The Deepcombers

Chapter Forty One

Lon, Melcart, Valari and Jarl all crawled to lie beside Saeya and peer down over the ledge.

Directly below was another creek much wider than the muddy trench that'd stopped their wagon. This shallow mountain stream flowed fast over a shale bottom. It came down from the north but was turned east by the pine ridge upon which they lay.  The flow was only six inches deep and the wildkin had driven an entire wagon-train right down the middle of the watercourse. From where the group watched near the elbow, they could see five wagons faced east on the flat before them and the Calbian dairy herd complained from the grassy riverbanks ahead of the convoy. The beasts were about a quarter mile away and not visible through the trees. The flat land directly opposite their perch, on the other side of the stream was a grassy forest meadow which hosted a dozen large campaign-tents made from wildebeest hides and this camp crawled with enemy warriors.

Lon and friends were just thirty paces away, but well-hidden on the ridge above the encampment. The whole stream bustled with activity but the company fixed their eyes on the elite soldiery who milled about the larger tents. These were the bandits who'd just returned from the raid and now they shared the food they'd foraged with orange-cloaked mystics. They congregated on the grass in the courtyard at the center of the array and therein Lon could see their lunch buffet. One table was heaped with red meat and buzzed with flies. Cook fires burned in metal braziers and the savages would roast chunks of flesh over the flames and then suck on the gristle and smack their lips. This cruel cafeteria was their command center.

A giant stuffed blue bird shaded the scene. Its blue feathered coat looked flawless while its beak and legs were the same shade of orange as the mystics' coarse robes. The stuffed bird had a twelve-foot-wide wingspan and was frozen in flight. It sat perched eighteen feet off the ground, a wood pole fixed to its puffy blue stomach below, yet Lon couldn't see the base. It looked set to protect the meal for the bandits. Were these the same tribesfeigor whose sanctuary they'd trespassed through above the waterfall? It was then Lon recalled how Captain Owen had said the wildkin tribes had combined. This was must be wolfkin and the birdkin come together.

The crew watched the enemy take their lunch until the main tent flap rose and the wolf faced general appeared. He hoisted his blue feathered staff in triumph and his many riders cheered.

"That's Vercino." Lon said. Jarl grunted in agreement.

The enemy general was taller than his minions and his thick black lips curled over long fangs in his wolf snout face. His rusty jacket jingled with every step and the others bent in supplication and seemed to proffer gifts in open hands; they bowed and cooed as he ate their food and drank red wine from an enormous goatskin bag.

"They're slavers." Mel said.

"No. They're not." Valari disagreed.

"Where are the kids?" Saeya asked. Lon could hear them weeping, but nobody could see them.

"They're in that fur covered box Miss Saeya," Jarl pointed and everyone looked and saw... a fur covered box. Tree branches tied together with sinew made the cage. It was covered in bear pelts and deer hides and made portable with carrying bars on the sides.

"How do you know?" Lon asked.

"There's a Northerm with an axe outfront." Jarl pointed and the sea drover focused his eyes and could barely see the top of a shiny axe head; he marveled at the veteran's attention to detail.

The wildkin stronghold was not well organized. Their camp was a shamble of hastily erected tarps and animal skin hutches hidden in the forest and protected by a natural bend in the river. Their compound had been assembled in a sparsely treed forest meadow on the opposite side of the stream. The river bend garrison point was guarded by bored-looking sentries who stood alone, twenty paces apart in the ankle-deep water.