They made it back to join the rest of their company and distributed the bags among those who’d be less vital in a fight, should anything fall on them between here and the camp.
The orc was still huddled on the ground, back braced against a gnarled tree. It looked up warily as Jerdren came over to stand before it, but the man merely dropped a dagger and a pair of silver coins at the creature’s feet.
“Tell it we kept our word, and tell it to go,” he said to Willow. “We will let it live if it does that.”
Willow spoke for some moments in the rough-sounding tongue. The orc replied briefly. Without another glance around at the humans and elves, it scrabbled for the blade and the coins, leaped to its feet, and raced off through the trees, heading farther up the ravine.
Jerdren turned away. “Let’s go. It’ll be dark soon, and this will be no place for us.”
As they came back into relatively open ground, a bowstring twanged from nearby. Willow gasped and fell bonelessly. A dark-fletched arrow quivered in his back. Jerdren urgently waved the ex-prisoners and those helping them back into the copse. Mead gazed in horror at his twin, then knelt to lay a hand against his throat.
“He is breathing,” the mage said unsteadily, “but I cannot—”
“Wait,” Panev said and gripped Mead’s forearm. “Find the ones who did this, lest we are all killed here. I will save your brother.”
The mage swallowed hard. Trembling fingers sought something in a small pouch at his belt and drew it out. He closed his eyes and concentrated, tears slipping silently down his face.
“Tree,” he mouthed to Jerdren. “There! Up above us!” He drew back as M’Whan and M’Baddah moved into position. They had seen what Mead had found. Half a breath after, two arrows tore through the leaves and branches from opposite sides. With a gurgling cry, an orc fell to the ground and lay in a still huddle, M’Baddah’s arrow deep in its chest, M’Whan’s nearly as deep in its back.
“That it? Just one?” Jerdren whispered.
Mead nodded. His dark eyes, his whole attention, was fixed on his fallen brother who lay as still as the dead orc.
Panev had drawn a small wooden box from his belt-pouch, and, having prayed over the contents, he sprinkled a few grains of a yellowish powder all around the arrow. Head bowed over the slender elf, he remained still for some time, praying in a breathy whisper. Mead started, hand outstretched in protest as the priest slowly withdrew the arrow. The priest’s other hand clamped down on the mage’s arm.
Eddis watched, astonished. Willow was still breathing in shallow gasps, but the outpouring of blood didn’t follow the point. Willow fetched a deep breath, let it out on a sigh, and seemed to sleep. The priest sat back on his heels, his face gray with exhaustion.
“You… restored his life?” Jerdren whispered.
“No,” Panev replied softly. “Though I think he would have died quickly, without what I used.” He sighed. “Mind no one else takes such a blow between now and morning, because I cannot use that powder again this day.”
“We’re going, now,” Jerdren informed him.
They reached the campsite not long before the sun set. A cool wind sprang up as the last rays of sun left the treetops, and Eddis pulled her cloak close. Two of the Keep men went for water and another built a fire in the second pit, over the trove they’d already buried. Jerdren set another to dig out the other. There were two spare blankets and an extra cloak to share out for those they’d rescued. The merchant and his still-bespelled wife were huddled together under the cloak, close to the fire, the two guards each wrapped in a blanket. M’Baddah, Mead, and the priest tended to wounds and the torn bare feet of the rescued guards.
There was hard bread to begin with and a thin soup once the fire was properly going. Willow woke long enough to drink a little broth and eat the bread his brother held for him, then fell asleep once more. The merchant and his wife lay sleeping close to the fire.
“They are exhausted only, I think,” Mead said, “and afraid. The armsmen will be all right.”
“If we can send them back to the Keep, they’ll recover,” Jerdren agreed. He raised his voice a little to include all the company. “That was good work today, all of you. By tomorrow evening, our horses should be back here. Any of you wants to go with ’em, there’s no shame in that, and you’ve earned your share of what we’ve found so far. But I say we’ve got a rest coming. We’ll stay here tomorrow.” He glanced at Eddis, who nodded.
“Sensible,” she said. “We can use the time to upgrade your map and plan our next move.”
“I thought so,” he said. “How’s the arm?”
“Just stiff.” She glanced at him. “We’ve found a fair amount of treasure so far. Maybe we should send it back with the merchant and his wife, lodge it with the castellan?”
“You think that’s wise?” Blorys asked. “I mean, the man’s honest, but what if we finish up here and for some reason some of us would rather not return to the Keep? Makes sense to me not to keep everything out here, of course. It could be found by accident—someone coming by and digging the ash out of the fire pit, going a little too deep. Or if something followed us back here and saw where we’d buried their coins and such? Eddis is right though. There’s a fair amount of gold and all and that after just two days. Maybe we’re lucky, but maybe there’s that much more, back there. In which case, we’d be wise to send some back to be locked in Ferec’s vaults. Make certain we’ll all get a fair share, whichever way we go.”
Jerdren considered this, finally nodded. “Makes sense. We’ll do that.” He looked at Eddis. “So. What’s next?”
“Why ask me?” she said gloomily. “You may as well toss M’Baddah’s fortune-sticks and ask them. Still, we know there’s more caves, we’ve seen some of the openings, and what Zebos told Blor bears that out. It’s odd, though. Kobolds, hobgoblins, orcs, and goblins all living that close together. From what I’ve always heard, they’d be warring with each other, and it would be nasty and brutish. But so far, all we’ve seen is barred doors and guards.”
“Maybe someone’s brought them together,” Blorys suggested.
Jerdren laughed shortly. “Why anyone would—”
“Why not, Brother? Some warlord ousted from another land. Maybe even a powerful sorcerer who’s been chased off by others of his kind. Someone who wants to rule the lands hereabout, possibly take over the Keep—maybe eventually rule all the realm.” He looked at Jerdren, who grinned and gestured for him to go on. “It just seems to me that anyone with such ambitions and half a brain wouldn’t flaunt himself right under the castellan’s nose the way those bandits did. You’d want time to build a fighting force, time to acquire funds to buy weapons—all that.”
Jerdren considered this but finally smiled and shook his head.
Blorys sighed gustily. “Don’t discount the idea. Probably it’s wild and foolish both, but I’m just saying it’s possible.”
“I won’t, Brother,” Jerdren assured him. “Not here. Only a fool would do that, and I’m foolhardy—according to you, anyway. But even you wouldn’t say I’m foolish.”
15
“Things are working out well,” Jerdren told himself as he paced around the camp perimeter and watched his company getting ready for another day of fighting. “Our company,” he added and cast a sidelong look at Eddis, who was some distance away, checking her arrows. “A full day to rest up, thanks to those prisoners we rescued, a good hot soup last night, thanks to the riders, and fresh supplies.” His map was up to date, showing the caves they had cleared thus far, how many monsters they’d killed. He had a separate list he kept deep in his belt pouch of how much trove they’d amassed and where they’d hidden it.