Pilgrimage (10 page)

“Run!” Roland shouted. Georgia didn't argue. She fled back through the paddock towards the house. The man wrestled with the dog and beat at its head until it let go.

The animal dropped and snapped at him again. The man backed away. He stepped straight into the fence. The dog rushed him down again. It closed its jaws around his leg, growling and snarling through trickles of blood. The man collapsed. The dog let go and lunged for his neck. The sorcerer smacked the animal aside but the beast kept going, undeterred. It clasped around his arm again. The sorcerer cried out in pain. Shaking all over, he dug his free arm into his pocket and pulled out a Swiss army knife. He gripped it in his teeth and pulled out one of the blades. The animal didn't notice until he stabbed it. The dog yelped and pulled away. It collapsed on its injured limb, tried to get up but yelped again and fell. The sorcerer stabbed the dog a few more times for good measure, until Roland opened fire. The bullet struck the fence, spraying the sorcerer with splinters. He dropped the knife and scrambled over the fence, tumbled down the other side before limping away as fast as he could.

Griffith watched him go and then turned to the animal. Roland grabbed his shoulder and pulled him back.

“Get behind me.” He said. Griffith took another look at the dog. The animal's leg and body trickled blood. Between struggles to stand, it whimpered and licked at its wounds. Roland aimed the rifle down at it.

“No,” Griffith said.

“What?”

“You can't kill it, Roland.” Griffith positioned himself between the rifle and the beast.

“Look at it. With that many holes in it, it's going to die either way. Stand aside and let me end its misery or we let it die slowly.”

“It doesn't have to. I can help it.”

“Look what it did to the bull, Griffith! You get near it and it'll kill you.” Roland tried to aim at the dog but Griffith blocked him completely.

“You look at the bull! Do you think a dog did that?”

Roland glanced at the bull and regretted it. “Yes. Now move.”

“It was just hungry.”

“And it's probably still hungry. Even if we leave it, it can't go far. Thomas will find it in the morning and kill it, himself. You can't protect it forever.”

“But I can protect it now!” Griffith put his arms out to his side, blocking the animal as much as he could.

“Get out of the way and I'll make it quick and painless. We all win.”

“The dog doesn't.”

“Griffith!”

“We're pretty close. Like he said, I bet if you shot, you could put a bullet right through us both.” Without waiting for an answer, Griffith turned and knelt over the dog. There was no way Roland would shoot. Roland was only looking out for him, but even if he did shoot, Griffith couldn't have gone on with his pilgrimage if he let a little thing like death scare him off.

Just as he had done for Roland, Griffith placed his hands on the wounded and frightened creature. He worked the spell and the the wounds closed one by one, sucking the lost blood back into its body. Before the animal got to its feet again, Griffith backed away. The dog eyed both men cautiously. It lowered its ears. Roland kept his rifle levelled at it.

“Get out of here!” Roland shouted at the animal

The dog backed slowly away from them. “Stay out of the bush,” it growled in a voice that sounded distinctly feminine and distinctly human. “They're still out there.” Then it ducked under a fence and disappeared into the brush.

“Did that...” Griffith watched the dog run. “Did that dog just talk?”

“I think it—” Before Roland could finish, Griffith had vaulted the fence and vanished into the bushes beyond.

Roland looked back towards the farm house. He could hear Thomas calling them. He could see the cattle moving and shifting to make way for the farmer. He looked towards Griffith, gritted his teeth and swore under his breath. Roland dropped the gun by the bull, clambered over the fence and raced after Griffith and the talking dog. He ran as fast as he could – faster, he was sure, than Griffith had been running but neither the impulsive sorcerer nor the talking dog could be seen.

Then the whole world slipped away from Roland and he was swallowed by deep shadows. He tumbled and rolled through dirt, taking in mouthfuls of earth as he dropped into darkness. All at once he stopped moving and hit something like solid ground. He groaned out a painful breath into the darkness and somebody in the dark groaned back.

Chapter 7

Pentdragon's voice echoed like a summer storm. Each syllable cracked, shaking the walls of his throne room and the nerves of his servants. Half a dozen men knelt before him, bent forward, eyes turned to the ground. The room was dark. Lord Pentdragon stood by his throne, a crimson aura surrounding him. That aura alone illuminated the room.

“An apprentice and a mortal! You have been outsmarted and beaten – physically, in one case – by an apprentice and a mortal. Each and every one of you is unworthy to serve in my court. You are unworthy of being in my presence!

“I invited the most important and most noble subjects of the realm to an execution and I have been embarrassed by your incompetence. Incompetence! I have a mind to put you all to death and give the execution I promised. Do you have any idea what it looks like when The Great Lord Pentdragon is unable to defeat a mortal man? Any idea? Did not one of you think for a moment that, when you fail, it appears to the court that I failed? I am Lord Pentdragon and I fail at nothing. Nothing! The entire realm exists and functions because I say it does.” Pentdragon turned from his men and pressed his thumb and index finger against his forehead. His unbridled rage threatened to turn a dull throbbing over his brow into a full-blown headache. He took a few slow, deep breathes to settle his nerves.

Feeling calmer than before, he turned around to face his servants again. One of them, a wiry man with a disgustingly hairy face, was looking at him. As soon as Pentdragon looked at him, the hairy-faced man turned his head downwards again. His whole body quivered non-stop. Pentdragon continued quietly:

“Each and every one of you lives because I say you may live. Your continued existence is at my mercy and you may all be thankful that I am merciful. I am merciful.” He took a seat on his throne and from his place above his subjects, he scrutinised them quietly. Not one of them spoke. They were a pathetic lot; hardly worth his attention and each only slightly more adept at sorcery than a child apprentice. They cowered before him and suffered his temper in the desperate hope that he would throw them the scraps of his knowledge and wisdom. Yet, they were each uniquely unworthy of the slightest amount of pity. Their loyalty was outweighed completely by their uselessness.

He waited to see if any of them would dare to speak. They were too timid in his presence to even muster up an apology for their stupidity. He might have looked kindly on them if they had even enough spine to beg forgiveness. They didn't. They only offered him failure, time and time again.

“Why do I keep you? Why? Somebody tell me. Rise and speak, one of you; tell me what use you offer.”

Nobody answered him. They didn't even move.

“We will bring them back.” Pentdragon continued. “You will have another opportunity to prove yourselves. Now stand, all of you. Stand.”

They stood but kept their heads low.

“Return only when I have summoned you. I shall engineer a way for you to find them and you will bring them back to me. Now go. Go!” Each turned and left. The door closed behind the last and left Lord Pentdragon in solitude.

He sat silently and contemplated the task before him. The burden of creating both the method and the means of hunting and retrieving Roland and Griffith rested on him and him alone. If Griffith continued to use magic, one of his many spies across the Tablelands would surely find him again. But even when they did locate them, what were the chances of ambushing them a second time? Surrounded, as he was, by useless servants and vain courtiers there was nobody Lord Pentdragon could turn to for aid in any of his grand designs. So it was in lonely bitterness that he schemed the deaths of his new foes.

He worked undisturbed for an hour or more. He did not move from his throne and he did not speak. Nothing disturbed his thinking until, without warning, he heard the door slam closed. He had been so deep in thought he did not even hear it open. Was he expecting someone? Had he absent-mindedly called for one of his attendants? No, he hadn't. Some unwelcome intruder had come into his chamber.

“Who goes there?” He demanded. There was no answer. Pentdragon took a moment to strengthen the aura he had been projecting and the crimson glow blasted the whole room with light, leaving no corner untouched and no shadow remaining. Now he could see his visitor. The man standing in the room had dark eyes and short grey hair. He was over six feet tall and gaunt as a skeleton. The skin on his face clung tight to his high cheek bones. He grinned so wide that it reached from one side of his narrow face to the other. The stranger made a point of each motion being grand and dramatic. He flourished one arm outwards, then wrapped it around his waist and bowed low.

“I greet you most respectfully, Your Lordship Pentdragon. I petition you only for a moment in your presence.” He remained low in waiting. Pentdragon sat straight in his throne and examined his visitor. The stranger was well dressed, his black shoes had been recently polished and he was wearing spotless white gloves. But he could tell the suit was too big for the stranger. He didn't look right in it, not like a man who knew how to dress himself in true class and style. This stranger was just a pretender to elegance and nowhere was it more evident than the hint of insincerity in his voice.

“You may rise and come forward but only after you have told me your name.” Pentdragon told him.

“My name is Lloyd Crane and I am at your service.” The stranger stood straight again and walked forward. “I am told that you have had some misfortune recently.”

“And who told you that? Who?” Pentdragon made sure to address the stranger with a cautious but no less authoritative tone.

“A man at the door. He tried to convince me that I should return another time.”

“How did you convince him to let you in?”

“Do not fear, my Lord. I did not kill him or any of your servants who tried to intercept me.” Lloyd smiled up to his eyes.

“I never accused you of killing them.”

“No? Of course not. I only mean you have nothing to worry about. I come only to lay my service at your command.”

“And what use do I have for you?”

“You will find that I am the only man you will meet that is both able and willing to kill Griffith and his friend. More than this, I am offering you this service at no cost to you.”

“How do you know about them?” Pentdragon asked. He leaned forward, resting his chin on his hands.

“I was with one of your subjects when the invitation to their execution came. We arrived shortly after they had escaped and heard all about it.”

“If you were with a member of my court, then you should know that there are laws for sorcerers in my realm. The Law of Tribute and The Law of Proclamation. I received no word of your arrival and no tribute. No word or tribute.”

“But you have.” Lloyd stepped closer to Pentdragon. Pentdragon rose up and the room darkened. Lloyd took a step backwards. “I am announcing myself to you now and I am offering my service as tribute.”

“Service? You want to kill Griffith and Roland as tribute? Do you take me for a fool?”

“If I did, I would not be here.” Lloyd answered with his head bowed and his eyes averted. Pentdragon wasn't convinced. The stranger was trying to play him for a fool and he didn't like it. But the offer was still enticing.

“Then tell me, what do you get out of killing them?”

“That is my business and my business alone. You will either take my offer as it is, or you won't.” Lloyd stretched his mouth into a long grin again.

A chill ran down Pentdragon's spine. Somewhere in the back of his mind, a voice told him to send the stranger away. Pentdragon closed his eyes and silently considered this instinct. Would he be showing weakness? Would the stranger kill Roland and Griffith, anyway? Wouldn't he look stronger if the Stranger did it at his command?

“Very well, Lloyd Crane.” Pentdragon said. “You have my sanction to find and kill the criminals. Find and kill.”

“Your Lordship is most wise and, if your Lordship will allow it, there are a few things I will need to achieve his goals.”

“What did you have in mind?”

Chapter 8

When he was sure he'd stopped moving, Roland picked himself up and dusted himself off.

Complete darkness surrounded him. He couldn't even see the stars in this... Whatever he had fallen into. He could still hear loose dirt and rock following him. Somebody close to him shifted and groaned.

“Griffith?” Roland asked.

“Yes,” the voice in the darkness answered.

“Are you hurt?”

“A little.”

“Good.” Roland picked the direction that most seemed like the one he'd come from and tried walking. The ground inclined upwards and then turned sharply into a ninety degree angle. Roland tried to dig into the wall and climb but the soil gave way and dropped him back down. Even if that was the right way, he couldn't get up like that.