Lord of the Rose

CHAPTER TWENTY — TWO

Jaymes shifted uncomfortably for seemingly the hundredth time of the night. Sleeping with his hands manacled at his waist allowed him precious little room to maneuver. His wrists were raw.

He stared up at the sky, the white moon near zenith. Since that moon had risen at sunset, he knew it was not much later than midnight.

At least the evenings gave some respite to the pain of riding a horse all day. His legs cramped so much he was unable to stand when they finally allowed him to dismount at the end of the day. Though the other knights took breaks, including a midday meal, climbing down from their saddles to stretch, they didn’t go to the trouble-or risk-of letting their prisoner do the same.

Wriggling around, he tried to ease a kink that had formed in the muscles of his back. He couldn’t do much about it. Cursing softly, the prisoner was on the verge on closing his eyes when he spotted a cloaked figure moving stealthily through the darkness.

This figure, though bent low, moved more like a human than a dwarf. Immediately the warrior thought of the lone knight, Sir Dupuy, who had arrived bearing a message from Lord Regent du Chagne. The man had been watching Jaymes surreptitiously all evening. Sitting around a fire with several fellows, the stranger’s cold, hard eyes had frequently shifted over to the chained man.

Now the prisoner stared at the cloaked figure as it scuttled towards him, evidently on his hands and knees. Jaymes closed his eyes to narrow slits so the other man wouldn’t guess he was awake and pondered what to do. The menacing knight was perhaps ten paces away, his eyes fixed upon the prisoner. Jaymes felt helpless. The chains binding his hands were so tight, he would have little ability to defend himself.

“Say there, friend,” Jaymes suddenly called out, opening his eyes and sitting up straight. He made a great show of trying to stretch. His voice rang out in the slumbering camp, and several knights grunted in their sleep or shifted and opened their eyes. “How about helping a thirsty man with a drink of water?”

He was not surprised when the cloaked man-indeed Sir Dupuy-rose smoothly, letting his cape fall to the ground. The man looked around, saw that a sleepy sentry was staring at them and other knights were stirring. Several watched as Sir Dupuy came up to Jaymes, extending his canteen.

“Just a quick sip,” the man said gruffly. “And then be still!”

The prisoner took the proffered vessel, drank, then handed it back. He replied loudly. “Thank you kindly, good sir knight.”

The hilt of a dagger protruded from the man’s belt. Without another word Sir Dupuy turned to walk away, stopping to pick up his cloak as if he had just happened to spot it lying on the ground. He went over to his bedroll and lay down, but his eyes, glittering with fury and frustration, remained fixed upon Jaymes.

Wrestling himself around to a sitting position, the warrior met the stranger’s glare. Cramps froze his muscles, pain rippled through his legs, hips, and back, but he had to remain awake, and he watched the knight, watched and waited patiently as the moon, with excruciating slowness, crept through the western sky.

He maintained his vigil until dawn brightened the sky and the camp began to wake up around him. Only when there were a dozen knights up, kindling fires, putting kettles on to warm, did he allow himself to close his eyes for a few precious minutes. He woke when they came with the crowbar to pull his stake out of the ground and prod him into the saddle of a horse.

One of the knights watching the operation, already seated on his horse, was Sir Dupuy.

Throughout the morning the file of mounted knights climbed into the Vingaard Range, along the winding road leading up to the High Clerist’s Pass. Jaymes had traveled this road often in the past, and he saw that the rainy summer had taken a grievous toll on the ancient highway. In places half the surface had eroded away, much of the gravel tumbling down into the precipitous gorge. Here and there erosion left only a narrow trail for the riders to negotiate, and in single file their horses skittered past drops of several hundred feet. Far below, Jaymes could see the whitewater rapids, a headwater of the West Vingaard River, flowing over and around jagged rocks and fallen timbers.

Jaymes rode along in silence. The nearby knights made no attempt to converse with him, and he avoided attracting attention as much as possible. Sir Dupuy had taken up a position near the head of the column-while the prisoner was in the middle. As the morning progressed, however, Dupuy fell farther and farther back in the line. Finally, as the noon hour approached, the rider from Palanthas was just ahead of the brace of guards near Jaymes, one of whom was always holding the ancient mare’s reins.

Once again the column reached a washout, where the heavy rains had eroded a great section of the roadway. The remaining path barely qualified as a thin ledge above the cliff below. The first knights dismounted and one by one led their horses across, as the rest of the column came to a halt, each man waiting his turn. Dupuy, standing at the edge, extended his hand as Jayme’s escort slipped out of his saddle to get ready to make the narrow crossing.

“I’ll lead this one,” Dupuy said, reaching for the reins of the prisoner’s mount.

“Wait-you’re going to let me dismount, aren’t you?” Jaymes spoke to his main escort, a knight who had treated him humanely through most of the journey. “That looks a little too slippery there-you might lose a good horse, if I overbalance him.”

“Sure. Makes sense to me.” The knight addressed one of his comrades. “Darron, keep a hand on your sword and an eye on the prisoner, while I let him down.” He released the shackles around Jaymes’s ankles as Dupuy watched impassively. When the manacles were loose, the warrior slowly, carefully lowered himself from the saddle. The resulting cramps paralyzed his legs, and he held on to the reins for a few seconds, trying to regain some strength, eyeing the dangerous passage before him.

“Come on-let’s get moving,” urged one of the knights.

“I’ll take the horse-you can make your own way,” Sir Dupuy said pleasantly, but his eyes were cold. He stepped back from the narrow, mud-streaked ledge, pulling Jaymes’s horse to the side.

Moving awkwardly on the narrow muddy path, with his hands tightly manacled, Jaymes had no choice but to step past Sir Dupuy, with the sheer drop directly beneath him to his left. The prisoner tried to brush by quickly. Sir Dupuy bumped him slightly, a movement no doubt invisible to the other knights behind them. Jaymes slipped and lost his balance-but not before grabbing the other man’s belt with his fingers.

“Let go, damn you!” hissed the knight, but the prisoner’s powerful grip made sure that both of them slipped from the steep heights.

Together, they fell toward the raging river below.

Dram had ordered the gnomes to stay near the riverside camp, feasting on blackberries and fish until he returned. Unware of his plan, they were grateful for the chance to rest. Starting off by himself, Dram put Coryn’s magic to the test immediately.

He took a small sip from the blue bottle. The haste spell worked as well as the wizard claimed-although dwarven legs were not made for speed-Dram churned up the mountain road as fast as a galloping horse and much faster than a column of horses proceeding at a cautious pace. Consequently, the dwarf had caught up to the column of knights and concealed himself behind a nearby shoulder of the mountain ridge by the time they drew up to pass, single file, around a washout in the road. The dwarf was feeling a bit shaky from the lingering effects of the potion but deduced from the look on Jaymes’s face that he had little time to waste.

He acted swiftly, swallowing the second potion, and was stunned and a little taken aback as his body, rendered utterly invisible, vanished even from his own sight. Looking down, he saw only the ground where his feet ought to be. He took a few teetering steps and gulped as he saw footprints pressed into a patch of the soft ground. The strange sight gave him the shudders.

Taking care to step on solid ground, so that he wouldn’t leave telltale footprints, he approached the rear of the column and started making his way past those knights and their horses who were still waiting to move across the bottleneck. He leaned away from the horses, nervous that one of them would smell him and spook or that one of the knights would see a telltale puff of dust or other clue to his presence. Fortunately the attention of men and horses alike seemed fixed upon the taut spectacle of the perilous crossing.

Edging around one of the knight’s steeds-the mount of the company captain-he paused in astonishment. He found himself staring at Jayme’s great sword, Giantsmiter, lashed to the saddlebag. The dwarf’s fingers tingled-he had to grab that sword somehow, return it to Jaymes! Remembering what Coryn had told him about the second potion, he recalled that anything he held or wore while he was concealed by the magic would also vanish.

No one was looking in his direction as Dram reached up, unlashed the rope, and pulled the long sword away. The mighty weapon immediately became as invisible as the rest of him.

Suddenly his attention was riveted on his friend. Jaymes had started across the narrow ledge, moving past another knight who stood against the uphill side behind him, when the two men grappled for some reason, slipped, teetered, and fell over the brink.

Praying to Reorx that he was not too late, Dram reached for the third potion.

Jutting rock struck Jaymes in the ribs, knocking the air from his lungs. Still, the warrior retained his vise-like grip on the squirming Dupuy. For a sickening instant they went into a free fall. The warrior’s head snapped back as the knight’s elbow, then fist, jabbed at him. Dizzyingly they spun through the air.

They slammed on top of a boulder and caught, just for a moment, before straddling a knob over a sheer drop of a hundred feet or more. Jaymes stared downward for a brief moment, seeing a terrifying array of jagged rocks below. Only the outcrop of this flat-topped shelf had saved them from certain death. Now, both men, after smashing hard onto the ledge, struggled to reclaim their breath. Wedging a hip onto the narrow space for better balance, the prisoner finally released his hold on his enemy’s belt.

Dupuy squirmed away from him and half-rose, clutching for the knife in his belt. With his hands still bound, Jaymes kicked out, trying to dislodge his opponent, as he wriggled around for greater security. Loose rocks scattered and tumbled away.

The other man was strong, and agile as a monkey. Dupuy avoided two powerful kicks and gained a crouching position, the knife in his hand. He glanced up, sneering in satisfaction.

“Those fools can’t see us. They are masked by the overhang. I can cut your heart out, and they’ll never know what happened.”

Jaymes scrambled back.

Dupuy grinned and leaned closer, the knife outstretched.

It was a move Jaymes had anticipated. The chained man kicked hard at some loose rock on the inside of the ledge. A large stone exploded out of the mass, striking Dupuy on one kneecap. The man’s face went white, and he gasped in pain as he crumpled.

Jaymes brought one bootheel down hard on the knight’s outstretched right hand. He heard the cracking of small bones, as he kicked out hard with the other foot. Sir Dupuy screamed as he went off the ledge. The scream trailed off pathetically, ending in a sickening crunch.

Gasping for air, with sweat streaming into his eyes, the warrior slumped back on the narrow ledge. His hands were still secured by a steel chain. There was no way he could climb up or down, but the bastard hadn’t killed him. He could savor that triumph.

Finally, his weariness overtook him. It was peaceful here, beyond the reach of his captors. He let his head loll back against the sun-warmed cliff… perhaps it was time for a well-earned nap.

His eyes had barely closed when he heard a scuffing noise, sitting up in alarm as dust flew from a pair of unseen boots.

“Who’s there?” he demanded, squinting to see who it was that had dropped on the ledge. The air was clear, his eyesight was perfect, yet he saw no one. Cursing, he strained against his cuffs.

“Hold on, old friend,” said Dram, slowly coming into view. The dwarf was grinning, and-even more amazingly-holding the sword of Lorimar.

“By… by all the gods…” Jaymes said, feeling numb with shock as much as pain.

“If I recall correctly, this thing will cut through steel, right?” asked the dwarf cheerfully.

The warrior nodded mutely, wondering if he was losing his mind. What was Dram doing, appearing like magic? Was he perhaps already dead? Well, fine, he felt tired enough to be dead.

Yet by the time his manacles were cut loose-the painful burns on his wrist made by the flaming sword would make scars he would treasure-he knew that he was alive. Before he could ask Dram how in the world he had been saved, the dwarf brought out a small bottle and took the first sip.

“It’s my last potion. This one’s for flying,” he said matter-of-factly. “I saved enough for you to have a drink, too.”