“Their chariots are smashed,” Tarag said, “their horses slain. We will take their water-skins and their weapons. They will perish before they reach the camp.”
“We must make certain they die, High One.”
Tarag seemed indifferent, but he said, “I will send some of my pets to slay them then.”
“High One, isn’t it wiser to make certain and do it ourselves?”
“We’ve no time,” Tarag snarled. “These are treacherous hills. Carrying bound humans all the way out of the cursed area will take time. No, we must move quickly now, lest the others grow suspicious.”
“As you will it, High One.”
Tarag set Adah on the ground. Mimir bound her as he had the others. Tarag returned to the lich, drawing off the chainmail.
Mimir regarded Joash. The Groom was the last conscious one of the party. He was the only one to have heard the exchange between Tarag and Mimir. As they’d talked, Joash had hidden his spear between two oily looking rocks, covering it with shale.
Mimir now stroked his long black beard. He glanced at Tarag, who almost had the adamant armor free. “You’re brave,” Mimir told Joash. “I knew you had a strong inner flame. Maybe I should take you with me and make you my body servant. In such a manner you would survive.”
“You honor me,” Joash managed to say.
“I do,” Mimir admitted. “You have spirit. You also have the ability to think.”
“But I cannot do as you suggest,” Joash said. “I loathe First Born, and loathe their children.” Nor could he stand being parted from Herrek, his hero. Nor could stand leaving Adah, either.
Mimir nodded. “Come, you carry the woman, I’ll carry the warriors. Together we’ll bring them outside the crypt so no more trolocks may feast upon new spirits. First, however, surrender all the water-skins.”
Joash did as Mimir demanded, and he watched Mimir pour the precious water onto the floor, snap the spears, and shatter the swords by striking them against stones.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Flash Fire
As tongues of fire lick up straw and as the dry grass sinks down in the flames, so their roots will decay and their flowers blow away like dust.
Mimir closed the massive crypt door and wedged it with wood. He mockingly saluted Joash and followed Tarag toward the cave entrance. The moment the two huge beings stepped out of sight, Joash propped up his torch, took out his knife, and cut the others’ bonds.
Joash told them what had occurred, and about his hidden spear in the crypt.
“It matters not,” Gens groaned, as he rubbed his wrists. “The evil ones have slain our horses. Now we’re doubly and triply doomed.”
Herrek looked drained, and a huge knot had arisen on his forehead. The only weaponry left him was his belt-dagger.
“Gens is right,” Herrek said, “We’re doomed, because of our lack of water. And there is no way I will allow anyone to re-enter the hellish crypt, not even for a badly needed spear.”
“Maybe we’re not doomed.” Joash told them about his cached water-skin.
Herrek perked up, and Adah nodded approvingly, patting Joash on the cheek. “You’re resourceful,” she said.
Standing closer to Adah than he usually did, Joash picked up the torch, urging the others to follow him. The stony abominations stirred in the crypt. The things might try to escape.
The ascent up the slippery-steep floor proved difficult. They were exhausted by the last few hours. Added to that was Elidad’s death, which weighed heavily. Maybe just as bad, they knew Mimir and Tarag had acquired that which they desperately wanted. Maybe worst of all, they knew their chances of leaving the Hills of Kel-Hemen alive were almost zero.
“Why divine armor?” Adah whispered, leaning against Joash. “What is its purpose?”
After a slow, treacherous journey, they reached the entrance. To their surprise, they found it unblocked.
They stepped into the sunlight. It was the middle of the afternoon, and it took long minutes for their eyes to adjust. They searched for signs of Nephilim and First Born. There was only the moaning wind and small dust clouds.
“How will we cross the steppes without weapons?” Gens asked. “How will we possibly survive more sabertooths?”
Deep in thought, Adah pulled away from Joash and stroked her chin. Despite her haggard appearance, she retained hope. Maybe a lifetime of battling Yorgash and his Gibborim had conditioned her to grimmer realities than the others. Or maybe it was the teachings of the mysterious Lod.
Joash ground out the torch and tucked the guttered brand in his belt. He led them toward his hidden water-skin. The footing was treacherous as before, and now each of them took their time. Joash could well understand why it would be doubly treacherous for heavier and much bigger Nephilim and First Born. Both Tarag and Mimir would have been slowed carrying them out of the cursed area. With their greater weight, they surely would have broken pieces of brittle stone. Joash wondered who “those others” Tarag had spoken about were.
When Joash reached the ledge where he saw the three special boulders, he scouted for signs of watching Nephilim. Satisfied he wasn’t being watched, he produced the chariot water-skin, and each of them took a precious sip.
“It’s less than two thirds full,” Herrek complained, but the tone of his voice said that some of his spirits had returned.
“It might be enough, though,” Adah told Joash.
He smiled at her welcome words.
Herrek slung the strap over his shoulder and shuffled forward. The others followed. Until they reached the remains of the chariots they saw no animals. They endured the heat and their weariness in silence, but when they saw the smashed and splintered chariots and the bloody carcasses, they groaned and flung themselves to the ground. Gens wept bitter tears and Adah keened over Koton’s loss. At last, Herrek and Joash approached the bloated carcasses. No flies buzzed nearby, nor did vultures soar above, looking down in interest. It seemed that the cursed area had grown. Maybe the awakened trolocks, or Elidad’s death, had caused that.
Herrek toed the snapped javelin cases and the broken javelins. Quietly, he rolled up his banner and tucked it in his belt. Then he collected a strip of harness and a leather cloth. He wrapped the cloth around several fist-sized stones and tied it to the arm-long strap.
“A mace?” Joash asked.
Herrek swung the makeshift mace around his head. It was a heavy and unwieldy weapon, but it could break bones.
A sabertooth snarled.
Joash looked up in alarm. Five hundred yards away paced several huge sabertooths. They were massive, but their fear of the Hills of Kel-Hemen kept them at bay.
Herrek angrily stared at the beasts. “We’re doomed,” he said.
Despite the heat and the danger, Joash yawned. He was too tired to think anymore. He followed Herrek back to the others and listened to their dismay.
“We need sleep,” Adah finally said. “Maybe in the morning we’ll have a good idea.”
No one argued. The bewitching emeralds had forced them to move too fast for too long so that nothing was left in them. Joash tried to stand guard, but he was too weary. He woke once to the sound of roaring sabertooths, and he feared to see Mimir come striding toward them. To his surprise he saw Adah sleeping beside him. Her head, and pulled-up knees, had almost been touching him. She looked so small and vulnerable, so very pretty. He longed to wrap his arms around her and kiss her. Instead, he fell back into a fitful slumber, although he dared to place one of his hands on top of one of hers.
Morning came too soon. He awoke to see Adah take her hand from his. She smiled shyly, then turned and rubbed dirt off her face.