The Ivory Star

Chapter 12

Eric winced as the horse between his legs jolted down a short drop-off in the rocky path. His inexperienced backside burned with saddle sores from the ill-fitting saddle. The sun warmed his back as it edged over the peaks of the mountains towering above him. He rubbed his eyes, tingling and blinking back tears of exhaustion. He tried to pay attention to the land around him, so he could find his way out of the mountains if the chance to escape presented itself, but couldn't manage to look at anything but his hands clamped mechanically upon the reins of his mount. Deep, black depression mired his intellect in a pit of tarry despair. Back in the hands of the Red Priests. Several hours ago, consciousness had returned, for him to find a horse plodding rhythmically between his legs, and a half moon shining brightly above. He remembered a sudden commotion. He had been groggy with exhaustion from the day's toil, and falling into sleep. He remembered Angus's rage, and his attempt to protect him. Then as if in a dream, he'd felt a pinch on his neck, then blackness. Nothing after that, until he awoke, now deep in the mountains, surrounded by men garbed all in black, vague shadows in the ghostly moonlight. Black hoods and masks swathed the faces of his captors. Damned Red Priests! He cursed silently for the hundredth time the fate the universe had served him. The rhythmic plodding of the horses' movement lulled him, and he caught himself dozing several times, just catching himself before he tumbled out of the saddle. He thought he caught glimpses of death-white skin momentarily revealed, and red eyes that glowed in the darkness.

So he rode on in glum, uneasy silence. Their small band traversed the valleys slicing between the mountains. The high peaks, white-capped, clothed in patches of deepest green, loomed over them, while a swift stream galloped beside. Eric contemplated escape, as he had throughout the night, but like each time before, he dismissed the idea as lethal foolishness. The day wore on like the slow gnawing of water upon a stone. The white sun had long since passed its zenith before they finally halted for rest. Everyone but Eric dismounted and walked toward the stream to drink. The three men began to remove their hoods and masks. Eric stared in uneasy fascination, expecting to see for certain deathly pale skin, red-rimmed eyes, split tongues, and scarlet circles branded into their foreheads. What he saw surprised him.

"You've been very quiet, my friend. Come down and drink, if you like. I know you must be thirsty." The man who spoke was not at all the ogre Eric's mind had conceived. The man smiled at him, and his eyes regarded him with a sort of paternal kindness and unfathomable wisdom. His head was clean-shaven. He was short of stature, not particularly muscular, but he moved with a supple, feline grace. Even though he was a head taller, this man dwarfed him.

As he reluctantly slid down from his saddle, his legs nearly collapsed under his weight. The men watched him with a kind of bemused interest, but did not move to help him. After he steadied himself against the saddle, one of the others, tall and slim, with bright gray eyes and light brown hair, tossed him a small leather sack. He opened it, and shook out several strips of dried meat. He grabbed one out, sniffed it, and began gnawing on it.

"You're not Red Priests are you?" he said.

The small one laughed, not scornfully, but honest and friendly. "Of course not!" The other two men chuckled quietly, glancing at each other.

"Then who are you?" Eric retreated a step.

The man smiled again, not Sneev's cruel teeth-baring, but an amused, open grin. He spoke with infinite calm and precision. "Be at ease, friend. You are not among enemies."

Eric opened his mouth to speak, then stopped, unsure of what to say.

"My two companions and myself are of the Order of Knights of the Eagles."

"Why did you abduct me?"

"We had hoped to take you away quietly. That was not our design, but your large protector left us no choice."