Chapter 52
We rode, walked and crawled into the woods near my old home. I knew every inch of it and so it was easy to avoid the sentries posted. My Ranger commandos had no trouble doing the same. Blackfin and Lord Gleneden had kept the valley pristine from their hordes of troops – they were stationed in the hills and at the foot of the glacier. Within easy reach of the farm but far enough away not to have affected the Valley.
There were thousands, tens of thousands of troops. More men and machines than I could have believed possible. Even with my creatures, I had serious doubts that we could take the forces laid out before us.
Two of the Rangers touched me on the leg and spoke softly into my ear, telling me that they could sneak into the farmhouse and take out the officers. I vetoed that idea. I knew that Blackfin would have magic wards set up to warn him of any stealth attempts. Besides, I knew a way into the house via a long hidden tunnel that had been my secret entrance and exit when I was a child. Dug by my father as an escape route, it was in case we had ever needed a way out because of outlaws, fire or natives. Once, I had used it to sneak in and find my father’s hired hand running the place, only to realize he was a murderer in disguise. My stomach cringed as I remembered the wizard telling me that he had served up my friend as stew.
“No. You stay here. Or, there’s a hidden cave near the lightning scarred tree under a rock pile that’s fake. It leads to my father’s wine cellar and exits atop the glacier’s runoff scree. No soldier could climb down that ravine but you could, if you had to. There’s a canoe at the mouth that will bring you downriver towards the swamp cats. We’ll meet there if anything happens,” I said.
The Ranger Captain asked, “What are you going to do, General?”
“I’m going to drain the life out of a wizard,” I returned darkly. I slipped off into the brush nearly on my belly as I wormed my way through briar bushes with the stealth of a mouse.
The entrance to my old tunnel was hidden cunningly behind a decades old deadfall in the woods beyond the woodlot. Through the sparsely leafed trees and bushes, I saw the pleasing familiar lines of my family’s cottage. Smoke curled from the fieldstone chimney and I could smell the savory odor of cooking meat. As I watched, a sentry patrolled the yard; stopping occasionally to hold out a device shaped like a globe and scanned the woods. I could not see what it did but assumed it picked up either an IFR image or sounds. Satisfied that nothing lurked out of his sight, the soldier kept on walking only to be followed by three more men, all armed. With wands and weapons that I recognized as automatic pistols and laser rifles. High tech stuff from Reyjdask. I wondered idly, what had happened to Director Ricbom and whether he was still alive, whether Blackfin had kept him in Reyjdask to explain the function of the city’s marvels or carted him off to Ehrenberg to strip his mind of all knowledge. I sighed and moved towards the house.
Briars, rocks and branches poked me and left minute traces of blood on the ground but only an animal’s nose could have picked it up. Or mine. I was fairly certain there was no other like me or so my great-grandfather Lyr Averon had told me.
Once within sight of the tunnel’s entrance, I slid carefully under the wooden trap door made to look like stacked logs and my feet found the rungs of the ladder. I descended the short ten feet knowing my way by scent, memory and my extra acute night vision. I passed old toys, reminders of my childhood when secret tunnels and adventure were not such daunting realities. Gave them no more than scant recognition that those days had been more precious than I knew.
When I reached the thin ladder my father had made out of ironwood, I paused at the base of the rungs and looked up towards the trap door that opened into my bedroom. Designed to look like part of the wall of the closet, I could open it without fear of attracting attention from the room’s occupants should there be any. I could only assume that the house was wall to wall with servants, aide de camps and bodyguards for both the Wizard and the Warlord.
Silently, easily, I climbed the ten rungs up and pushed through the knothole to scan the interior. It was still a bedroom, a modest one and from the state of the accoutrements, I was sure it held some lackey not the Lord or the Emperor’s son.
My furniture was still there, still the same. The only thing different were the clothes on the bed and hanging in the closet. Uniforms complete with scarlet wool and gold braid, obviously belonging to a fancy aide-de-camp of my grandfather’s. Off-duty wear of high quality trousers and silk shirts with brocaded vests.
Carefully, I eased the door open and stood among a stranger’s clothes, as I smelled the room to note whether it was empty of any occupants. Seeing that it was empty, I entered and stood in my old room. The four-poster bed of aged cherrywood that my father had carted all the way from the Capitol of Ehrenberg, the matching dresser, nightstand, chair and desk. All were from a suite that had once resided in Lord Gleneden’s castle.
The room smelled different---more masculine and full of testosterone and men’s cologne. There were other objects lying on the bureau that I didn’t recognize---silver comb and hand brush, a jade box that held gold and ruby cufflinks, daguerreotypes of a couple that must have been his parents and one of a young boy in fancy knee pants and shoes with silver buckles. Definitely an Oldlander.