Into the Raging Mountains Read online

  “Do not attempt to overreach, Trizzanen,” boomed one gravelly voice.

  “Do not seek to counsel your betters, Slanttic.” returned the second.

  With a loud harrumph, and a showing of bared teeth, the miraculous and perfidious conference of assassins lapsed into silence. All was still below. Even the flies were asleep. Ilion let go of the staff. The scene lapsed into normalcy: just a few cows, various horses and two common, ugly, gray, donkeys sleeping away their calm nightfall rest.

  *

  Awareness bloomed with the gathering dawn. Animals rustled in their stalls, eager for the arrival of new feed and attention from their owners. Ilion was awake, although it was hard to say if he truly had gotten any sleep after overhearing the dreadful midnight exchange. Powers, powers, and yet more powers. His skin crawled all night with the awful intentions those voices emanated.

  He had never, in all of his time traveling and all his expertise procuring objects, never heard of such beasts as he saw last evening, apparently disguised as simple donkeys. Packing his last few belongings that lay scattered in the bound stacks of grainstalks, he descended the ladder. All the animals nickered, lowed, and neighed sunrise greetings to his presence, clearly in search of food. He walked out the doorway and away from the barn with not one glance behind him.

  Before he set out for the next journeystation, hopefully as far as possible from the nightmare beasts, he decided to stop by the inn for a bite of food. The weight of the coins in his purse was much lighter than when he arrived. But the thought of hot dough and warm cacao made his stomach rumble. Perhaps they would have some fresh loaves of bread, cheese, and a bit of dried beef to take along for the walk?

  Entering the main room of the common area, which at nightfall served as a tavern bar, Ilion unshouldered his pack and secured it in a tight little corner of the underbooth. Always wise to place the valuables farther from prying hands. It made thieves’ work a bit harder, and in addition, discouraged the novices from attempting an easy mark.

  A loud grumbling noise came again from his midsection, and Ilion smiled to hide his embarrassment. As soon as the servingmaid came to his side, he was ready to pounce. Ordering enough to easily feed two large men, he devoured the warm bread, fresh churned butter and berryjam that appeared first.

  Food arrived, plenty of it. It was simple, fresh and fairly prepared. The bread did not measure against Alizarin’s wares, but that was to be expected. The expertise of a baker was always appreciated, though the trade fared better in the larger cities. It would be many seasons before he would again have that singular pleasure: watching Alizarin in animated conversation while relishing her fresh-baked bread. Good food and great company were always to be treasured.

  In the midst of his enjoyable mealtime, Ilion could not help overhearing the other travelers in the room, entering in staggered numbers as they came for nourishment. After so many nights of careful eavesdropping, listening in was almost second nature. Among the many conversations ongoing, he heard the specific words, “Corded Family Farm.” He instantly focused his mind on that strain of conversation.

  “Well, we are pleased enough with your trade goods and your guesting. I appreciate the sample and will be happy to send on an order for more should the wife approve,” replied the innkeeper.

  “It’s as good as done then, friend. There is no doubt in my mind that any woman of good taste will order these by the jarful. Where else can you find spiced harvest jelly of this quality? I only have these two cases full from my brother’s recent journey north.” He paused for a moment before continuing, “If you would try the sample now, I can assure you of another three cases to get the inn through the hard cold season. My last caravan leaves for the northern route in five days. Get that good wife of yours in here and give the jelly a taste? I can guarantee it will make us both a very handsome, very agreeable profit.”

  Ilion saw the speaker plainly, leaning against the serving table, as he earnestly talked with the stubborn innkeep. I know him! It is the man who took Alizarin away from Tamborinton, Reth-something. He couldn’t place the name. But there was no need, he knew this man on sight. Alizarin’s friend! Perfect. He finished up his daybreak meal with gusto, relishing the thought of catching the easy opportunity to see Alizarin again.

  The merchant and the trader danced around the jelly issue, never seeming to reach an accord. Finally, the experienced trader did the sensible thing.

  Sighing loudly, he said,“Well, friend, it’s your loss. I would have given it to you at a bargain. Now I will have to sell it to the Snoring Boar Inn down the road for twice the price. All the profit mine and all the custom that this fancy jelly will bring will be theirs. It is too bad your wife wasn’t available for just that little sample.

  “Ah, well … best of the season to you and yours.” With that, he turned away.

  The kitchen doorway sprang to life, as a whirlwind the size of an oven flew out, covered in flour and full of herself. Ilion could barely make out the woman under all the frenzy.

  “Don’t you dare move a step, you snake-oil salesman!” she yelled with forceful umbrage. “You come in here bragging your wares like I have never heard! As if I wouldn’t know knockoff spice jelly!” A loud harrumph of disgust followed. “I’ll have you know, you have conned your last idiot!”

  Ilion was taken aback at the flurry of vehemence issuing from the mouth of the extremely irate cook. With a great degree of relish, the woman laid into the earnest trader, berating him in front of the whole room of patrons, which was undeniably her intent.

  “Shame on you! I hope you got some transportation out of here because when I am finished with you and your fake jars, you will have no legs to walk on!”

  This outraged sentence was followed immediately by the appearance of two incredibly large, broad-shouldered, and amazingly quick young men. Walking in as if from the fields with the casualness of everyday occurrence, they emphatically seated themselves on both sides of the only doorway out of the inn. The quiet that settled over the common room was dramatic, as if she had scared away everyone’s need for breath. Talk was forgotten. The audience was transfixed. After all, entertainment usually had to be paid for to be this good!

  With an almost negligible blink of surprise, Rethendrel waited out the tirade of the mistress of the house. He did not show the slightest impatience, as that might have been a fatal mistake. Instead, he watched the outrageous behavior with the rest of the crowd, as if the verbal assault was not directed solely at him. Ilion was impressed by the man’s calm.

  When the cook glanced significantly at the two large men, they rose and flanked the trader-farmer with the promise of impending pain. There was no way out for the man. Ilion almost felt sorry for him. As the challenge-filled quiet simmered and percolated throughout the air, Rethendrel closed his eyes for a small moment and then bowed his head in the direction of the innkeeper, ignoring the entire scene that the mistress cook had just caused.

  “Sir, you are in great fortune this particular day, as it appears there is someone with a burning desire to taste my spiced jelly. I am so glad you were able to convince your busy wife to sample my wares.”

  A small snicker ran through the crowd, which was itching for a good show. Turning as if he noticed her for the first time, Rethendrel completely ignored the towering men on either side of his vision.

  He said, “Madam, I am pleased to present to you the finest spiced harvest jelly from the deep northern climes, made by hand, mixed with love and tenderness, and full of the ephemeral smells of rare and ripe harvest fruits.” With a tiny flourish he presented a small clay jar, no bigger than two of his fingers in width, and only a digit high.

  Snorting with a knowing scowl, the heretofore whirlwind of words simply said, “Let the jelly speak for itself.” She opened the sealed lid, breaking the thin opaque wax layer. The escaping pungent vapors from the jar immediately spiraled up into the air and laid a pure fragrance on the slight breeze meandering through the open doorway. Eyebro
ws lifted in surprise, especially the eyebrows of the previously scowling cook.

  Eyes wide in appreciation, she exclaimed, “It is real! It is truly amazing! Do you know how long it has been since I have smelt the singular magnificence of that jelly?” Her eyelids closed in a partial memory, “My mother had as a present two jars of this, just two jars to last for an entire year. We ate so sparingly of the jelly that we stretched its flavors to the end of the cold hard season and felt like every bite was worth a kingdom.”

  Turning to Rethendrel, she seemed to see him for the first time, “Sir, I am somewhat abashed. It appears I have wrongly accused a true merchant. We have too many scoundrels traipsing through our inn, promising real product, leaving only base imitation behind, and absconding with our fair money.”

  She turned to address the small gathering around the common room. The woman announced, “We will proudly be offering spiced harvest jelly with our fresh breads and cream. Everyone is welcome to try one small bite for free. Come outside in a few moments after I settle with this honest merchant.”

  She nodded knowingly and added, “Your taste buds will thank you. There is nothing better!” Quite happily, she turned back to Rethendrel, who in turn beckoned her to lead the way out the door to his wagon of trade goods. They walked together outside, suddenly the best of friends.

  Ilion had sampled spiced harvest jelly in his early life travels, and knew by the smell on the air that the offered jelly was the real thing. His taste buds watered. He wanted to talk with Alizarin’s friend anyway and this tiny tasting would give him the perfect excuse. After all, he knew Rethendrel by sight, but Rethendrel had never met Ilion.

  As he began to rise, reaching for his large satchel secured under the farthest seat, he happened to casually glance around the room. It was a useful habit his early training had ingrained in his behavior. After a mooncycle of nothing to see and little to hear, he seemed to listen more than watch. Unfortunately for him, this time was different. There, in the opposite corner, sat his doom, waiting.

  She looks ready to pounce. Eyes gleaming in victory, sardonic smile tilting her face, the Green Lady watched him.

  Caught!

  He watched her uncurl like a hunting cat playing with an injured mouse, as she walked toward him with all of her ferocious grace and attention. There was still only the one way out of the common room and it seemed that the two large men flanking the high-backed wooden stools that sat at the edge of the bar, those two enforcers of brute strength, were not in the hire of the inn or the cook.

  She glanced at them with a half-nod. They began to close the space between them. Worse yet, he had nothing to give her except the remaining staff that had only begun to show him its wondrous powers. That she had pursued him this far from Tamborinton did not bode well for him or his continuing health.

  Pinned beneath her stare, he could only wait for a chance of escape that so far had not arrived. Standing in front of him, full of herself and condescending, she spoke, “You ran.” Nodding in victory, she continued, “You ran and I caught you easily. Never run from your deeds, Master Ilion. They come round and round and always find you. Here in this forsaken little ‘scape hole, here sits across from me the most pathetic of thieves. Not very clever in staying hidden were you? Running from me now isn’t an option, I can assure you.”

  Sitting again, she continued easily, “I asked you once and now again, less politely. Where are the staves my employer requires? I will have them. Of course, had you not run, I would have paid you the additional sum you held out for, but seeing as how these two friends of mine need to be paid as well, I am sure you don’t mind.”

  As if there were any answer he could give? This was a whole turn of events, the possibility of which Ilion had been aware and yet had pushed to the back of his mind, rather close to the severe injury his skull had received for his bidding troubles.

  Ilion replied. “I will tell you again, Oh Perceptive One, I do not possess these staves you seek. They were taken from me as I sat in the bar waiting for you to arrive. Whoever took them knocked me out and stole them under your nose. You had just ordered a drink, as I recall. Surely, you were the one who should have seen the theft occur?”

  Shaking her chestnut hair in disgust, the Green Lady said, “This is just feeble. I had expected more from M. Ilion and his vaunted prowess at procurement. Sadly, sadly disappointing, Ilion.” Leaning onto his table, she whispered her demand casually, almost conversationally, “Where are the damn sticks? I will not return without them.”

  Despite all he had learned or experienced about the power of the honeycomb-topped staff, he felt no desire to withhold from this woman what was rightfully hers. A large sigh escaped him. Her eyebrow arched questioningly.

  “Very well,” he agreed with deep reluctance. “I do not have the full set of staves but I do possess one of them. It was left behind. That is all I can give you now.” Seeking to bargain with her and extend his life and livelihood, he continued rapidly, “Let me come back with you to Tamborinton and I will tell you where the others are, as soon as I know myself.”

  “Never fear, you are coming back to Tamborinton, Ilion. Though perhaps with less of you attached than at the present.”

  With desperate and determined conviction, he said emphatically, “I will find those cursed staves! And, as an added bonus, I will personally bring you the ears of the thieves who stole them from me.” Placing his hand on the staff that lay partially hidden against the pack and the table, he rose.

  Her hands pushed him down abruptly before he could gain his surefooting. “Sir, I am not a fool. Sit!” Ilion truly had no choice. The Green Lady, clearly in charge of the conversation, continued, “Now that we are all comfortable again, Ilion, let’s see this remaining staff.”

  Hesitantly, Ilion reached for the white carved wood again, picking it up easily with his fingertips from where it had fallen. Pulling it into full view, it cleared their heads by a significant amount. Begrudgingly, he offered the staff to her waiting hands.

  “Here.”

  She started for a second and then began to laugh. “Always the joker, Ilion.” Shaking her head in dismay, she said, “This is useless. If you have nothing to give, I have no reason to stop my two friends from being more creative in their persuasion.”

  Confused, Ilion said, “But, you can have this one! It’s all I possess!! Take it!”

  Disdainful eyebrows knotted. Head shaking in resignation, she said, “Silly fool. I would have spared you. I will find your hiding places in Tamborinton and take them from you with no recompense. Meanwhile, you will suffer terribly. Pity, that. So unnecessary.”

  As she rose, turned and walked away, Ilion could not understand what had transpired. He sat at the table holding the staff in plain view and yet she acted as if he held nothing at all. One of the powerful men strode to his table and hauled him erect by grasping his armpit.

  He growled in a low tone so only Ilion could hear, “Outside, you sorry bastard.” Not that anyone else would have noticed a disturbance, as they were all exiting to taste a free bite of the fabled jelly. Thug Number One’s crushing grip on Ilion’s arm constricted his blood flow as the men carefully herded him from the inn’s common room.

  After a moment of blindness caused by the full strength of sunshine falling directly into his eyes, Ilion’s vision returned slowly. Everything had a slightly orange cast to the natural colors and murky darkness appeared on the edges of Ilion’s vision. Fighting the adjustment to the midday light change was useless. Several blinks later, Ilion could make out the entire current population of the inn gathered around the far table where the farmers’ market set up once a mooncycle. They were patiently standing in line, all attention focused on the promise of delightful and rare-tasting treats.

  Elbowed to the side of the doorway for Green Lady to make her exit from the inn, Ilion resided at the moment somewhat between a thug and the sturdy stone and wooden wall of the building’s strong support. Squished would be an adequate word. I
n his pinned hand, he still held the Staff of Thenta that now for some reason had only the ability to make itself invisible. It would have solved many problems if the staff had just revealed itself to the Green Lady.

  Time was really the problem. Once back in Tamborinton, Ilion was certain that his cycles of contacts would not desert him and that the insidious attack on his person and property, and now his good name, would be repaired. But that’s back in Tamborinton. This is now.

  Thug Number Two had incredibly bad breath, and suffered his companions to share in his bounty. Two stood to the side of One, forming a triangle, most likely acute. While they were equal in size, he was not. Too thin to be of any competition with them, Ilion was stuck. Apparently the Green Lady did not wish to be noticed in her treatment of Ilion and so he was made to stand there awaiting punishment.

  Knowing pain is coming and there is no saving escape is one of the worst possible feelings. Now would be a great time for the staff to let out some brilliant white light and make my troubles disappear. After all, the staff had done that for Alizarin. Life just doesn’t work that easily most of the time.

  To top it all off, it was hot. It was truly, pleasantly warm for the harvest season’s closing, still awaiting the great snows of the coming hard cold. But it was terribly hot for Ilion, heated as he was on all available sides in some strange threesome. He turned his face to the sky in the vain hope of the caress of a wandering breeze. Even that seemed to stall.

  The men and women gathered to try their free samples and quickly began to exclaim their pleasure over the superior jelly. Many immediately ordered much bigger slices of bread slathered in cream and coated with a hardy dollop of the jelly. The inn’s custom and impending future prosperity seemed assured, given the ecstatic remarks heard resounding around the yard. The immensely satisfied innkeeper gathered money quickly, not one to lose out on such a business opportunity.

  As the crowd began to disperse, walking to their bedrooms or back to the common room with their treats, his shrewd eyes calculated the remaining profit and took note of the fine lady with the green dress and the odd group standing by his inn’s wall. More profit demanded action. Oblivious to the sheer physical intimidation of One and Two, he came striding quickly over.