Chapter Nine

The Lonely Groom

Rescue those being led away to death; hold back those staggering toward slaughter.

-- Proverbs 24:11

When Herrek gave the word Joash unhobbled Asher and Pondon and led them toward the lake. They snorted and resisted his attempts to take them into the sun’s glare. He looked over at Gens. The lean driver enticed Galay and Geirrod with carrots. Galay caught and snapped off half of Gens’s carrot, but in so doing, stepped into the sunlight. Soon Gens had both horses drinking.

Joash didn’t have any carrots. He looked around and spied some flowers the horses loved. He picked a handful and tickled their noses with them. Asher tried to nibble the flowers. Joash backed up. Asher tossed his head. He tickled the stallion’s nose again. The stallion moved halfway into the sunlight and caught hold of the flowers. Joash ripped his half away, then brushed Pondon’s nose. In no time Asher and Pondon drank lake-water.

Joash kept a lookout for the shark as he waded his way beside Gens. The driver picked up a smooth stone and skipped it across the water.

“Good cast.”

Gens grunted and found another stone.

“Those were impressive emeralds,” Joash said.

Gens smiled.

“Do you think they could have been set under the old giant’s skeleton as a lure?”

Gens gave him a glance that said he was a bit simple. “This is Giant Land. Here wonders are said to abound.”

“Then you aren’t worried that I spoke to Mimir? That we know a giant, said to be wise in their cunning wiles, was nearby when all this happened?”

Gens skipped his second stone, shrugged.

“Surely Mimir must know about this cave,” Joash said.

“Maybe.”

“Tarag must know about this cave as well.”

Gens shook his head. “You saw how we slew Old Three-Paws and chased off the other sabertooths. That was warrior’s work. If you hope to wield your spear with as much deadliness, then you must ponder chariot tactics more than the comings and goings of legendary foes.”

Now that the emeralds were tucked away in Elidad’s pouch, Joash had hoped their power would be less. He asked, “You truly aren’t worried?”

Gens snorted at the idea.

“Maybe we should go back to camp and get help?”

Gens flushed, anger filling his eyes. “Are you a fool?”

Joash didn’t reply.

“Bah.” Gens spat into the water. “You asked if I’m worried, then the answer is yes. I’m worried others will gain the treasure before we do.” He stared at Joash. “Don’t you understand what can be done with such treasure?”

Joash backed up a step, seeing a vein on Gens’s forehead throb with passion.

“Once I own such treasure I’ll be able to search the world for the greatest stallions alive. I’ll retrace the old bloodlines. I’ll find mares that are descended from the Shining Ones’ steeds of yore and breed them.” Gens’s lips drew down. “But you; you want to slink away and let others take what’s mine. You hope, in the secret place of your heart, that I never own such wonderful herds.”

“Th-that’s not true.”

“No?”

Joash shook his head.

Gens nodded. “That is good. Yes, very good.” He glanced at Galay and Geirrod. “These are good Asvarn stallions, well-trained and descended from an ancient bloodline. But these are not the steeds that will blaze the name of Gens into the ages. No...”

Gens suddenly, and very oddly it seemed to Joash, picked up another stone and skipped it. He seemed to be in a dream world, meditating perhaps on how he would breed the greatest horses in the world.

Joash followed Gens back to the chariots. Because of the heat they left off the horse-cloaks as they hitched Asher, Pondon, Galay, and Geirrod to the chariots.

Elidad paced near the burnt-out fire, his chainmail jangling in time to his steps. He knotted his left hand into a fist and ground it against the palm of his right hand. He watched Joash, almost suspiciously, it seemed. Soon Elidad inspected the hitching.

“You work slowly,” Elidad said, breathing down Joash’s shoulder.

Joash didn’t look up as he tightened a strap. The bear-like warrior frightened him. A sudden thought stilled Joash’s hands.

“What is it?” Elidad asked.

Joash straightened. Elidad’s blue eyes were bloodshot and suspicious, and his skin looked hotter than it should be. Joash’s throat constricted before his accusatory words could slip out.

Elidad advanced until their faces almost touched. Joash felt Elidad’s hot breath on his cheeks. “Make sure you work quickly, Groom.”

Fear made Joash back up against Asher’s side. The stallion turned and nudged his shoulder. Joash hardly noticed. His heart pounded and his eyes were wide. Had Elidad slain Brand?

Elidad’s hand flew to Joash’s biceps. The thick fingers tightened. Joash struggled to free himself.

“Elidad!” Herrek shouted.

Elidad turned but didn’t release his hold.

“Let go of my groom,” Herrek said, striding toward them.

With an oath, Elidad released Joash and puffed his chest. “He works slowly,” the stocky warrior said.

Herrek glanced at Joash.

Joash rubbed his biceps, wondering how close he’d come to being struck.

“Groom!”

Joash looked up.

“Were you working slowly?” Herrek asked.

“No, warrior,” Joash said, even though he had been.

“Liar!” Elidad roared. He buffeted Joash, knocking him against Asher.

Herrek wrapped his hand around his sword-hilt. “Do not strike him again.”

Elidad sneered, “Do you say I lied when I told you he worked slowly?”

“I say you are mistaken,” Herrek said. “Now, stand aside or hitch your own team.”

The sneer deepened, but Elidad stepped away.

Herrek waited until Elidad was out of earshot. Then, he turned. “Make certain you don’t dally, Groom.”

Joash nodded miserably. He thought he knew something the others didn’t. Old Three-Paws hadn’t slain Brand, but Elidad. He couldn’t prove it, but the worm of suspicion had burrowed deep. And if that was true, if Elidad had slain his own driver—

What power did the emeralds have? And who had given them the power? An evil one, that much was certain. Joash wondered why this hidden evil-one wanted them at the cave. He tightened a harness-buckle and decided that maybe Adah knew more than she’d been saying. All trip long she’d been hinting at things. Maybe now that she was under the emeralds’ power...

Whom did he fool? He was just a groom, untrained even in the use of his spear. What was he supposed to do? How could he overcome evil magic when a champion like Herrek and a singer like Adah, had fallen under its spell? And why hadn’t he fallen under the emeralds’ power? Did it have anything to do with what Mimir had told him? Mimir had said his flame was high. What did that mean?

“Please help me, Elohim,” Joash whispered under his breath. “Give me the wisdom and the strength to do what’s right.”

“Move aside,” Elidad shouted. “Quit mumbling to yourself.”

Joash skipped aside as Elidad flicked the reins. Asher and Pondon whinnied and cantered away from the lake. Joash hurried to his kit, slung it on, picked up his spear, and jogged after the chariot. As he stepped out of the shade the sun blasted him. The trip, he feared, would be a grueling one.

He tried to put aside his worries as he concentrated upon jogging. He moved one foot after the other, arms swinging in rhythm. The spear didn’t allow that, however. It was big and heavy. He held it with both hands, in front of his stomach. His shoulders swung in rhythm, but soon they were tired. He needed to make a sling. Then he could carry the spear across his back.

His water-skin sloshed at his side, and his kit banged against his thigh. The tall grass was dry, waving at his hips. In another half-month the wild grains would ripen.

Later Herrek turned north at a boulder where baboons screamed at them and threw rotten rinds. Two big males with lion-like manes leaped off the rock and followed Joash until Koton came back with raised hackles. The baboons shied away from Koton and left Joash alone. Later, off to Joash’s left, a lumbering elk with an incredible spread of antlers brayed. Two does trotted toward him.

The ground rose slowly, and the smell changed from a damp one to a dusty, grit-filled one. The boulder-strewn lichen-filled hills stood before them. It would take until dark tonight, some sleep, and into tomorrow morning before they reached the hills. They traveled parallel with the river far off in the distance, toward what looked like a gap, or perhaps a pass. The hills didn’t look inviting, but like an escarpment unnaturally raised on the barren steppes. Various herds dotted the plains, and here and there purple flowers, red ones, or even orange ones broke up the monotony of the yellow stalks waving in the wind.

A dire wolf howled as the sun began its long descent toward the horizon, but they saw no sign of the beast.

Koton trotted beside Joash, and that got him to wondering about Harn. Had Zillith been able to save him? He hoped so. In fact, thinking about Harn finally brought a smile to Joash’s dry lips. Harn was to be his if the dog survived the horrible wound.

“And if I survive,” Joash whispered to himself.

Harn was possibly of the Azarel line, a legacy from the legendary past. Didn’t Gens wish to search the world for Shining One horses? Why then was it impossible for Harn to be of an ancient line? No, whatever else they were, the traders of Further Tarsh usually told the truth about what they sold. The problem was, they seldom told the whole truth, or that’s what Zillith often said.

Around mid-afternoon, Herrek called a halt between a triangle of trees. The ground was soggy, the grass green and thick. Joash found himself digging a hole. The mud was heavy and slopped off the shovel, and despite the shade, sweat dripped from Joash’s face. As the hole deepened, muddy water seeped in from the sides. Finally Herrek called a halt to the digging. Joash went to the chariot and took a tin cup, silk, and a folded leather bucket from the kit-box. Squatting by the hole, and after stretching the silk over the bucket’s top, he used the tin cup to pour muddy water over the silk. When the bucket of cleaned water was full he first let Galay drink his fill. After all the stallions were watered he brought a half-bucket of water to Gens. Gens boiled the water and prepared a cup of bitter tea for each of them.

By this time the sun was halfway down from its midday perch. The worst of the heat was over, and already a nearby herd of bison moved with greater alacrity than before. The bison lowed to one another, while several calves romped and played.

Joash sipped his tea, trying to imagine what it would be like to walk alone through even a small herd of bison. He looked at the long spread of horns, at the bleary eyes of the biggest bulls. Bison were notoriously short tempered. One wrong move would send a bull charging. He nodded, finishing his tea. It wasn’t surprising that it took vicious pack-beasts like dire wolves to live off the long-horned bison, or massive monsters like sabertooths, or giant birds like orns. He wondered if human nomads could live here, or only the dreaded giants of the First Born Jotnar?

Joash rinsed his cup and did likewise for the others. They were strangely silent. Beautiful Adah studied Elidad’s map. Even now, Joash watched her more than he did the others. Her lips moved soundlessly, her gaze intense. Perhaps she tried to decipher the various marks along the map’s sides.

“What’s it made out of?” Joash asked her.

Gens looked up sharply. He’d been carving pictures of horses onto the back of birch-bark. Herrek frowned, but didn’t stop sharpening his sword. He no longer used a whetstone, but a stiff, thick piece of bison leather. Elidad, who rubbed the emeralds in the palm of his left hand, hissed between his teeth. Adah didn’t bother to look up, although Joash noticed that her fingers tightened. He could tell because her fingertips, the part under the nails, turned white. The parchment didn’t crinkle at such treatment. It creaked like ship-cordage.

Joash quailed. Was the magic gaining strength? Was it like a python, which Adah had told him about, that gained hold of a creature and squeezed with increasing might? Somehow, he had to shake the emeralds’ hold on the others. If he didn’t—

“Death,” he whispered.

“Eh?” Elidad asked. “What did you say?” He’d put the emeralds back in the leopard-skin pouch, and then attached the pouch to his belt. He studied Joash with a crafty glint.

Joash tried to grin, but grimaced instead. “I wondered what kind of parchment Adah reads.”

Elidad nodded encouragingly.

“It, ah...” Out of the corner of his eye Joash saw that Herrek was absorbed with his sharpening, Gens with his picture carving, and Adah with her deciphering. Only Elidad and he seemed to be aware of their surroundings.

“The parchment strikes me as strange,” Joash said.

“You’re perceptive,” Elidad said. “Yes. The parchment rolls well, and isn’t thick yet it’s almost impossible to tear. It isn’t sheep-skin, or deer-skin of any kind I’ve seen.” Elidad leaned toward him and lowered his voice. “I think the parchment is derived from a legendary creature. There’s a strange aspect to the skin...”

“What kind of creature?” Joash asked.

Elidad blinked several times, as if trying to draw himself out of a bizarre dream. “A strange parchment, made in olden times. Made from a legendary creature.”

Joash nodded encouragingly.

“Slith.”

Joash frowned, never having heard of such a creature.

“They were strange beasts with monstrous bat-like wings, and with huge jaws that came to a needle-sharp point,” Elidad said. “They were terrible flying monsters. Fit material indeed from which to make the map of the ages.”

Elidad was speaking about pterodactyls. So why did he call them slith? “How did you guess that?” Joash asked.

A troubled smile crept onto Elidad’s lips. “I don’t know. It...” The smile turned crafty. He shrugged. “Let us speak, you and me.” He beckoned Joash to follow him to the stallions.

None of the others glanced up, but continued their chosen occupations.

Elidad stepped beside Pondon, putting a big hand on the stallion’s flank. “You spoke before of a scabbard decked with emeralds. Did you not?”

Joash nodded.

Elidad’s smile grew. “Yes, like me you understand the true value of what we’ve found. The treasure isn’t there to help fight giants or to glean useless secrets. It’s there to be gathered, to be put into sacks, and then later at home into priceless jars.” The smile became craftier. “You wonder upon things, Groom. I like that. Pretty Adah, the one you moon over—” Elidad laughed sharply at Joash’s reaction. “Don’t look so shocked. It’s obvious you’re a moonstruck calf when it comes to her. Adah reads the map, but that’s because she can think of nothing else but secrets, lost lore, and the hidden plans of Nephilim. She doesn’t take time to ponder what the map is made from. She will never see things for what they are. Nor, I think, will she ever notice you as a man.” Elidad stepped near and put his hand on Joash’s shoulder. “She’s not like you and I.” The big fingers squeezed in a comradely fashion.

Joash smiled, hoping to understand Elidad and maybe get his hands on the emeralds. He was appalled that the warrior could tell he liked Adah. But that wasn’t important now. Somehow, he had to free the others from the baleful magic.

“I knew from the beginning that Lord Uriah came here because of a hidden purpose.” Elidad took his hand away and snorted, “Capture steppe ponies and sell them to the Lords of Caphtor. Hah. A ploy. A story for the simple-minded.” He nudged Joash with his elbow. “But Elidad, son of Joha, is no fool, eh? I asked myself, ‘Why does Lord Uriah travel to Giant Land? If to gather steppe ponies, why not send Herrek or another champion? Why would the Patriarch, the very heart of Elon, risk himself in Giant Land?’ Ah, I knew Uriah plotted bigger.” Elidad tapped the leopard-skin pouch. “Here is the hidden purpose, treasure untold, treasure to make a man rich beyond reckoning.” Elidad leaned closer, the smell of tea on his breath. “Treasure enough so a man could leave his clan and set out on his own. Maybe enough to build his own clan. Yes, I knew and was the first to join the adventure. Now my foresight has been rewarded.”

Joash swallowed uneasily.

“This is a barren land,” Elidad said, eyeing Joash closely. “It would be easy to become lost here.”

“True.”

“But two men with two chariots could easily transverse it.”

 “Loaded with emeralds?” Joash whispered.

Elidad slapped Joash on the back. Then he stepped close and turned his back toward the others. He clutched Joash’s throat. Dry, evil menace filled Elidad’s voice. “Dare to tell the others about my words, I’ll call you a liar, and drive my sword through your heart. Dare to try to thwart me from my treasure, or to steal from me, and I’ll stake you to the steppes and drive bison over you. Do you understand?”

Joash could barely nod.

“Good.” Elidad released his hold, smiled, and patted him on the back. “You’re a wise lad. I like you. Make certain you remain a man of your word.”

Joash rubbed his throat, bewildered. The emeralds’ baleful power was driving them mad, making their deepest desires come bubbling to the fore. What should he do?

“Groom?” Elidad asked, suspiciously.

Joash looked into the bloodshot eyes. “You can depend on me, Warrior. I’ll do everything I must.”

“Splendid,” Elidad said.

They walked to the fire.  Herrek quietly set aside his sharpening tools, Gens bundled his birch-bark, and Adah rolled the map and stuck it in her sash. They boarded the chariots and headed toward the hills.

They didn’t stop until the sun sank into the distant horizon, and the stars appeared. The stars shined brightly in the clear air. Far off to the east the half-moon rose. Dire wolves howled. Sabertooths roared. The distant thunder of hooves told of a chase. Joash waited as he rubbed oil into a pair of reins, hoping to hear the trumpet of mammoths. Instead he heard the creak of boot-leather and the soft chink of chainmail.

He turned.

Herrek stood beside him. The warrior held onto his spear and shield, looking longingly at the dark hills. He wore his helmet, the nasal-guard snug over his nose. Herrek blew out his cheeks impatiently.

Joash saw Adah laying on her bedroll. Koton stood beside her, yawning. Gens withdrew dung from the dung-sack and tossed it into the fire. It stank, but it gave them a flame. All day long Joash had been filling the sack with dried bison chips. Elidad already snored, his body between the parked chariots.

“I long to meet them,” Herrek said softly.

Joash folded the reins and capped the oil flask.

Herrek glanced at him. “Are you ready, Groom?”

“Warrior?”

“Are you ready to face the evil foe?”

“Nephilim?”

Herrek grunted, shifting his hold on the oblong shield.

“Do you think giants will be at the cave?”

“They must be there.” Herrek looked longingly at the dark hills. “I came to Giant Land to challenge the enemy. I knew that something of this sort must be in my great, great grandfather’s heart. He’s a cunning man. He does not leave the center of his kingdom to chase after illusionary quests. Therefore I was honored when he chose me to be his champion.” Herrek expanded his chest. “Elidad spoke with you before, no doubt encouraging you to be bold. I, too, challenge you to face the enemy as you did Balak when you charged him. Hold your spear with courage. Thrust the spear-point at his eyes. Make him blink. Make him turn away.”

“I’ll do my best.”

Herrek gave him a quizzical glance.

“I-I haven’t been trained yet, Lord.”

Herrek stepped back and lifting his shield. In a smooth motion he reversed his grip on the spear and held it over his shoulder in the casting position. “Notice how I balance the spear.”

Joash did.

“Hold your spear likewise.”

Joash tried. The spearhead dipped.

“No! Find the balance point, where neither end wavers.”

Joash finally got it.

“Now heave!” Herrek hurled his spear. It flashed into the darkness. With a roar he drew his blade and bounded after the spear. In moments, Herrek stood beside him again. He breathed heavily. “In a like manner, I will charge the hated enemy.”

Joash stood motionless, the spear still over his shoulder. Herrek never bragged nor tried to overawe him. Perhaps, though, in the depths of his heart, this is how Herrek saw himself: a fierce warrior, a champion of Clan Teman, of Elon. But did Herrek really believe he could slay giants by himself?

“Cast your weapon. Let the lesson begin.”

It wasn’t until the half-moon was high in the sky that Herrek let him quit. Joash’s arm was sore, although his throwing technique had improved. It was a lot like javelin throwing, except you had to put your body into the cast more and snap your arm just so. As he lay down Joash glanced at Herrek. The tall warrior strode around the camp. Joash hoped he would tire in time to catch some sleep. But maybe Herrek was too eager to lie down. Then, Joash recalled the emeralds. Now would be the perfect time to try to steal them.

“Psst!”

Joash turned and saw Elidad staring at him. The bear-like warrior seemed to be judging him. At last Elidad smiled and nodded good night.

Countless worries gnawed Joash, not the least that somehow Elidad could sense or read his thoughts. But the day’s activities had wearied him. He fell into troubled slumber. It was filled with bad dreams. Joash shivered himself awake later, rose, and threw more dung onto the fire. The night was cold and filled with menacing sounds. Gens crouched near the chariot, his spear ready. Herrek slept with his armor and weapons beside him. Elidad had a blanket thrown over his shoulders. Joash stealthily stepped in the bear-like warrior’s direction. Elidad groaned. Joash stepped closer. Elidad’s eyes flew open and he sat up. Joash pretended to stumble and made his way back to his bedroll. He stared up at the stars for a long time before he finally fell asleep again.

***

“Wake up,” Elidad said, toeing Joash’s shoulder.

Joash opened bleary eyes. It was still dark, although the hidden sun painted the horizon with streaks of red. Somewhere in the distance a steppe stallion neighed.

“Get up,” Elidad said. “Hitch the horses.”

“It’s still dark.”

Elidad shrugged, the motion evident by the clink of chainmail.

Sleep drugged Joash. Elidad toed him again. With a groan Joash sat up. His right arm and side were sore, his legs tired. Shivering, he pulled on his leathers and sleepily rolled his blanket. He stowed it in the chariot, then went to the fire, splashed his face with water, rubbed his eyes, and drank a scalding cup of tea. He chewed on salted herring, warmed his hands by the fire, and finally dragged himself to the stallions. Gens whistled as he hitched Galay and Geirrod, while Herrek paced impatiently. Even Adah seemed well rested. She brushed Koton with swift strokes.

Maybe he should look at the emeralds again, Joash thought bitterly. If they imparted a good night’s sleep from only the barest of hours and after a grueling day—

Pondon butted him in the back and tried to walk off. Joash stopped himself from hitting the horse, but stroked Pondon’s neck and spoke soothingly. The stallions were tired and didn’t like the early morning hitching. They, too, felt the grueling pace.

Something odd made Joash pause and look over at Elidad. The warrior squatted by the fire and examined the emeralds. But that wasn’t what had caught Joash’s eye. Elidad looked haggard. His cheeks seemed to shine, and he had a fine sheen of sweat on his forehead. Joash tightened the last buckle and walked to the fire.

Elidad looked up. His eyes were even more bloodshot than they’d been yesterday. He grinned as he pocketed the emeralds. “All is ready?” he asked, as if vigor-filled.

Joash nodded.

Elidad rose, kicked out the fire, and strode to the chariot.

Joash went to each of them and unobtrusively studied their features. Herrek’s eyes were bloodshot, although not as much as Elidad’s. Gens’s face seemed paler than yesterday, and the skin under Adah’s eyes was puffy.

The hard pace affects them, Joash thought in horror, but the magic won’t let them feel it. He felt utterly alone, abandoned among strangers. He didn’t want to travel any closer to the hills, he wanted to flee back to the camp. He wanted to tell Zillith everything he knew. Yet he couldn’t do that. For one thing, he’d never make it back. Tarag’s sabertooths would catch him, or perhaps a pack of dire wolves, or some orns. Or maybe the others would hunt him as a traitor, and slay him. At least Elidad might do that. The reason Joash wouldn’t try to go back went deeper. These were his friends. He had to save his friends. That’s what a warrior would do, that’s what Herrek had done for him two years ago.

Did warriors fear the way he feared now? And did warriors feel alone and abandoned? The pit of Joash’s stomach curled, and he felt drained. Koton brushed against his leg then, and the dog wagged his tail. Joash touched Koton’s big head. Koton licked his hand. Joash grinned and rubbed behind Koton’s ears.

“At least you’re not bewitched,” he whispered. “At least I’m not all alone.”

Before he could do any more, Herrek shouted, and Gens spoke to his team. The chariots rolled and Joash followed. They traveled toward the pass. By late morning they would reach the dreaded hills. By then it would be too late to do anything to save the others. Of that, Joash was certain.