33
THE FRENZY BEGINS
Bardon’s hand tightened on his dagger even as his eyes opened, and he became aware of his tight position inside the longfish barrel. One of the staves pulled back with a screech and revealed the morning sun.
“It’s me,” said Latho. “The camp is deserted.”
“Deserted?”
The round top of the barrel popped off. Latho’s big, hairy face blocked the opening. “They left about an hour ago. Kept me down the road apiece all night long. Didn’t get much spying done. Two guards eyed me and grunted at every twitch I made.”
He moved away, and Bardon heard him talking to Leetu Bends. With considerable wriggling, Bardon managed to extract himself from his confined hideout.
He walked around the camp. In the sunshine, the setting didn’t seem fraught with malice, but still, as he remembered the scene from the previous night, the hair on the back of his neck stood up.
Leetu Bends came to stand beside him as he stared down into a small black pit that had been a cooking fire.
“What are your plans?” she asked.
“Get out of here as fast as possible and send warnings to the kimens plus a report to Paladin.”
“Nothing will be fast enough.”
“I know.”
The trip down from the grawligs’ meeting place bumped and swayed over the same road, but Bardon and Leetu sat on the empty crates instead of being scrunched in longfish barrels. At the bottom of the pass, they came to a small house nestled among a scattering of armagot trees. A marione mother held her two children tightly in her lap as they wailed.
Bardon and Leetu Bends jumped down from the wagon and ran to her side.
She couldn’t speak but pointed to her open doorway.
With weapons drawn the two warriors went into the humble home.
The ransacked room stank of grawligs. Their odor lingered over the havoc they had created. On the floor in the center of the room, an elderly man sprawled with a club in his fist. A pool of blood circled his head.
“He’s still alive,” Leetu Bends whispered to Bardon.
She tilted her head in the same manner Kale did when she surveyed an area with her talent instead of her eyes and ears.
“The grawligs are gone.” Leetu Bends returned to the door and called to the marione mother. “He’s not dead. Come and help me.”
The woman stood, and the children slipped to the grass. She ran inside and knelt with Leetu Bends. The two small girls hovered near the door. The emerlindian examined the injured man. “Bardon, help me get him to his bed.”
“Da,” the woman said under her breath. “Oh, Wulder, preserve life.”
Bardon left his task of restoring order to the room and lifted the father in his arms. “Tell me what happened.”
The woman answered in a rush of words. “They broke down the door and came into the house without warning. There were three. Grawligs. I’ve never even seen a grawlig before. Da grabbed his club and swung at one. The monster hit him across the chest, and Da fell against the table. He hit his head. I thought he was dead.”
She reached out to touch her father’s hand. Reassured, she hurried around Bardon.
Bardon followed the woman into the next room, where a rumpled bed lay on its side. The children scuttled into the house and trailed behind their mother. She and Leetu Bends set the bed on its feet, and Bardon placed the fragile old marione on the mattress. Leetu Bends held a cloth against the bleeding head wound.
Bardon straightened and put a comforting arm around the woman’s shoulders. “Did they say anything?”
She shook her head. “Nothing. Not a word. They snorted and sniffed and growled like animals. They pawed through every nook and cranny in the house. Then one gave a shout, and they all ran out the back door, running as if they had a curry-wolf chasing them.”
“They weren’t running from something. They’d caught the scent of a kimens.”
Leetu looked up from her patient. “He’s going to be all right. The blood flow is slowing.”
“You’re an emerlindian.” The woman twisted her fingers together. “Can you heal him?”
“I don’t have that talent, but I can leave you herbs to help him.”
Bardon looked around the cottage and saw a man’s jacket, a pair of trousers, and a pair of boots, all too big for the father of this woman. “Where’s your husband?”
“He’s out in the fields, working.” She gestured toward the south. “His name is Bocker. Mine is Eraline.”
“I’ll go fetch him while you get your da comfortable.”
“Take Latho with you,” suggested Leetu Bends.
“Yes.” Bardon left by the front door. He approached Latho, who stood leaning against his wagon.
The bisonbeck straightened. “The grawligs were searching for a kimen?”
Bardon nodded.
“Why in a marione home?”
Bardon swiped his hand across his chin, feeling the stubble that the lack of a morning shave had left. “Many people do not realize that sometimes kimens coexist with the other races. I’m not sure I understand, but they dwell in homes like that one.” He gestured with a thumb over his shoulder. “Kale, my wife, always thought we might have a couple at our home in The Bogs.”
“They can make themselves invisible?”
“There are two things I don’t think anyone has ever figured out about kimens. One is, do they run incredibly fast, or do they fly? And the other is, do they become invisible and mingle among the other high races as sort of guardians?”
Latho jerked his head toward the house. “So those people never saw a kimen?”
Bardon shook his head. “But even if the grawligs couldn’t see one—”
“They could smell it.”
Bardon looked over the field in the direction he thought it had gone.
“Shall we go after it?” asked Latho. “Maybe help the little fellow?”
“We wouldn’t catch up, and…” He heaved a sigh. “I’m hoping the kimen can take care of himself. They truly are fast.”
Latho and Bardon walked to the acreage where the marione farmer tilled his soil. From a distance they saw the husband Bocker talking to another man. As they drew nearer both marione farmers took a wary stance. Bardon assumed the man closest to the horse-drawn plow was Bocker. He pulled a shovel off his rig. The other man held a pitchfork ready.
Bardon put his hands up in front of him, palms out. “We’re friends. We came to fetch the man whose house is just over that knoll.”
“Why?” asked Bocker.
“Your house was attacked by grawligs.”
The second man shot a look at the first. “See?”
“My family?” The husband lost some of his guardedness and anxiety flooded his face.
“Your wife and the girls are all right. Your father-in-law took a blow to the head.”
He ran past them, shovel in hand, with the obvious intent of reaching his home as fast as he could.
The other farmer stepped forward. “My name’s Graick. I live back of those trees.” He pointed.
“I’m Sir Bardon, and this is my friend, Latho.”
Graick shook hands with Bardon but looked askance at Latho. “You travel with a bisonbeck?”
Bardon chuckled. “He comes in handy in a fight.”
The farmer frowned.
“He’s a merchant, not a warrior. But his size is enough to scare many opponents off.” Bardon gave up trying to explain the unexplainable. “You seemed to know the grawligs are rampaging.”
“They came by my place. I don’t think it was the same bunch as did this.” He waved toward the farmhouse Bardon and Latho had visited. “They tore up my barn and went on. I heard of them stealing livestock from time to time. Never happened to me, but I heard others say it.” He shook his head, bewildered, and pushed his hat back on his head. “They didn’t take any kind of food. They wrecked the place like they were looking for something. Then left. They were frothing at the mouth for whatever it was they wanted. I just kept my family hid. They’re still hiding.” Again he pointed over the knoll. “I came to see if Bocker knew anything.”
Bardon and Latho said nothing.
“You’re a knight?”
“Yes.”
“You’re gonna fix this? I mean, you’re here to right a wrong or something?”
“I vowed to protect. The grawligs aren’t after mariones. They’re after kimens. Pretender sent them on a hunt for our little friends.”
“Oh well, then. Those grawligs will be long gone. There’re no kimens around these parts.”
“I think you’re mistaken.”
“Oh?”
“I think one or more dwelt in your barn, or at least, visited it frequently.”
The farmer puffed up his cheeks and blew the air out his lips. “I don’t know how I feel about that. You think kimens have been trespassing on my property? Maybe even living in my barn?” He scratched his arm and then his head. “Well, I guess it don’t hurt. Some people even say a kimen around is lucky.”
He thought for a minute. “But it ain’t good luck if it brings grawligs.”
Bardon fought the urge to give this man a lecture. Wulder’s Tomes were laced with principles that said to take care of others. One’s own personal safety came second when danger threatened. He sighed instead. “Just remember, the grawlig threat is even worse luck for the kimens.”