Travellers: Warriors, Heroes, and Demons, #2

By Dave Skinner

The Wizard of Waysley realizes Bray's and Ran's destiny brings with it the destruction of the world. Only one possible future holds hope, and only if all races and cites will stand together in the final battle against the Destroyer, but Bray is being hunted by assassins, Ran is lost in misery, failure, and an important ally is about to be overrun by an army of demons, ogres, and dragons.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dave Skinner
• Release date: May 11, 2017
• ISBN: 9780463090428

Dave Skinner

Dave Skinner lives in Haliburton County with his artist wife, in a house they built themselves, after he retired, at 60, from a career in I.T. In addition to the three book series, Warriors, Heroes, and Demons, he has self published a Novella, Mystery at Whitetop, and the first novel (from Blood and Magic) in a new fantasy series named, Wizard's Spawn.

Book preview

Travellers

Table of Contents

Title Page

Travellers (Warriors, Heroes, and Demons, #2)

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

Chapter 52

Chapter 53

Travellers

By Dave Skinner

Warriors, Heroes, and Demons

Book 2

Copyright © Dave Skinner, 2017

All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portions thereof, in any form.

Published by Dave Skinner 0-9918966

Haliburton, ON.

Licence Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Map by Xanworx Studio

http://xanworx.com/

Cover art by Laurie O’Reilly

Cover design by Jonathon Ciordas

Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons (living or dead), business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Chapter 1

The KaAnian sun blazed in a cloudless sky as Nailmoe reined in his charger at the top of the hill. Below he could see smoke rising from the village. Pass the word, he commanded, we are going down to take a look.

He pushed the hood of his cloak back as did the others in the troop. Even through his protective dayskin he could feel the sun’s heat. Mearisdeana believed the KaAn sun had once been weaker and KaAn had been more like the world she had been rescued from by Adamtay and Nailmoe. He found it an enticing thought but one he gave little credence to. The thought of walking outdoors in his nightskin instead of his dayskin caused the muscles across his back to tighten although the memory of swimming in his nightskin with Tyrese, the barmaid from that other world, was one he cherished.

After travelling through the rift to rescue Mearisdeana, they had been home for a month before rumours of massacres from beyond the mountains had reached the palace. The king had sent a squad to investigate. Only one man returned, wounded, and almost incoherent. He babbled on about monsters.

Adamtay was touring the kingdom with his bride, and no doubt demonstrating the magical capability of the Sword of Sacrifice, so command of the next patrol fell to Nailmoe. Behind him ranged the men of the Prince’s Own Lancers, men he knew and trusted. They had tracked the devastating attacks through four remote villages, always too late to catch whomever or whatever was performing the atrocities. His men were veterans, but all had balked at the tortures inflicted on the bodies they had found, some were torn apart or crushed by blows from something with enormous strength. Fear entered the men’s hearts, but they were also angered, ready to inflict damage of their own.

They were less than a bowshot from the village when a screaming woman ran out from between two houses. She was being chased by something from legend. Ogre, Nailmoe heard someone say, or perhaps it had been a prayer to an old god. Whatever the thing was, it died from three arrows before it realized the men were there. The next creature raised an alarm before it died. The squad rode into the village and killed several beasts with arrows before the creatures got organized, and a larger monster made its appearance. It sprang from between two building as the bowmen were ranging forward, landed on a man and his charger, taking both to the ground before ripping their bodies apart. The thing started towards them.

Lances! Nailmoe commanded.

The first line of lancers dropped their points and charged. Bowmen scattered while keeping up a barrage of arrows. The thing sprang over the line of charging lancers, beheading one soldier and taking down two more before the second line hit it. The monster tried to escape but ended up pinned to a building wall by six lances. A ferocious battle saw the rest of the creatures dispatched.

When Nailmoe approached the large monster, it was still alive. He was surprised to realize he could understand the words it spoke.

Come closer creature, I will rip your head off and suck it dry. A fitting treat before I die.

Bring me a lance, Nailmoe told the closest trooper.

You can use your long sticks to kill me, but it will not save you. My master is coming. He wants his crystals, and he will kill everything until he has them. You know what I mean. I can smell the crystals on you. Prepare to suffer, little creature. Your weapons will not save you from Transgarin.

The monster laughed as the sergeant presented a lance to Nailmoe who leveled it and jumped his charger forward. The lance entered the creature’s open mouth and silenced its mad laughter.

Chapter 2

D estroyer, Manda cursed .

Did you say something, Captain? Tyhan asked. When Manda failed to answer, Tyhan was torn with indecision. He knew he could not leave her at the helm for a third night. He had to get through to her. She had shut him out, shut everyone out for close to three days. Three days since he watched her storm down the dock and leap onto the deck. Get us underway, she had commanded. No explanation about where Ran was, or why they were leaving without him. Three words ‘get us underway’. Not one more word until now.

Tyhan knew when she stopped talking that trouble had found them, and not just the storm of thunderheads riding the wind across the sky. The Red Witch responded well that morning, springing away from the dock. She had them under sail before the ship’s bow was centred on open water. Then Manda clung to the wheel, alone, for two and a half days. As the sun was setting this afternoon, she had motioned him to the wheel deck.

You should rest, Captain. We reach Delvingford tomorrow. Tyhan tried to hide the discomfort he felt. Her look told him he had failed.

Why, Tyhan, was I not enough? she asked. Anguish rode her words.

Some men have a hunger that is never satisfied, no matter how fine the meal. I fear Ran is such a one.

I believe you see the truth. Manda did not say more for a while. I have lost it, Tyhan. My cloak is gone—forever. No man will ever wrap me in another. He sat at the card table. As if I was unknown to him, she finished after a small silence.

There was nothing Tyhan could say. If Ran was onboard, he would make his life miserable, but if he was onboard, it would not be necessary.

Take the wheel, Tyhan, I would go below.

Even exhausted, she walked surely to the steps, down them, and towards her cabin door. He watched her disappear from sight and thanked the Mother she finally sought rest. Tyhan had stood beside her as the Red Witch made its way from Barterville harbour and into the face of the tempest on the day Ran disappeared. She had stood mast straight and headed them into the storm front. He watched the rain dance on the lake’s surface as it drew closer, like a wall they would arrow through. The torrent washed over them. It had no effect on her although he witnessed droplets of water running down her face. The Mother’s tears or her own he did not know.

The next morning after the storm, she had not banned him from the wheel deck; rather, she had failed to approve his approach, preferring to be alone for another day and a half. Now the initial pain was past. Ran was gone. Where, for how long, he did not understand. Manda was alone again. The captain sailed without her cloak.

It did not surprise him. Tyhan never expected Ran to settle. He was not the settling type. Ran was larger than the life he led, and perhaps that was the problem. Could any man be satisfied when everything was easy? Ran was one to throw himself against the confines of life, to make life bigger for all. Ran was celebrated as a hero, one of the best fighters of his time. Maybe not the absolute best—history had yet to decide that—but definitely one of the deadliest. How can you expect a man like that to come to the same table ever night, no matter how delicious the feast?

Chapter 3

I expected you would awake this day, Mara said as Ran opened his eyes. When he struggled to rise, she placed her hand on his arm. You have been ill, Ran. Rest for now. You are with friends.

His head spun, and he fell back to the bed. When his eyes focused again, he was the first to speak.

Hello, Ta’Mara.

Hello, Ran. Why so formal? You called me Mara for years. We are friends.

Before—we were friends. Before Shawn died... because of my arrogance.

We are still tribe. When we found you in need, we saved you. That is what tribe does. She stopped there, changing the topic, getting personal, a hint of their school days returning.

You were unbelievable, Ran. Her voice grew soft. I have never witnessed one so sick. You have been coughing up bile since we picked you up. Tom says you had run yourself to ground. I say you were close to death, close to destroying yourself from excessive drinking and whatever else you were using. Why?

Because their deaths are on my shoulders, and it is bending my back. I am unable to carry it any— her slap stopped him, but a stunned expression was his only response. Another example of how much he had changed. She had slapped him often when he was a drooling adolescent. However, if by some miracle she had managed to slap him after he became a trueone warrior, she would have expected something more than the blank stare she witnessed now.

"Shawn’s death is not on your head. It lessens his memory for you to say so. Shawn, Nefty, and Afra were trueones. They knew what was expected of them. Following you blindly was not on the list."

Forgive me, Mara. You are right. I hid a seed inside me, and it has grown to a weed. Will you tell me where I am? Who saved me? He collapsed back to the bed.

We are with Gaylan’s and Rese’s caravan, six wagons strong. You owe them for your life. Well, it was Tom and I who found you in a back alley in Barterville. Four men were kicking you to death. We got you away, but it was Gaylan and Rese who gave you protection. We have travelled for half a moon up the Bonanza River road from Barterville. You have time to recover some strength before we have to leave the caravan.

Leave? You have a different destination to the others?

Yes, further on we leave to head inland, away from the river. Wagons have gone missing in the wild country. Tom and I, and now you I suppose, are to look for the reason. You are our responsibility until you are well enough to be on your own.

And I appreciate it, believe me.

Are you strong enough to sit-up? Mara asked.

I hope so.

Working slowly, he pulled his body to a seated position beside the raised tailgate of the wagon. She wiped the sweat from his brow and found a place to sit on the opposite side of the wagon bed. Over the next moon they spent most of their time there. Inside at first, but fresh air, plenty of good food, and the potions Rese forced into him, saw them tailgating outside sooner than many had believed possible.

A Traveller’s caravan is a living thing. Men and women move in, out, and about the wagons. Tailgates remain open and are the locations where living occurs. People walked, sat, visited and moved on. Ran sat at first, but eventually he was walking more and more each day, which was important because before the moon finished waning, Tom, Mara and Ran were on their own, travelling the narrow forest roads that spoke of frontier.

Now, no longer in the company of the other Travellers, they shared all the tasks of wagon life amongst them. Ran was almost ready for it. The second morning a wheel had slipped into a hole. They had to manhandle the wagon to get it moving again. Ran slept early that night, but slowly he got stronger. By new moon he was doing an equal share, which was good, but it also meant he still had a long way to go; he had been capable of more than his share before he became a drunkard.

I will hunt, Tom announced as the sun started sliding down the sky. You should reach a river crossing with a good campsite towards the end of the day. I will meet you there.

Be safe, Mara called as he disappeared into the woods.

He seems like a good man, Mara.

He is, but I am surprised to hear you say it. You ignored him at home in the village. Did you dislike him?

No. I... he... his name makes me laugh, and whenever I talk to him I think about it and end up smiling and laughing for no reason. I act like a fool.

Her brow furrowed. Tom is not a funny name.

But T’Tom is. His formal name makes me laugh—sorry, it just does. It sounds as if his name is being spit out. His parents should have considered that.

The wagon arrived at the campsite in the late afternoon. Tom failed to show. They took turns watching for him through the night.

Mara touched Ran’s shoulder to awaken him the next morning. I will look for Tom, she announced.

No, I will go. You stay with the wagon. If he is hurt when he arrives, he will need your skills.

Then you should be on your way. I am worried.

He pulled on clothes, boots, and took up his weapons. I will stay on the port side of the road for the trip out and use the starboard side to return.

Is port left or right?

Sorry, the last years were spent on water. Port is left.

How far will you go?

As far as where he left to hunt yesterday. I will be back before dusk. If he is still missing, we will go further afield tomorrow, but that we shall do together. Stay alert.

He entered the trees. She listened, hearing two, then three sounds that should not have been heard. He is still not what he was before.

RAN’S BODY WAS SOAKED with sweat when he returned to the camp that evening. He was exhausted and looking forward to a warm meal and a drink. A drink. He turned his mind away from that thought. To dwell there was trouble, the first step in a downward spiral from which escape might not be possible. He always had a large capacity for alcohol, but it had been controllable. Now... now his body and his mind cried for it.

How he had gotten to this point he could barely recall. There were hazy memories from what seemed like years ago. He remembered standing on the wharf where the Red Witch had been docked and realizing Manda was gone, leaving his possessions flung across the dock. He remembered turning to fighting for prize money. He remembered being approached by the two fight promoters, Snark and Crane, and the countless fights that followed. Memories got hazy after that. He always celebrated the wins, and they were all wins until he became bored. Then he celebrated the losses. Then reasons for celebrations were no longer required. Snark and Crane had left him, or maybe the partnership ended differently. He had a vague memory of an argument over money and a fight. He might have killed them. The memories after that were few, and what he remembered was bad, a time better forgotten.

Ran stopped in the trees at the edge of the campsite. Something was wrong. The wagon was gone. He crouched in the brush and waited. The campsite was deserted; uneasiness crawled up his back and tensed the muscles it found there. After some time, he crept off to his right trying, despite his exhaustion, to move silently. Working his way around the campsite took until dusk. He had found no one waiting in ambush, but tracks spoke of where several watchers had stood for a time before entering the clearing, the trail they had made when they left was beside the wagon tracks. Mara’s footsteps were not among them.

In the last light of day, he entered the camp. He recovered a ground sheet and blanket from beside the cold fire, as well as some cut vegetables. Mara must have been sitting there to prepare a meal. The tracks around the fire pit told him she had left with the strangers. The items left behind suggested it was not voluntary.

Ran spent the night beneath a large cedar tree at the edge of the clearing. It offered an unobstructed view of the campsite while hiding him from detection. Stretched out on his blanket, he drank water and made a cold meal. As he ate, he considered possibilities.

Mara might leave with strangers if they brought news of Tom and he needed her help, but why had they stood hidden, watching the camp. Why had he not seen her footprints moving from the blanket to the wagon? Travellers were welcomed wherever they went. He had never heard of a caravan or an individual wagon being attacked or even bothered. The entertainment, crafts, and skills offered by Travellers were highly valued, especially in rural areas like this. He had been out of touch with his fellow Tawshe for some time now, more than a year he was certain, although the exact amount of time was lost in his failed memories, but he was sure that Mara would have said something if attitudes towards Travellers had changed so significantly. She had not. Neither had Tom, but they had left the main caravan and headed up this trail alone. He cursed himself for not asking for more information about the missing wagons. Travellers were gatherers of information. If there were rumours of something strange happening up this way, there was a good chance that they had come to investigate. He cursed again, angry for not asking, mad at Mara and Tom for not volunteering more, but mostly sore at whoever had taken Mara away.

His exhaustion won out over his anger, smothering it enough to allow him to sleep, although fitfully. When morning arrived, his body had recovered from the prior day’s exhaustion. In the predawn light he circumnavigated the campsite again. Finding no additional evidence of watchers, except for the spot where a large cat had paused for a time during the night, he returned to the tree. Ran made his possessions ready for travel, secured his weapons about his person, and set out to find Mara and Tom.

Chapter 4

Mara heard a commotion and laughter from behind the wagon. The wagon stopped, as she raised her head to look over the tailgate. One of her captors, the youngest one if her guess was correct, had tripped and fallen. The other two were laughing at him. Scar face, who seemed to be the leader, walked back from his position at the front of the wagon. The laughter stopped.

Can you not walk, brother?

I tripped.

He was dreaming about the girl instead of watching the path, one of the others said.

I like her hair, the young one said as he climbed back to his feet. Never saw hair the colour of sunshine before.

The leader reached out a hand and helped the young one to his feet and then knocked him down again with a resounding slap. Bide your time, Blair. It will come soon enough. His glare took in all three. Keep your minds on business. He turned and walked away. The reins snapped, and the wagon jerked forward.

The six men had come upon her quietly. Her first sign she was not alone was the odor. They had good woodcraft, but their hygiene offended. She had never heard of Travellers being accosted before, so she was unprepared when they answered her greeting with a stunning blow to her head. When awareness returned, she was in the back of the wagon, bound hand and foot, the rawhide strips that secured her hands so tight that both were swollen and tingling. Sinking back below the tailgate she continued trying to tease the knots loose with her teeth while she berated herself for being an idiot. She should have expected trouble, especially after Tom went missing, but at least Ran would come.

Afternoon shadows had lengthened when the wagon stopped again. The tailgate was released, and she was pulled out. Rough hands grabbed and twisted her face about. A heavy man with long scraggly hair and beard examined her. Isn’t you a beauty? he said before pulling a knife and cutting her hands and feet free.

Thank you, she said.

With a hand on her shoulder he slapped her across the mouth. No talking. He turned her about, felt her arms, legs, and breasts. Throw her in with the others, he ordered.

She was half dragged, half carried to the door of a small log structure located off to the right. The door was opened, and she was pushed inside. The first thing she noticed was the odor of unwashed bodies, then, from one side, the stench of an overfull waste bucket. As her eyes became accustomed to the gloom, the bodies of men and women sprawled around the base of the walls became evident. All looked gaunt, except for one who she recognized as Tom because of his clothes. His face was so badly beaten that she would never have guessed it was him. Another look around told her that all suffered from physical abuse.

She went to Tom’s side and knelt on the dirt floor. He smiled at her, showing broken teeth. One eye was swollen shut, and his lips were so split and swollen that she could hardly understand when he spoke.

Ran? was all he said.

Free, she whispered.

Good, then the Mother has not deserted us completely.

THE SUN WAS WELL PAST its apex when the sounds found Ran’s ears. He moved carefully through the trees until he could see their cause. At first glance he thought he had happened onto a farmer clearing his land, but the first whip slash across a worker’s back cleared up his mistake, then he recognized Mara’s blond hair. The details clarified after that: four men carrying whips, two others closer to the trees carrying bows, ten prisoners, six men and four women. The men were struggling to remove a large stump. One woman stood by, holding the reins of the horse being used to aid the effort. The other three were further away in the centre of a plowed field, on their hands and knees, tending crops by pulling weeds. All the prisoners looked abused. While he watched, two were whipped for not pushing hard enough. When a prisoner had to use an axe, one guard took up a crossbow and kept it aimed at the axe wielder.

Ran worked his way around the clearing, but just before he reached the bowmen, the prisoners succeeded in removing the stump. The guards wasted no time getting the group moving down the length of the field, unfortunately away from Ran’s position. He followed as quickly as possible, but by the time he reached the farm the last of the prisoners was being pushed into a small log building. Before the door was closed, a big, pot-bellied, hairy man came out of a larger log house. He yelled something to the guards. The one by the prison door said something to the prisoners. Shortly, Mara appeared. She was dragged out and pushed towards the main house. A bar was dropped across the prison’s door.

Ran had seen seven men so far. Too many for him to kill in an open fight considering his present condition, and he had no way of knowing if there were more. Tonight he would