erupted from the hallway upstairs.

  “What is that?” the old gentleman asked.

  “Ah, that,” John started with a shrug. “I wouldn’t concern myself with that if I were you.”

  The old gentleman eyed John warily and pushed back from the bar. He started to back away, keeping an eye on the short, fat barkeep, but John just smiled and continued whistling while he picked up the half-eaten bowl of soup and wiped down the bar.

  The old gentleman almost made it to the door when he felt a sudden pang in his side that doubled him over. He threw his hand out to steady himself, but missed the nearest chair and crashed to the floor. His vision blurred, and his body convulsed in a furious bout of coughs. He looked back up to John with wide eyes and clutched at his throat and stomach.

  “Soup not sitting well with you?” John asked casually with a shake of his head. As soon as the old gentleman was still, John went to work cleaning up the mess.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Kelden sauntered through the double doors of the main hall at the barracks and smiled when he saw his men assembled and standing in a five by four formation in the marble and granite room before him. It did him good to see them again, and in good health.

  The men slammed their gauntleted fists against their chainmail shirts and shouted, “Hail!”

  Kelden returned the gesture and set them at ease. He inspected the men for a few moments before turning to his lieutenant, a young officer of average height and build with a lazy left eyelid.

  “Welcome home sir,” Lieutenant Pendonov said enthusiastically.

  “Thank you, Lieutenant. I trust you have kept the men busy in my absence?”

  “Of course, sir. Nothing really important to note, but the Merchant Guard is always busy.”

  Kelden nodded and smiled faintly. “Pendonov, give the men their orders,” Kelden ordered.

  “Aye sir,” Pendonov replied. “Alright men, listen up,” Pendonov boomed. “This is a simple assignment. There are ten wagons in this merchant band. Each wagon is pulled by two horses, driven by one driver, with each respective merchant riding in the back of his wagon with his goods. This means we have a total of twenty horses, twenty people, and ten wagons full of various goods ranging from herbs and spices, to textiles and jewelry. We will ride in two columns of ten, flanking the merchant band on either side. The captain and I will ride at the head of the wagon train. The journey to Rasselin is two hundred miles. We will be using Leed’s road instead of cutting a straight path through the desert, so it should take four days. There have been a few reports of raiders attacking caravans lately, so we are to provide security. Once the merchants arrive in Rasselin, our job is complete. We will stay the night in the city to rest and prepare provisions for the return journey. Afterwards, we will celebrate Captain Ferryl’s return.” The men cheered and stamped their feet on the marble floor. Pendonov smiled and winked back to Kelden then he turned back to the men. “Are there any questions?”

  Kelden eyed the band of soldiers for a few moments. Then, determining that there were no questions he motioned for the soldiers to follow him. On the way out of the barracks, Kelden caught sight of someone coming toward him.

  The tall man was dressed in a long, hooded robe. The robe’s body was tan, but across the shoulders and hood the cloth was red, with golden crescents and feathers sewn into the design. Kelden knew immediately that it was Karmt, one of Queen Dalynn’s most trusted personal advisors.

  “Karmt, is there something I can do for you?” Kelden asked with a slight bow of his head.

  “I have a letter for you from the queen,” Karmt replied. The tall, wiry man gave a sealed letter to Kelden and then turned and disappeared down the street without another word.

  Kelden watched him leave for a moment before turning to the letter and breaking the green wax seal and reading the contents.

  “What is it, sir?” Pendonov asked as he came up from behind, trying to catch a glimpse over Kelden’s shoulder.

  “A letter,” Kelden replied flatly. “Go ahead and get the men to their horses while I take a look at it.”

  “Very well, sir,” Pendonov repl
ied. The lieutenant motioned for the soldiers to follow him and led the men to the stables.

  Kelden opened the letter and quickly read its contents. He then folded the letter into his pocket and walked to the stables.

  “What did it say?” Pendonov asked when Kelden arrived.

  “All I am permitted to tell you is that I am to meet with Governor Gandle after we arrive in Rasselin,” Kelden replied.

  “What for?”

  “I can’t tell you that, nor is anyone else to know.”

  “As you say, sir,” Pendonov said with a nod.

  “Alright men, let’s move,” Kelden ordered.

  The sun sat high in the sky, bathing the city in warmth while a westerly breeze floated in lazily from the sea. As Kelden led the group from the stables to the market he listened for the distant cry of sea gulls and dreamt of lounging on the beach. He sighed and closed his eyes. He could almost taste coconut milk as his daydream took flight in his mind. After a few short moments Kelden put his fantasy behind his sense of duty, as he always did.

  Slowly, the Merchant Guards made their way through the well-organized blocks of houses and shops that made up Kobhir’s southern district. Many of the buildings rose three or four stories up, as this was the wealthier section of the city. A few people passed through the streets, most of them either servants or tradesmen hurrying about their business.

  The aroma of spices awakened Kelden’s nostrils as he neared the market district. The buildings became shorter, and dirtier, than those in the southern district. The streets here were filled with people of all ages. Crowds gathered around the more popular trading shops and merchant stalls. Pendonov blew a bugle to clear the way, and then Kelden saw ten rugged wagons waiting in a single-file line on a nearby street. Kelden dismounted his horse and approached the merchant at the first wagon.

  Kelden’s eyes widened when he caught sight of the first driver. A short, brown-bearded dwarf sat on the bench with reins in his sturdy hands. Kelden turned and shot Pendonov a questioning look.

  “I didn’t know,” Pendonov said with a shrug.

  Kelden snapped his fingers and walked back to Pendonov with his hand outstretched. Pendonov promptly produced the travel manifest and handed it over. Kelden perused the list.

  “Don’t the dwarves usually keep to themselves in the caves around Cobalt Lake at the head of Dauga River?” Pendonov whispered.

  Kelden nodded. “Not more than a handful of them have emerged since the Mage Wars, and most of those who have were exiled.”

  Pendonov remained silent.

  Kelden tucked the manifest into his belt and started for the wagon. A second dwarf emerged from the wagon and kicked his large foot over the side of the bench, knocking dust from them. The second dwarf’s beard was black, and much longer than the first’s. Otherwise the two of them looked similar enough to be brothers. Kelden withheld his surprise and greeted them with a smile. “Is all in order, good dwarf?” Kelden inquired of the brown-bearded dwarf.

  “I do not like the word dwarf. I prefer to be called by our real name, Silni’Pei,” the dwarf replied.

  “My apologies,” Kelden offered. “I meant no offense by it.”

  “Ha!” the brown-bearded dwarf shouted as he jabbed the other. “I’m just fooling with ya,” he said. “I’m not all that stuck up, like some of our kinfolk are. The common tongue name, dwarf, suits me just fine.”

  “I see,” Kelden said with a slight frown and arched eye-brow.

  “Don’t pay him no mind,” the black-bearded dwarf said. “Aside from driving and poking fun at people, he is largely useless.”

  “Hey, who you callin’ useless you big tub of mud-clots?” the brown-bearded dwarf shouted.

  Kelden pulled out the manifest. “Which one of you is Hargor?” he asked.

  The brown-bearded dwarf stopped in mid-sentence and jabbed a thumb at the black-bearded dwarf. “He is. I am Urgor.”

  Kelden nodded, satisfied at averting a dwarven brawl before even managing to get the caravan underway. “Are we ready to depart then?” Kelden asked, making sure to address Hargor, the more serious of the two.

  “Yes sir, we is ready,” Hargor replied. Kelden smiled at the dwarf’s grammar. “Only, folks call me Redbeard,” Hargor quickly added.

  “Your beard looks black to me,” Kelden noted.

  “Aye, not a single gray or light colored hair to be found, that’s for sure,” Hargor agreed. “It’s just a nickname I got growing up.” Kelden folded his arms and grinned, thinking of a few possible origins for the name. “Well, ya see,” Hargor continued, “it’s more on account of my fighting habits than my natural appearance.” The dwarf let out a small chuckle.

  “His nose has been broken so many times, we truly thought his beard would be permanently colored red!” Urgor put in.

  “I see.” Kelden grinned wider.

  Redbeard slapped Urgor on the shoulder. “This is my brother Pinhead, he and I prefer the open air and travel compared to the confines of dark tunnels and smelly forges in the mountains,” Redbeard said.

  Kelden almost asked about the origin of Pinhead’s name, but he just shook his head with a chuckle, thinking of more than a few possibilities. “I shall ride in front with ten of my men riding on either side of your wagons. I expect to make the trip on schedule and arrive in Rasselin in four days, as planned.”

  “Very well sir, sounds pleasant to me, let’s go!” exclaimed Redbeard. Kelden smiled again and nodded. He and his men then took their positions as the merchants hopped into their wagons. Kelden leaned over, checking the manifest and counting the merchants as they situated themselves. Then, he led the caravan for several blocks to the West Gates.

  Kelden could hear gulls calling out behind him. He savored one last thought of the sea and then gave the nod to the guards at the gate. A team of men drew the massive doors open. Dust popped out from the corners and a sharp easterly wind blew in from the desert beyond. Kelden wrapped a cloth over his mouth and nose to protect himself from the sand and grit flittering through the air. Then, once the gates were open he started the caravan out toward the desert en route to Rasselin.

  The first day was uneventful. The relentless sun beat down on them from above while dust gathered onto the wagons and men. The scenery was as drab and dreary as it always was. Yellow and brown dunes rose and fell like great waves caught forever in a single moment of time. A few whirl-winds kicked up some debris, but the large sand storms had already finished for the year. Occasionally a snake or buzzard would catch Kelden’s eye, but otherwise there was only the relentless sun and the broiling heat.

  Pendonov passed the time singing folk songs while the rest of the men were silent. At times, the two dwarf brothers would chime in and sing as well, albeit off key, but that didn’t stop them from enjoying themselves.

  Kelden halted the group and ordered his men to set up a small camp after they had traveled fifty miles on the road. They took time to care for their horses, and to feed their growling stomachs. Soon afterwards, the sun dropped behind the mountains far to the West and immersed the desert in a starlit blanket of night. Kelden rotated watches with his men as the merchants slept peacefully in their wagons. That is, all except for the dwarf brothers. They had drunk themselves full of mead during dinner and were singing, if one could call it that, late into the night before they finally passed out.

  The camp was taken down early the next morning and the caravan got off to a good start. Around noon Kelden noticed a hawk that would fly over the wagon train periodically. After the fourth time, he dropped back in line and cautioned his men to watch for desert dwellers. While it was not uncommon for carrion birds to search for small desert animals crushed by wagons on the road, Kelden knew that the hawk was a sure sign of marauders.

  The nomadic Tarthun people used hawks for correspondence as well as scouting for food and targets to pillage. Usually they were not too troublesome in these parts of the world. They preferred to attack unescorted caravans, but sometimes the
y were bolder in their never ending quest for riches. In those times, only the cold steel of a sharp blade could convince them to withdraw.

  After a half hour, several men on horseback appeared over a dune on the north side of the merchant band. Kelden watched as they were joined by others until they numbered about forty men strong. Tarthuns numbered in the thousands in other parts of Terramyr, but forty was a large number within Zinferth’s borders. Kelden halted the wagons and ordered his men to stand their ground. Seeing that there were no dunes on the south of the merchants which could hide any other raiders, Kelden signaled for the southern column of soldiers to join him on the north side and make a second line. He then motioned for the men to prepare their bows.

  “Aim for the front row of horses!” Kelden shouted as the Tarthuns started their charge.

  A large cloud of dust rose behind the Tarthuns as their horses tore at the sandy ground. Kelden then raised his hand. His men responded by drawing back their bowstrings. When his arm fell, the arrows were loosed. Horses grunted and groaned as the arrows sunk deep into the necks and heads of the first few horses. A large eruption of dust clouded the area as the slain horses tumbled and fell, tripping some of the horses behind them. Kelden could hear the Tarthuns screaming and shouting. Undoubtedly some of them were being crushed by their horses.

  “Prepare to fire again,” Kelden ordered. His men obeyed with strict discipline. As the dust settled, Kelden counted twenty-seven horses with riders still charging. Some of the raiders had fallen from their horses and were now stranded behind their comrades. The attacking raiders fanned out to prevent a repeat of the previous volley.

  “Alright, now aim for the riders and fire upon my signal.” Kelden raised his arm again. The assailants were now only forty yards away and closing quickly. Kelden dropped his arm. Bow strings sprang back into place as arrows took flight. Thirteen riders fell from their horses as steel shafts drove through their chests. Now with only fourteen attackers remaining Kelden and his men drew their swords.