Escape From Riddler's Pass

 

Published by Warner Press Inc, Anderson, IN 46012

Warner Press and “WP” logo is a trademark of Warner Press Inc.

Copyright ©2011 by Amy Lynn Green

Cover Design © 2011 by Warner Press Inc

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording or any other method of storage—except for brief quotations in printed reviews, without the prior permission of the publisher.

ISBN: 978-1-59317-487-3

Editors: Robin Fogle, Karen Rhodes

Cover by Curtis D. Corzine

Design and layout: Curtis D. Corzine

Printed in the USA

To Jarod,

for being my brother

and my friend.

 

Looking down on the forest outside of Mir, Demetri did not see any ghosts among the trees.

Some crazy merchant, a fellow traveler on the mountain road, had sworn that ghosts—he called them
saards
—had been spotted in the area. “Just a few weeks past, one stood up on the bridge past this valley and shot five Patrol members with its blood-red arrows, then disappeared,” he said solemnly. “None of the Patrol escaped alive.”

“If none escaped, how do you know this
saard
stood on the bridge?” Demetri had pointed out.

The merchant had ignored him and continued, “I'm telling you, it's not safe to go into those woods, th-they're haunted.”

That was why Demetri now sat on a boulder at the pass instead of on the mossy forest floor just a few dozen paces away. The merchant had insisted that he go no farther, and Demetri
hardly wanted to call attention to himself by refusing. Besides, the sun was starting to sink in the sky. Ghosts or not, no one but thieves and lawbreakers moved about after curfew.

Of course, Demetri didn't believe the merchant's tale was anything more than local superstition. He remembered talk of
saards
when he had lived in District One long ago.
There is no truth to such wild stories.
Demetri was a Patrol captain and a Guard Rider, a man of reason who would not be swayed by legends.

Still, Demetri decided to set up camp in the pass outside the forest. He had put in many long days to reach Mir, often on little sleep, battling windstorms and, once, a group of bandits. He knew the three young people, hardly more than children, the ones he had been ordered to find and kill, would not be able to travel as quickly. They were Youth Guard—strong, determined, and quick-witted, but he was a hardened soldier, used to the conditions of the desert.

He had not carried a tent with him; the weight would have slowed him down, and the ground made a fine-enough bed. He had not slept well on his journey through the mountains, but that had been true since he had met Aleric and received his commission: kill the squad of Youth Guard who came through his town.

And I will
, he vowed, fingering the Guard Rider medallion that hung beneath his shirt.
They escaped me in Da'armos, but this time that old desert fox, Samariyosin, won't be here to save them
.

Smugglers. Demetri had hated them, even back when he was an ordinary Patrol captain, and Samariyosin was one of the most notorious smugglers of all, even in his old age. It was Samariyosin's fault the three young people had escaped him.
But they will not escape this time
.

Demetri dug through his supplies and found a slice of stale bread. It was all he needed for supper. He was not hungry. As he ate, he reviewed the strategy he had carefully planned late into the previous night before falling asleep.

One of the Youth Guard members was in Mir, sick from some sort of poison. The young crippled boy, the one who was not of the Guard at all, had told him that much.

In the morning, he would gather a detachment of Patrol members from Mir and the nearby villages. Together, they would search for the Youth Guard member—house to house if necessary. Once he killed the missing Guard member, he would wait. Wait for the others to come and join their friend.

He knew they would come. They seemed loyal. Too loyal. It was their weakness, and it would destroy them.

All of Demetri's fellow travelers were beginning to settle down for the night, feeding mules, putting up tents, and cooking supper over fires. Merchants and traders, mostly, though Demetri spied one small family in a dirty, broken-down wagon.
Going to District Four to seek their fortune, most likely.

Hundreds of peasants had been pouring into District Four, where Demetri's outpost was, spurred by the king's false report that there were jobs and food to be had in the northwest territory of Amarias.
Perhaps I should warn them that they will find nothing more than crowded cities and dry wells.
District Four was just as beaten-down as the rest of the kingdom seemed to be these days.

Demetri took off his boot and hit it against the rock, watching the sand fall to the ground. When the three were dead, he would go back to District Four. He frowned.
And what waits for me there? A lifetime of hiding in the desert. Alone.

A sound from the wagon nearby made his head jerk up. It was the cry of a little girl, the one from the traveling family. She was helping her father pull a canvas over the wagon for the night, and had tripped over a rock.

Her father rushed to her side and helped her up, examining the small scrape with an appropriate amount of concern and seriousness, then tickling her until her tears turned to laughter. The mother came out from the other side of the wagon, smiling, but telling them to keep quiet and not disturb the other travelers.

Demetri found himself drawn by the scene, and he knew why. It was not because he missed his own parents; his mother had died when he was young, and his father had never made much time for his two sons. But he had dreamed of being a father once, before the disaster.

No.
Do not think of her. Think only of the mission
. He would find the three Youth Guard members, and they would die. If he failed, Aleric, captain of the Youth Guard, would kill his brother. He could not fail. Completing the mission was what was important now.

That was the problem with journeying alone. There was no one to distract him from his memories, no one to focus his mind on the task at hand.

“Hey there!” Demetri looked up to see an old man poke his head out of a tent nearby. “Don't know if you realize, but curfew's comin'. You ought to put down for the night. Rules are rules here in Amarias.”

The captain just nodded at the man. “Thank you for the warning,” he called.
It must be too dark for him to notice my Patrol uniform. Or else he is too blind.

The old man was right: curfew was coming. The sun had begun to set, and most of the travelers along the road were already hidden away in tents near the mountain trail.
Apparently they do not wish to go far, for fear of the saards.

Demetri lay down, using his pack for a pillow.
The chase will end tomorrow.

It didn't take him as long as usual to fall asleep, but the dream was as vivid as ever. He was in his father's courtyard at dawn, before the aurora blossoms on the trellis had opened. The garden felt unfamiliar, like it was from a different life.
Or one I can hardly remember
.

It was strange; Demetri had spent hours studying in the courtyard when he was younger. He recognized every stone in the pavement, every patch of flowers, and even the cracks in the gate. Something was different, though. No birds were singing. The shadows of the trees stretched out into menacing forms. The light from the rising sun seemed dimmer and the scent of the flowers hinted at poison.

By now, Demetri was used to the nightmares, but this one gave him the feeling of being watched. He had felt the same the night in Nalatid, when he had failed the first time to kill the Youth Guard members.

So it did not surprise him when Aleric entered the gate. “They are here,” he said simply and without explanation.

“No,” Demetri said, daring to contradict his superior. “They can't be. It's impossible.”

“You wasted a day of travel by returning to Nalatid,” Aleric reminded him. “The time you made up by traveling late into the night was lost the next morning with your exhaustion. You practically stumbled through the desert.”

“I couldn't sleep,” Demetri said, trying to justify himself. He felt the medallion again. “The dreams….”

Aleric shrugged. “The medallion doesn't cause your nightmares, Captain, although it does allow me to communicate with you. If the medallion produces dark dreams, it is only pulling from the darkness in your own heart.”

Then he shook his head. “But there is the matter of this squad. I want them destroyed, Demetri. They worry me, more than many generations of Youth Guard. The prophecy….”

His voice trailed off. “What prophecy?” Demetri pressed.

“It would do little good to tell you,” Aleric said, “as you are not a man of superstition.”

That was true enough. Demetri let it pass. Strangely, even though the sun was rising, the garden seemed to be getting darker and dimmer. All he could see clearly now was Aleric's face; the rest was in the shadows.

“Captain, you must find them and kill them,” Aleric said, his eyes burning into Demetri's mind. “You have no idea what the stakes are. These three, and the one they left behind, could destroy the entire kingdom and more than that.”

Demetri frowned. “But they're only young people.”

“Only young people!” Aleric hissed. “You underestimate them even now, after all you saw them do in the desert?”

Demetri winced. “Luck. That was all.”

“No. I do not think it was.” Aleric leaned forward. “Captain, let me explain the seriousness of this situation. I cannot always see them.”

That didn't seem very serious to Demetri. “Neither can I. If we could, they would be dead by now.”

“Listen, Captain,” Aleric said harshly. “I have been given the power to see a vision of anyone I name.”

Demetri stared at the old man. The ability was strange and unnatural. Perhaps even evil.
But imagine the power it would give.

“But with these three…I can only catch glimpses,” Aleric went on. “That is why I did not know where they were until now. And I have not yet seen the fourth, the one they left behind. Perhaps he is already dead.”

Aleric leaned forward. “There are forces at work here you do not understand, Captain. And I do not expect you to. But what you need to know is that they are being protected. Because of this, more than anything else, they must die.”

Suddenly, Demetri was no longer in the garden courtyard. He was standing in a dark, shadowy forest, where three figures, two of them no higher than Demetri's shoulder, were hurrying through the trees. It was them, the three he was sent to find and kill. Demetri knew it without a doubt.

Demetri glanced around. There was the river. Farther, through the trees, the bridge. He knew where he was, and, if the dream was correct, where
they
were. He followed them. In the dream, his every movement was silent. Not a twig snapped, not a leaf rustled.

“Here,” the crippled boy, the one with the staff said, pointing. Before them was a run-down shack that looked out-of-place in the middle of the woods.

The tall one with the pale hair stopped. “Did you hear something?”

Even though he was sure it was a dream, Demetri froze. The medallion was burning again, so fiercely that Demetri almost wondered if the three would be able to hear it sizzle as it seared his flesh.

“No,” the crippled boy said. “But I wonder….”

He turned around just then and looked straight at Demetri. The boy had green eyes, almost like the ones Demetri had seen many times in his own reflection. For a second, Demetri was sure their eyes met—that the boy could see him.

 

Demetri awoke, clutching the medallion and staring straight up at the sky. The moon was shining brightly. Demetri wondered how long he had been asleep—how much time he had given the Youth Guard members to escape.

He packed up his supplies silently, so as not to wake the other travelers. He needed more men and the nearest Patrol outpost was three miles from the pass. That would waste time, but he would not underestimate the Youth Guard. Not this time.