Stoneman Firewoman: Book 3: Tahree

By Eugene E. Stoltz

The high spine of the Rocky Mountains casts its evening shadow on the town of Valier, Montana, the hometown of the author, Eugene E. Stoltz. Following the normal pattern of education in elementary and high school, Stoltz survived a sojourn at the University of Montana. The privilege of life in the Golden Triangle is a thrill in itself, and doubly so should a person prosper here. Modestly accomplished in other categories, this person thinks he can write. Let's see if he can.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Oct 15, 2008
• ISBN: 9781453515990

Eugene E. Stoltz

The high spine of the Rocky Mountains casts its evening shadow on the town of Valier, Montana, the hometown of the author, Eugene E. Stoltz. Following the normal pattern of education in elementary and high school, Stoltz survived a sojourn at the University of Montana. The privilege of life in the Golden Triangle is a thrill in itself, and doubly so should a person prosper here. Modestly accomplished in other categories, this person thinks he can write. Let's see if he can.

Book preview

Copyright © 2008 by Eugene E. Stoltz.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

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Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty One

Chapter Twenty Two

Chapter Twenty Three

Chapter Twenty Four

Chapter Twenty Five

Chapter Twenty Six

Chapter Twenty Seven

Chapter Twenty Eight

Chapter Twenty Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty One

Chapter Thirty Two

Chapter Thirty Three

COVER ART

by ATHENA MOSXONA

In recognition for aid in composition

NORMAN BALLANTYNE

For moral support and computer setup

JONATHAN STOLTZ

The princess

PATRICIA E STOLTZ

Chapter One

An imposing hulk of a man sat motionless on a sandstone outcrop. Dawn was approaching and he was enabled to survey the valley below. He peered into the murk of the darkened landscape more as a pastime than for any other particular reason. He had but one eye; yet, his vision was more than excellent, the other eye, destroyed in his youth, was covered by a leather pad.

His young partner, curled up a few steps away, had just gone to sleep. For all aspects, reasons or rights, the young man was his son, no blood kin, but born in blood to be kept in the protection of, and nurtured by the giant on the rock.

These men traveled by night and stayed to a lonesome path on this journey of their choice. Not a journey of need or cause, but merely an adventure that the older man had deemed a necessity for the youth.

Their isolation was not prompted by fear or even caution, but simply because of the colossal size of the elder. The men preferred to go unnoticed for they were now in a land that had been conquered by a mighty force from the east. Herein, destruction and devastation prevailed.

The sandstone which had cooled in the night was not a place to sleep; then, as the big man prepared to move, a slight breath stirred from the southwest and an acute sense of smell alerted him to a flicker on the dimly visible valley floor. A solitary doe deer moved below him, preoccupied with an object in the valley. Something was approaching, and both man and animal watched with rapt attention.

It appeared to the man that they were not the only ones that traveled by night; hence, he roused his partner so they could watch together.

They were captivated by the sight of two lumbering beasts yoked together; further, apparently pulling a conveyance that appeared to be bordered by two huge wheels. Since they had entered this unhappy land, they had seen men astride different animals that seemed to do their bidding, but this concerted effort hooked to a small shelter was an original in their eyes.

A very large warrior, heavily armed, led the procession, while the wagon was flanked by an armed man near each wheel. These man looked formidable, but were of ordinary stature.

They had arrived at a grove of deciduous trees that were watered by a small brook. In there, they disappeared from sight and did not emerge. The two onlookers could only conclude that the entourage had stopped to rest. Rest indeed, and throughout the day until darkness had fallen, no movement would be observed.

Once the observation was made, the giant exchanged a thought or two with his charge and drifted off to sleep. The young man was quite taken by the group in the valley, expending considerable time in an attempt to see some action in the grove. Everything was amazing here in this foreign world—he was excited by the sight of working wheels. They seemed so simple, yet his mind had never ever conceived such a device. He would get a close look at these wheels. It seemed to him that since they had begun their journey his eyes had been filled with one discovery after another.

This thought brought a wry smile. The wisdom of the wise, was not this the very reason that Swillic had insisted on this trek? To the young man, Swillic the giant was his father and though outwardly seeming not to possess the slightest sagacity, he was loaded with talent. Conversation was not his expertise and though he rarely indulged in the spoken word, he did occasionally, then he usually got it wrong.

Swillic could not even come close to pronouncing his own name, though at one time he might have, but that was history long past, and having this questionable behavior, he had changed the name of his young son. The lad was born after the death of his real father, and was named Reo in his favor. The boy was the youngest of what developed into family of eight, very different but very close, and in his position as baby, he was highly indulged.

Though Swillic loved the boy dearly, the little scamp had provided opportunity after opportunity for parental correction and on those numerous occasions, the giant was prompted to shout his name. His mother was determined that his given name, Reo, was to be used, but alas it was lost to the annals of time, and the name that stuck was the one that was as close as Swillic could come: TAHREE.

Tahree was a young man near maturity who, in his physical appearance, favored Reo his biological father. He was formidably built, possessing superb coordination, and more than that, he had a smiling demeanor plus a facial resemblance. His mother, Leeta, now deceased had bestowed a gift of elevation, not in a mental sense, but of height. Her much taller than average body had extended to the boy the gift of being somewhat tall. The red hair of the father and the silky blond of the mother had combined to fashion a mop that was pleasing fair.

Berea, the wife of the Wizard, who was also his mother had endeavored to cram the knowledge of metallurgy, the secrets of wizardry, the properties of field medicine and though it seemed at first a loosing cause, the slightest of discipline. He loved Berea. Her stories were wonderfully entertaining, and though at times she displayed a bad temper, she had mellowed during the past few years. His brothers and sisters had quietly informed him in his burgeoning youth that some time after the death of their fathers, both Leeta and Berea had taken the giant Swillic as their husband on a cooperative basis.

Curiosity had plagued the lad and one day he asked, and in front of his smirking siblings, all about this marital state; at which time, Berea treated him to a display of ill temperedness that has seldom been equaled. His survival was briefly in question, but he finally perceived that it was merely embarrassed bluster and became ever more fond of his other mother.

In the middle of this bluster, Tahree, barely strong enough to do the job, had swept her off her feet and smacked her with a big kiss amidst his apology for his foolish transgression; herewith Berea, could hardly do but abandon her snit and blessed him with forgiveness and affection. She loved him as she always had, with the all intensity that a mother could love. Yet she could also understand his confusion. The boy, never having known his father or her beloved Miyo the Wizard, never questioning the love and devotion of Swillic, a man that could only be described as a different breed of man, was lost in a snarl of conflicting mysteries depending fully on her explanations.

Berea had been the healer of all maladies and she had become very expert at her medicine as practiced on her family. Tahree had been interested, so Berea had programmed the lad with all the knowledge she could instill in him until he became more or less accomplished.

Chapter Two

Tahree was excited about having the company of the rolling house and its cadre. Swillic let him set his own standards when it came to caution in closely following this troop of the wheels.

The day, or more accurately the night after the discovery, the two men were careful to very quietly observe their progress during the darkness. Despite very limited light this strange aggregation maintained a slow but steady progress toward the lowland ahead. During each nocturnal period both men made an attempt to study the faces of the other three. Although the chances were near to foolish curiosity, they took the opportunities they had to closely observe the three and their mannerisms.

The leader was a large man with rugged features. He was taller than Tahree and probably a half again heavier. Thick brown hair protruded from under his leather helmet and his face was shielded by a marvelous beard and mustache. Wide shoulders supported formidable leather and hardwood armor set on a light leather suit of clothes that exposed an impressive pair of leather boots. A staff was always in hand and on his waist rode a large sword. He gave the impression of a man who was sure he could handle any opposition that might develop.

The men at the wheels could only be described as average size, one with reddish hair the other with very light brown, nearly blond. Another aspect that stood out was, that though they wore clothes similar to the leader, they had a shield and a metal axe harnessed to their backs, but neither had a sword. Fastened to the harness, a quiver bristled with arrows and short stout bow hooked onto its top. They looked capable and dangerous.

Another day had been utilized for sleep and at the deepening dusk the wagon began its descent toward the flat lands below, each man at his post. Tahree and Swillic needed little time to ready their packs and they were on the move to the left of the wagon far enough to keep to themselves.

During the night the wagon group passed below a place that at one time might have been a small village boasting several large structures. These had been destroyed and burned leaving only haunted skeletons bordered by rail fences and lean to shelters. There were people asleep in these shelters. Tahree and Swillic crept silently in from the upper ground while the wagon progressed quietly below. A sow pig with a litter of three moved away from the intruders without giving any alarm.

Past this bit of curiosity, the two men resumed their progress on the flank taking time to inspect other ruins that appeared deserted. Tahree was becoming bored as nothing much seemed to be developing and suggested to Swillic that he might like to have a conversation with the men of the wagon. Thumbs down very emphatically from Swillic!

The lad talked more on the subject but Swillic recognizing his curiosity found other things of interest. Another day and past a few more shelters, nothing much, but at least they saw a few people making a shelter in a small grove of aspens; and as usual, kept to themselves and remained unobserved.

Abruptly, the boredom was shattered as they caught the sound of drumming hooves. Four men astride horses confronted the wagon. In the dim light of the looming dawn the two could see the beginnings of a encounter that was nearing hostility; the lead horseman was shouting at the wagon master who stood as solid and unconcerned as the oxen behind him. The man was pointing at the same two beasts while his mount shied nervously during his harangue. The riders began to close and both Tahree and Swillic commenced a reactionary descent down toward the wagon.

A piercing cry from the wagon master froze the riders and their leader crumpled from a pile driving blow to the forehead. The staff rebounded into his attacker’s hands and he fended off the first attack of the sword wielding riders. Simultaneously two arrows sizzled in, one striking a horse high on the neck and the other a rider squarely in the shoulder. A blade cut from a rider was delivered to the redhead as he reloaded his bow. His adversary’s sword fell to the ground as the rider reeled clutching an arrow delivered from the other bowman.

As the wounded horse reacted wildly to the arrow in its neck, the big wagon master leveled the rider with a stroke from his staff.

The fight was over, and Swillic and Tahree stopped motionless in a stand of alder bushes that filled the small draw which had blocked their way to the action. Three of the riders lay on the earth dead or badly hurt while the fourth still astride his horse urged his steed into a gorge and away from the wagon. His main concern was the arrow in his shoulder; however, he bumbled directly into the on looking twosome. His problems were compounded as his horse spooked from the sight of giant that faced him eye to eye. With a snort, he unloaded his rider and fled.

Tahree looked down at the man who lay unconscious before him. He seemed like the enemy, but with no hesitation, he braced and extracted the arrow. He was glad to see the strong flow of blood and ripped the garment free of the wound area. Presently as he bound the wound he looked up to check on the wagon which was just getting underway, wagon master at the point and the two wheel men in their place. He was surprised to see the redhead at the wheel as he had thought his wound would be more serious than this action demonstrated. Something about the man appeared different, Tahree scrutinized the walk and the action of the body. His hair was not so red he noted as he watched the stride intently. The light of near dawn was allowing a better view than he had previously been presented, and his analysis was that this person with the peculiar gait was not the redhead, but perhaps another. He thought of his sister. She walked like that.

Keeping track of the wagon was a priority, but they had already settled for a camp more or less and Tahree was curious about the man on the ground. Who was he and why the attack on the wagon? He would question the man and maybe even find out something about wagon people. They would be easy to catch up to, for the wheels left great tracks and further, dawn was breaking.

Swillic cooked some meat and brewed some tea there in the shelter of the gorge and the alder bushes. It was a good place to rest and get some sleep.

A slight sound disturbed the men and after a brief search they discovered that the horse that had bolted and ran was grazing quietly on a meadow next to their camp, also by then the wounded man had recovered his senses; however, he lay there on the ground as stiff as a log. Tahree soon attributed his problem to a mortal fear of Swillic. When Swillic tried to offer the man tea, he literally shook with fright. The lad chuckled aloud, took the cup and repeated the offer. The man weakly accepted. Tahree could imagine the dread consternation that plagued the man as he looked over at the giant. Not only was he huge, he displayed totally different features such as: weathered skin scored by claws, receding chin, heavy brows, but one eye and tousled hair that was mottled with gray. To Tahree he was beautiful, but alas, he was slightly prejudiced, Swillic was the only father he had ever known.

The wounded man’s name was Mott. He had been part of a team to forage food for the forces of Ravenaldi the Avenger. Upon hearing this title, Tahree questioned the man further in regard to the obvious importance of this royal person. Mott was also questioned as to why they had started hostile action against the wagon group. Mott was reluctant to answer and said very little. He revealed none of the particulars that Tahree wanted him to explain.

Swillic could feel the lads frustration, so he took a bit of a dislike to Mott as he could see that he was failing to cooperate, then during the last moments of the fruitless inquiry, he heaped a large amount of wood on his campfire. As the blaze responded he casually picked up the startled stranger and placed him carefully near the fire. Next the giant slipped the big bronze sword from his scabbard on his back and proceeded to hone its edge with a piece of sandstone. Tahree watched quietly, wondering.

Mott’s attention was glued to the blade of the weapon as the hone slid inexorably back and forth, back and forth. He gasped as Swillic paused and checked the blade with his thumb and looked intensely at what seemed to him to be his neck. Suddenly the giant grabbed a short stick of firewood and tossed it into the air. As the stick responded to gravity it was met with swish and the mighty bronze blade split the small chunk of wood dead center. Tahree had seen this trick before, but Mott had not and as the sword finished the mighty stroke he found the blade inches from his throat.

The one eye fastened on the man and a word came. Speak.

Mott nearly passed out from fright; yet, too afraid to fail the giant he began to answer all the questions that he had been asked and in detail.

Mott would tell his story, and as he drank the tea of chopped willow he became relaxed by the heat of the dying fire. He began to talk; one eye on the giant and the sword and one to see if Tahree approved.

I am Mott, a swordsman with the mounted elite of Ravenaldi the Avenger. Our forces have swept south from east of the Great Water. We are of the nation of Grelandie. We are unequalled in war and have conquered all the armies in our path.

Tahree was not satisfied with this type of harangue and changed the method of interrogation. One thing that Tahree was happy about was the fact the man talked in the same dialect that had been his from birth. He smiled at Swillic, and asked Mott about just who had been conquered and wherein the land of Grelandie lay.

Mott revealed that Grelandie was east and north of the land of the Naugetors and bordered the grassy plain of the wild Guerna’s to the east. Tahree asked about the Whitars. Mott, unnerved, feared the lad possessed information that might be important to his survival. Mott changed to a matter of fact approach and confessed that Ravenaldi the Avenger had broached and conquered no more than scattered autonomous tribes south of the Great Water.

Tell me of your country and Ravenaldi, also about the others. Tahree looked to Swillic for approval. Swillic shifted his position and fastened his eye on Mott.

Mott decided that the truth would serve him well." Grelandie is a proud land that had been long ruled by one family. Ravenaldi just this season, overthrew his much older brother Aldo. Ravenaldi had been clumsy enough to have been caught in the queen’s bed by the seers of the realm and Aldo had awarded his priests with a gift of his young brother for their sexual pleasure.

Aldo had also been the victim of a somewhat clumsy concept when he decided to wage war on the neighboring Naugetors, the seafarers. His research had been extremely faulty. On his first skirmish with the fishermen, he found himself confronted by the armed might of the three nations. During the battle, Aldo was grievously wounded and carried home in disgrace.

It seems that a Whitar princess had become wed to a Guerna warrior who was in truth a Naugetor."

Chapter Three

Swillic could see the that the words of Mott had excited the lad and though he was reluctant to interrupt, he pointed to the object of his concern. Mott was also alerted as he looked at his horse that had quietly grazed over near their camp. Mott wanted that horse and he looked at Tahree. Are you a horseman?

Tahree looked at him with a puzzled expression. No.

Horses are very docile but skittish around strangers. This one has been gelded and is tame. He will respond to food. Mott fumbled in a large pocket. Take this carrot and hold it in your hand, so, and seize the reins. Mott watched the expression and felt the need to demonstrate a bit. This helped and Tahree cautiously walked toward the horse.

Tahree offered the carrot palm up and the beast moved toward the man. As the horse took the carrot, he grabbed the reins and luckily closed his grip quickly as the big grey attempted to escape. Though it was a bit frightening; Tahree held as the animal reared and then consequently settled to its captive state.

This was indeed a new experience. Neither Tahree nor Swillic had ever seen a horse—this one was close at hand and tame. At least somewhat tame.

Tie him to that large tree. Mott moved to a more comfortable position beside the fire. He would survive this yet.

With much caution Tahree touched the horse on the mane, then petted its neck and the animal seemed to respond. This was like his dog. This suited Tahree.

The sun was beginning its climb to the south so Tahree and Swillic found a place in the shade for some sleep. Mott remained by the fire continuing to drink the potion. He soon found that in spite of dire pain of the wound he was forced to get up to relieve himself. It was past noon and though he was concentrating on other things, the horse was stirring suspiciously.

He saw one, then more, then a dozen of the people he had recently been attacking. His first thought was to leap to his horse and escape—though he ran over to attempt to mount, he could not. Mott managed to utter a wail as he collapsed.

Swillic and Tahree were on their feet and met the onrushing force with a counter attack. The attackers were poorly armed and found the few weapons they possessed slashed from their hands by Swilic’s sword. Tahree fended off blows plus delivering his own with a staff that favored a copy of that of the wagon master.

The size and vicious ability of the giant melted any bravery this ragtag force was able to originally muster so before anyone was killed they retreated in an extremely disorderly fashion.

Most had disappeared from sight, but three remained on the ground. One had somehow broken his leg, another, a woman had been rendered unconscious, and a third who had stepped an inch too close to Swillic’s blade, was bleeding profusely.

Tahree, with Swillic’s aid, set the leg and bound the wound of their mortified opponents. The woman came to, producing ear rending screams, but with some finesse was finally settled down.

The three sat there contemplating their fate. They all glared at Mott when he struggled up from beside the horse.

Mott surveyed the wounded and walked over and looked triumphantly at each one. Kill them. With that, he attempted a kick at the man with the broken leg.

Mott missed; however, Tahree did not and leveled the man with a driving punch to the jaw.

Tahree could see that Mott would soon perish in this company, and besides he had not finished his story. He was soon draped over and tied for ride on his horse.

The father, son, horse and captive quit the area under the curious and confused eyes of the people that had attacked them.

Tahree liked the big gray horse and encouraged Swillic to pet the animal. The horse was much more at ease when being led by Tahree and he enjoyed this having an animal at his heels although he was occasionally stepped upon. During the last hours of twilight they followed the tracks of the wagon until they came within sight of their camp. This gave them an opportunity to stop and lay Mott on the ground. He whined, maintaining that they had killed him.

I am certainly going to die. You had no right to treat me like that. I am wounded. You hit a helpless man.

Tahree listened and rechecked the wagon. Satisfied that they had not yet began to move, he squatted down beside Mott. Tell me more of Grelandie and its king.

Mott spat on the ground and said, I will tell you nothing!

Tahree grabbed his hair and slapped him sharply across the face. You tried the kick a man with a broken leg. As he stood up and walked away, he looked at Swillic with wink. Kill him!

Swillic stood and drew his sword. Mott babbled, begged and apologized, promising everything he could conceive of that could possibly save his hide.

Tahree intervened and hunkered down once more.

Freshly motivated, Mott began. "The battle went badly for Aldo and he returned defeated with only half his force.

It was a short time later when he was informed that his young brother had been bedding his wife. The gift of his brother to his priests, the same ones that had discovered his problem, had come easily enough as he hated this big overgrown bastard, his half brother. Mott looked around furtively before he re-spoke. "He also knew that the priests had an eye for Ravenaldi and he was sure they would use him sexually and keep him in chains. They did just that.

"Aldo was found to magnify his troubles with more bad judgment. He had already cast his wife into jail and while he suffered in his wounded state, the men of the priesthood persuaded Aldo to condemn the unfaithful woman. He proclaimed to the nation that she was to be beheaded! However, to no one’s surprise, her wifely wiles enamored her to the jailer. None too curiously, she escaped and was then languishing under the protection of the men of her large family.

"Then the worst befell the clumsy Aldo. In a midnight raid, during which the every one of the priests were emasculated, Ravenaldi was freed by the men of the queen’s family. They proclaimed the poor wretched Ravenaldi the king, and chopped off the head of our Aldo. With no organized force to resist, the decision stood.

"Ravenaldi recovered and became a powerful warrior. Driven by his bellicose nature, he eliminated any opposition. He was only satisfied by organizing a force for attacking his neighbors. We, or I mean he has slaughtered and destroyed many of the people on the south shore of the great water.

Ravenaldi has word that a person of Naugetor royalty is trying to get back home and should the Avenger find this person he would hold whomever for hostage against those despicable fiends. Then our noble nation would truly by avenged.

Enough! Say no more. Get ready to move. Tahree had seen the wagon roll out of sight.

Swillic had been ready and Tahree was prepared in moments, but Mott was not. He was reluctant to move. He was afraid that he might be lashed to the horse. Once he was pushed up and seated astride the animal, he quieted and began to plot the future course of his ultimate escape and survival.

Tahree liked the horse for several reasons. First he liked animals, but his main reason despite the carping Mott they had inherited, was that the horse stood as tall as Swillic and thereby diluted the sight or silhouette of the giant’s stature. Besides at his urging, Swillic was able to lead and the horse was gaining an affinity for him as well.

Mott was a continuing pain in the plan of things and they were forced to keep a great distance between themselves and the wagon simply because of his story of the royal flight. Tahree was nearly sure that the wagon held the person of importance and he was not about to give Mott a reason to suspect. Perhaps; the wagon held lets say, a beautiful princess.

Chapter Four

During that night they witnessed some major destruction and people in groups who seemed wandering aimlessly. Some that espied them rushed up to them only to retreat in haste when they were confronted by the size of Swillic.

Tahree began to be uneasy as they were leaving the hill country and entering a more populated area. Being uncomfortable was only slightly ameliorated by the feature of having more impressive ruins to view. Ahead lay a great wide plain and from what could be observed in the feeble moonlight, ahead also might be water—big water.

Visions of royal princesses danced before the young lad and he was anxious to close on the wagon to find out what he could. Mott, who was very much in the way, spent every moment plotting his escape. Tahree was doing a little plotting of his own. The man was wounded but much recovered. The people of the area would murder him without a doubt should they discover him. He pondered the possibility of whether Mott knew that they were still following the wagon. Should he escape with his life, would he be able to inform Ravenaldi about their location?

At that very moment they topped a small rise and came to the edge of a large encampment of fugitives. They were challenged, Come forward and surrender!

Mott seized the reins of the horse’s bridal and galloped away. His action provoked pursuit by those that had issued the call. Clouds obscured the moon and the murky darkness was welcome as Tahree and Swillic disappeared into some heavy brush to escape the attention of the camp.

Both men were relieved at not having to fight their way out of there, yet, even more relieved to be rid of Mott. Tahree missed the horse.

Swillic pointed out a fire on the horizon and as they drew closer, it turned out to be several fires in one location, a burning town. They caught the wagon group as it headed down a slope into a large valley. The hill was steep and Tahree guessed they were avoiding the town, but worried that the hill might be a problem. As the men of the wagon maneuvered down though a narrow wash the wheels became wedged, forcing them to unhook the oxen and lead them to lower ground.

Tahree and Swillic came upon the wagon and after careful reconnaissance they determined that no one was nearby. They looked inside, observing that it had not been abandoned for it was filled with all manner of food, fine furs and other items of dress.

Swillic raised a hand in warning. Blood.

Someone had lost a lot of blood within the cover; however, no one was there now.

The wheels were jammed tightly between a sandstone cliff and a huge sandstone rock that had fallen some years before. Should the rock be moved the wagon would be free.

Tahree had the answer: Swillic!

Swillic was able to set his feet against the cliff and with a shrug indicated that the offending stone could be moved. He pointed to an overlapping notch and made the sign for a lever. Tahree had seen the tool he needed. Not far up the wash, the wagon had bowled over a lodge pole pine which Tahree’s hatchet pared into a proper instrument for the job. Finished, Tahree could barely carry it and he received no help from a smiling Swillic. The giant affected the pose of a look out on the alert. He was of course, but it was such a pleasure to see his son in action.

Tahree staggered down to the spot and placed the log. It truly was a good sized lever. Swillic reset the lever and readied himself. Pine is soft but it is resilient. The log bent grievously—Tahree threw his weight against the rock; the thing moved. It, released from its earthen cradle, slid a good arm’s length to the side.

Tahree sucked in a breath. No test for my power. He grinned as he flexed his muscles. Swillic smiled his almost smile; tossing the lever into the wagon. After pulling the wagon to a flat spot a few feet down the wash, they retired to the heights of the hill to wait for a reaction on their little stunt.

Doage, the wagon master led both of the bovine beasts up the steep grade to a place above where they had stuck their wagon. Dracket, the archer clambered to a position that allowed a command of the immediate area, a place that he could make sure of security while Doage harnessed his oxen to the wagon to back it free of its predicament.

He stood above a rock slide and surveyed the surrounding territory, more or less looking for any danger. Next, he was slightly vexed that the third of their party had not yet followed. He rightly assumed that the girl had stayed by her brothers grave. Shocked, he strained his eyes in the dim light, the wagon was gone. His shrill whistle, a warning to Doage, was wasted as the big man had just visualized the same fact.

The oxen abandoned, Doage plunged between the sandstone rocks, sword in hand. Dracket fairly skated down the rock slide arriving at the present site of the wagon. Both men circled the wagon warily, finding nothing wrong or no one present. The large pine pry pole was inside, but other than that nothing was disturbed. The men looked around, to the amusement of the onlookers, where they noticed marks near the big boulder. They realized that it had been moved.

Apprehension gripped both men, but Doage was not one to let fright deter him. They both raced up the slope, caught the milling oxen and re-hitched them to the wagon. Presently they were ready to continue and started the team downhill, planning to pick up the tardy Soelee, who was at the gravesite.

When the two men had returned to the wagon, Tahree watched only for seconds as the person he was most curious about was elsewhere. He sped down the slope, albeit with proper caution, until he came upon that person kneeling beside a grave newly made. It was then he was totally sure she was a she.

He could see tears streaking her face in the pale moonlight. It was a pretty face. He was glad she was pretty. She was without a doubt the royal personage. Tahree had barely began to conjure up a suitable way to meet the lady when a swarm of unwanted company sprinted into the clearing and caught the girl, pinning her arms behind her. Two women held her while a tall rangy one in a leather cap slapped her across the face and held her chin with a long fingered grip.

She motioned to a heavily proportioned young man. Look what we have here. See this fine beauty. No doubt the property of the great Ravenaldi. See this, his whore wears but a black dress. Tell me whore, how did you get separated from your master’s bed.

With that she stepped back and ripped the front completely free from the garment.

The girl, still held from behind, straightened to her full height knowing well that her body was totally exposed. I am no whore. I am no one’s whore. Why do you treat me like this?

The tall woman laughed but a sound halted her as she stepped toward the girl.

Stop! Back away, or die where you stand! The voice of Tahree came quietly from the perimeter of the group.

All eyes had been on the naked front of the woman—the voice had been shockingly close. The party of twelve, some children, but numbering seven capable looking men and women turned in surprise. They had expected more than a young man of ordinary size. He did; however, carry a small hatchet.

A moment of suspense and the tall boss woman laughed, Small boy, your words are big. You could be hurt out here. Go home to your mother.

Tahree sized up his greatest dangers. She is my woman. Let her go!

Take him! the woman motioned to her people.

From behind his hip a knife appeared and sped to the shoulder of the heavy young man in a tick of time. Tahree flipped the axe to his left and charged right as he dodged a spear and backhanded his surprised target with the flat of that axe. Two men were on the ground. Advancing, he cleared his space with a double swipe of his trusty axe.

This was like the intensive training his older brothers had imposed upon him to make him the best in hand to hand combat. They had recognized his ability as had their neighbors the Abahars. He possibly was the best, but this was no practice.

His opponents, amazed by his speed, had drawn together pointing all the weapons they could muster toward him. Tahree felt good about his first moves, now the situation was changed. They were on guard with the big woman holding his princess by the hair. What now? Moving his axe with a flourish he prowled the front of their defense. He had to move soon or the girl might not survive. His axe swirled and he was ready for a desperate throw to split a certain skull. A heavy thud behind him brought immediate relief as Swillic dropped into sight from a ten foot ledge.

The eyes which were staring so sullenly moments ago, went wide with fear. As Swillic stepped up, his golden bronze sword cleared its scabbard, and the attackers found extreme energy for their hasty retreat. The girl’s worst injury outside of her embarrassment, amounted to a mild trampling.

Tahree was at her side in an instant and helped her from the ground. Distraught, she attempted to cover herself by pulling together the sides of her dress. By forming the ripped strip of her garment into a sash, Tahree very discreetly helped her secure it to her body.

This done, she seemed somewhat relieved and was about to say something. Her words stopped in her throat and her body stiffened. She had just managed a good look