Ways of Power 1: Power Rises (9 page)

14

The next day Rancoth woke to find Dorbin already eating his share of the breakfast that had been left for them. It was not overly lavish, only two bowls of cold boiled grains, but with the added spice of hunger it was delicious. There was also much more water for them, and they both drank greedily. After one particularly long drink Dorbin wiped the lingering drops of water from his mouth with his sleeve. Rancoth noticed that Dorbin had taken the time to re-braid his facial hair, which made him look, and probably feel, more dignified.

"So, are you still mad at me?" Rancoth asked.

"You'rre damn rright I am. But I do underrstand. I just hope that wonderrful honorr o' yourrs doesn't get us killed." Dorbin said.

"I hope so too. I wonder, why do you suppose they call him McRoy the Red? There's nothing red about the man." Before Dorbin could answer, a familiar voice spoke.

"It's because no one in battle ever becomes more drenched in the blood of their enemies than McRoy the Red." It was the sultry voice of Celeste. Rancoth whipped his head around so fast, that he actually heard his neck pop. He needed to see what heavenly creature could sound so seductive. The stirrings in his groin stilled as abruptly as they had started.

She was short and had thinning brown hair above a pockmarked tan complexion. Her unremarkable brown eyes bugged out of her gaunt sickly face. She was missing most of her teeth, and other than her distended stomach, her thin bony body had no womanly shape at all. Her only clothing was a tattered yellow frock, which hung to just above her knobby knees.

"What's the matter, handsome? You don't like what you see? Afraid your now shriveled little member will never stand at attention again?” she laughed musically. "My name's Celeste, Celeste Simmons. Mic thought you might want some fresh air, and was hoping you'd come and talk with him this morning."

Rancoth turned to Dorbin, who nodded his head slightly. With Dorbin's approval Rancoth told her that they would follow, and she promptly led them out of the hole.

They emerged from what was more or less a hollowed out hill, and the brilliant sunlight dazzled their eyes. The camp was smaller than either man expected it to be, and was populated entirely by Huldens.

There were rail-thin women and children busying themselves with daily chores. All appeared starved and sickly. Even the men, congregated in the shade of a large rock, were mere wisps of what they should have been.

Other than the state of the people, the first thing that both men noticed was the absence of grass, or any vegetation, for that matter. It hadn't been rocks Rancoth had heard crunching under the feet of their captures, but rather cracked and peeling soil.

This was a land devoid of water; it was a land of death. The sudden realization of how lavish their breakfast truly had been, caused Rancoth to feel shame as he looked at the starving children around him. No wonder he had gotten so dehydrated so quickly; any moisture was instantly sucked up by the arid, inhospitable climate.

Celeste led them to a large tent at the center of the camp and scratched on the dust-encrusted surface. "Enter," came the rumbled command. Celeste held the entrance flap open and waved them in without following.

What looked like a huge tent from the outside was greatly diminished by the titanic man standing in the middle of it, his hands on his hips. The tent was sparsely furnished; there was an immense cot to one side that appeared to be made from actual tree trunks. The only other item was a massive dark wood table, with a couple of maps and various other bits of parchment spread out. McRoy had been intently studying these when the two of them were ushered inside.

"Good morning. You slept well I hope?"

They both nodded.

"And breakfast, it was to your liking?"

"It was fine, thank you," Rancoth said.

"It should have gone to the little ones," Dorbin said softly.

Rancoth knew that there would have been tears in the little man's eyes, had he had them to spare.

"Actually, it did. Everyone gets the same rations. The same water, the same food, and all in the same amounts. We have no choice but to strictly regulate our resources. There simply isn't enough to go around, as I'm sure you've noticed," McRoy said.

Now that he was in the full light, and Rancoth was no longer delirious from hunger and dehydration he reassessed the leader of the camp.  Despite being of colossal size, McRoy too showed signs of deprivation.

              His cheeks were sunken, and his deep-set green eye should have been shallower, given the shape of his face. The flap of scared skin over his empty eye socket was desiccated, and since the flesh was still alive it should have been plump with the fluids of life. And, though he was heavily muscled, his arms and legs lacked any real definition.

In fact the more he looked at him, the more Rancoth came to the realization that not
everyone
got the same amount of rations. He would not have been surprised to learn that McRoy often went completely without so that his people could have just that much more in their own bellies. Relying on his sheer size to keep himself alive, the man was slowly cannibalizing himself from the inside.

              "Yourr prroblem is obvious. You'rre dying. What's at the rroot' o' it is not so clearr. And what you think we can do to help isn't eitherr," Dorbin remarked, curiosity and his true generous nature finally getting the better of him.

              "If I'm not mistaken, you are Rancoth, the son of the missing Carcella, and Adroman who used to live not far from here. And your little friend here is Dorbin, master smith and friend to the Arch Mage Grecrum." McRoy said, as more of a statement than a question.

              Rancoth and Dorbin stared at each other in amazement, both unsure how to proceed. Obviously despite outward appearances, this man was no mere barbarian. He certainly knew more about them than they did of him. As such he had them at somewhat of a disadvantage.  Rancoth turned back to the man, and cocked his head. "How do you know that?"

              "In Tower City there are few who do not know who you are. Though where your parents disappeared to is a complete mystery. I don't suppose you would mind shedding some light on that matter?" There was no hint at subterfuge in the man's deep resonating voice, only curiosity.

              "Actually, I would mind. So, who from Tower City is watching my movements and reporting them to you, and why?" Rancoth said, his jaw clenched. Only Grecrum, Tre'Atoll, Dorbin, and Jurile knew the whole story about that night, and Rancoth had no intention of increasing their numbers at present.

              "Yeah, no shite!" Dorbin added.

              The burst of laughter that McRoy expelled was like a thunderclap, literally shaking the walls of the tent. "No one is monitoring your movements and reporting them to me, my young friend. Vabrin is an old friend of mine who is aware of our plight. He heard that the two of you had set out in this direction, and assumed you might be curious about your childhood home. He sent word ahead of you, nothing more sinister than that I assure you." McRoy continued to chuckle.

              "Vabrrin the shop keeperr?" Dorbin asked.

Rancoth and Dorbin had known Vabrin a long time; he was a good man, as far as Huldens went anyway. And, despite everything, Rancoth was growing to like the giant to whom honor and trust seemed so important. He elected to take the story at face value, and move on with the conversation. His curiosity was piqued by the direction it was going, "I still don't see what my parentage has to do with your--pardon my saying so--but, your dying camp." He hated to put things so bluntly, but the comment served its intended purpose.

              The joviality left McRoy's face replaced by the clarity of focus of the truly desperate. "Well said. To the point then. As you well know, many in this world despise my people. I'm not sure that there is anyone alive today who knows or remembers why. However, the people of the Crystal City, which you call Illineas, are particularly scornful of not only our presence, but also our existence. When your parents lived here, they were people of great influence.

              "They did their best to maintain a fair and equitable arrangement with us. We were allowed to farm in the rich soil around the city, producing enough food for everyone, including the Magi. In exchange we steered clear of the city, except when absolutely necessary, and both our peoples freely bartered with one another.

              "After your parents disappeared, and their influence with them, things began to change, slowly at first, and then more rapidly as time progressed. It was small things at first. Minor restrictions on what or who could be bartered with, the easement of a piece of land here, some water rights restricted there.

"Eventually we were confined to this dried up old lake bed, where nothing grows and little or no water can be found. Our movements are closely monitored, and we are given nothing in exchange."

              The huge man sat squarely on the ground, his elbows resting on his knees. "Now do you understand the need for abducting you as my men did? Why we are all on edge, and quick to bouts of anger and hate? We have been left with nothing, nothing but the ability to watch the slow withering of our own children. In reality I don't know what I think you can do to help us; I just know that your parents were good, honest people who could accomplish great things with very little effort. And I have to assume that you are too.

              "I understand if you need time to consider, and frankly with the warm and hospitable welcome you received at the bitter hands of my people I wouldn't blame you if you refused. But I am running out of options. I can no longer sit and watch the gaunt desperate expression on my daughter’s face as I tuck her in at night, her eyes pleading with me to feed her hollow stomach.

"I have a reputation as a ferocious warrior among my people, and it would be better to die in glorious battle fighting for our right to live than to waste away into nothing. Snuffed out like a candle in the night." Titanic tears were now spilling their precious water at the corner of his good eye. He made no move to cover his face in shame. There was none.

              It was difficult for Rancoth to wrap his mind around the situation. Even though Grecrum had explained long ago the pitfalls of ignorance, fear, and hate he couldn't see how it could drive an inherently good people to such evil deeds. If these were the perverted lengths that his own people could stoop to, Rancoth prayed he would never see what true evil was capable of.

              "Have you trried to go somewherre else? It's a big worrld afterr all." Dorbin suggested.

              "What's the point? We would be shunned no matter where we went. Tower City is the only place that truly exists where diversity is allowed to flourish, but even there the Hulden are second-class citizens. I would gladly take my daughter and my people elsewhere in an attempt to start fresh. But the Magi of Crystal City are so paranoid they believe that once we were no longer where they could watch us that we'd come back in a surprise attack. So they won't allow us to go." McRoy was becoming emotionally spent. His shoulders began to slump and his face slackened.

              "Rarely, we manage to sneak a small party out, like the one that collected the two of you, but we are no match for the Magi and their powerful arcane arts. I would undoubtedly be able to kill several before finally falling, but fall I would, as would my people behind me."

              Dorbin knelt next to the huge man, and placed a reassuring hand on his knee, unable to reach his shoulder. The image might have been comical were it not for the solemn moment; the tiny old man attempting to console the monster of a being twenty times his size. "I know about injustice. It caused me to flee frrom my home. A foolish solution frrom a foolish child that I wish I could go back and talk some sense into."

              "I—-er--we," Rancoth quickly changed his words at the sharp look he received from Dorbin. "
We
will do everything we can to help you. I'm not sure what that will look like yet. It'll take some planning, but we will do something."

              The moment he had understood that the hardship of these people was a direct result of his youthful ineptitude with magic, Rancoth had made the decision to help them. Much as he had to retrieve the necklace to fulfill his mother's promise of return to the Ray'Deeant Elfkin tribe, he was compelled to reinstate the livelihood that these people lost when she was no longer there to ensure it herself.

It seemed he might never fully atone for the sin of his past. His mother’s influence was too far flung, and her absence affected what was becoming a countless number of people. Including himself. Deep at the center of his being he knew that as much as he was helping others, he was also helping himself.

              "I can ask nothing more, and I'm eternally indebted to you both for simply making the attempt. And you, my little friend-- I'll hold Crujen while you kick. How's that sound?" All three men chuckled, needing the release after so much grief had been shared.

              "So, let's get started!" McRoy exclaimed, as he wiped his cheek with the back of his hand. "Like you said, there is much planning and preparation that needs to be done." He stood and stepped outside the tent. Stretching his long arms to the heavens, he bellowed the good news to his camp. "THEY'VE AGREED TO HELP!"